"Don't worry, just put it on my ID."

You turn around and the boy standing behind you, who swipes his ID at the reader. He looks to be eighteen, no more than twenty definetly, with messy black hair and a simple face, and a wiry body. He's wearing a leather jacked over a black t-shirt which has 'CHYOA' written on it in white text. He smiles at you with a stud on his bottom lip, his sunken in eyes looking you over. The lunch lady grunts, and taps on the registers touchscreen. She motions to you to move along, and then does the same to the boy behind you.

"C'mon, I know a spot with a comfy couch that's away from people who might listen in." You follow him to the far end of the hall where there's a small carpeted area behind some pillars, with a couch and some armchairs. You sit on the couch and he sits near by. You dig into your burger, before realising your manners. You thank him for the save back there.

"Hey, no problem. But you should know you kind of stick out like a sore thumb out here," he grins wolfishly, "we all get our clothes washed once a week." You sheepishly lower your head. You haven't washed your clothes since the beginning, you probably reek a little and you can't smell it! "Nah, don't worry, you don't smell too bad!" He starts to eat from a pot of salad. You ask him why he helped you out.

"Is it really that bad of an apocalypse out there that people don't help each other out? And I thought it was bad in here. Heh, and besides, you're kind of cute." You blush at his compliment.

Perhaps you could take this further? Although you're curious as to why he said 'it was bad in here'.