"Because he's sappy as fuck," Quentin groans, but when the look on her face makes him think that's still not going to be explanation enough he pats himself down and produces that little stuffed bee from his back pocket. A little flattered, but Quentin squishes him back into shape.

"You know, I keep seeing churro trucks but not a single fucking taco truck. What I wouldn't give for a fish taco."

He tugs the jacket this way and that a couple times before giving up entirely. He's worn stupider things. He can play this off like a fit too, he supposes.

"Don't darlin' me like you're some shaggy Albertan with anger management problems. Give me back my bee. I'm going to go see if this washes off."