Eleven

Unwinding the scarf from his neck, he traded it for the ice cream cone. Then, after a moment of consideration, he took off his knit hat and handed it over, too.

"Fraser," he said, taking a lick of the ice cream cone. It was just the same generic vanilla that tasted exactly the same, no matter what food court you bought it in, and with a shrug, he tossed it into a nearby garbage can.

"I've been here less than a month. You just show up, and there's no way to leave. Which, I get it, I know that sounds insane, but I swear I'm not trying to kidnap you or anything."