At least it had the decency to hit at a time when he wasn't otherwise engaged, standing in the back room with coffee beans in his hands, just standing there when he returns to the present moment with a rush of something that might have been jealousy.
Home has never been a comfort and maybe because you were independent from such an early age the strong emotional response to feeling independent isn't something that he really recognizes either. Ren sighs, and puts the beans back on the shelf, and then it occurs to him that he came back to the back storeroom to actually pull some out.
Fuck home. Fuck people who actually have one. Fuck his parents for always making him feel like a nuisance rather than someone they wanted around. Fuck everything, really. Fuck the very notion (which wasn't the notion, and certainly the memory wasn't intended to shame, but does a little) that there's a reason he shouldn't be the stranger.
He regathers the coffee beans and heads back out to make coffee for Repose. From the semi-blank stares he's seen this morning, seems like everyone's gonna need it.