Edward doesn't feel like he belongs. He's like that kid who transfers into school mid-semester, observing the hustle and bustle around him with a certain detachment, maintaining a distinct point on the periphery. Maybe that will change in time once he's actually cleared for actual work, but Edward doubts the title 'doctor' fits anyone who worked for a company that murdered humans.

And if Ed's the new kid, it's no surprise he's eating alone today. Or he would be eating at home, if he had remembered to bring his wallet. There's a clumsy fumbling of metal bits and receipts as Ed searches in his pocket for an elusive orange coin, all the while standing rather awkwardly at the end of the line.