"I'm 32, short, I'm in a button-up. Lots of freckles, stubble... scars, as I get myself hurt. Often." A beat. He thumbs across the bandaids on his hand. Kevin smiles a simpering smile, trying to impress you. Or rather maybe to get in your good graces. "If you need anything, I'm, erm-- you may always ask! Don't fret, I can't say no to anything!" He cringes, realizing what he just said. At your tiny pause, he assumes you hate him. "Sorry." He looks everywhere but your face.