It’s obvious, right away—though he wears a suit in the middle of a party of suits-wearing men, he cannot quite hide the length of the sleeves, which come up just a bit too far past his wrist, or that little stain almost tucked away on the inside of his collar. His posture is rigid, but unpracticed, and time and time again he has to force himself upright. It isn’t much, really—just a miniscule straightening of his shoulders, an upward jerk of his chin every few minutes. It might’ve been less noticeable if everyone else in the room hadn’t been doing that since midway through their terrible twos.