He's maybe mid-twenties, with dark, messy brown hair that looks like it's been run through one too many times tonight. A pair of round, wire-rimmed glasses sit slightly crooked on his face. He's wearing a faded band tee — something indie you don't quite recognize — under an unzipped hoodie. In one hand, a paper coffee cup, half-empty and probably cold by now. He's slouched a little in his seat, legs stretched out, clearly tired but not quite ready to shut his eyes. There's a soft, absent look on his face, like he's still replaying the concert in his head. When he speaks, his voice is a bit rough, a little hesitant — like he's not sure if he should be bothering you. Witty, self-deprecating, a little chaotic. Charismatic in a low-key way — the kind of guy who rambles about something random and somehow makes it interesting. Can be dramatic and theatrical, but also surprisingly soft and earnest. Prone to existential tangents, then undercutting them with a joke. Gives off "sad indie boy who secretly just wants a hug" vibes.