"I hope it was free then too," Alec says like he halfway doesn't believe it could get much worse than this only mildly unpleasant coffee (because he's definitely been spoiled by access to the finer things in life), after shrugging to indicate Peter's got the correct idea when he looks in askance at the door to the kitchens. He could probably take it upon himself to improve the flavor by adding sugar or cream, but obviously he has to take it black, as was intended by whatever foul demon invented diner drip coffee. For all that the Institute cafeterias that Alec grew up eating at never had expensive offerings, there probably would have been full scale rioting amongst the perpetually rotating shifts of Shadowhunters if anyone had tried to serve anything but well-made and decently sourced coffee that actually tasted good plain.

Some day, Alec will have to get a dose of reality from outside his little bubble. Today is clearly not going to be that day.

For now, Alec just indicates the stack of clean, empty mugs on the counter that's not being manned with a jerk of his head as soon as he sets his own cup down. They're conveniently within arms reach of the chair that Peter just pulled up. Maybe they've become accustomed to listless loiterers here at the cafe, or something. "You new here?" One glance at Peter and he doesn't really fit in, either. He may not have weird tattoos, but he's got a way of carrying himself that screams that he ought to exist somewhere far outside tiny town America.

Maybe it's just the palpable boredom of someone as accustomed to chaos as Alec is (or much more-so, in all likelihood), maybe it's Maybelline. Either way, Alec scoots the carafe over towards him once he's got his mug.