It's kind of interesting. He walked into the room furtively. That's what I'd call it, except that it was more like he walked into the room like a little pussy. Taking careful steps, so as not to seem spastic or over-enthused; keeping a tightly controlled face that held no expression except the concentration necessary to maintain a semblance of placid apathy, an expression used to prevent opinions being formed (if he wore the wrong face, he might seem geek or boring). The face was imperfect, of course - someone concentrating on appearing not to be concentrating fails naturally - and was most clearly visible as a mask through the angry, nervous crease in the left eyebrow. Perhaps the mouth twitched once every five seconds, or the eyes winced or skittered around in brief, revealing flashes. There was a glowing unnaturalness that emanated from a person abusing their face in this way. He knew all of this (and also that he constantly twitched his neck at all hours, appearing rightly to be unable to find a single comfortable place to rest his sight). Knowing made it worse; "am I appearing stale and boring and extremely self-conscious?" was a thought that burned his face and bodily movements into even more ridiculous tension. It is a painful and embarrassing thing to watch: a too small, too skinny, and too short little pussy of a senior looking absolutely nowhere for more than a very nervous second. So when he trips into a room, I don't notice. I mean, we all look at something else.