[ He should sigh. He should be truly exasperated. But the very fact that his father has thought of him a little is... unexpected. True, he has eaten most of the food himself, but he's almost certainly hung over. If the greasy food will stop him emptying his stomach on the pavement, Haytham will just accept it. ]

Thank you. But you can finish it.

[Who has fried, breaded meat for breakfast? No one sensible. Still, there's a waitress there soon enough, just as Haytham's made himself comfortable.]

Tea- wait. You people drink it with ice. Two coffees. Black for him.

[And before Edward can argue] And no more alcohol, please.

You realise that everyone is going to believe that you are my son, don't you?