When he's approached, Gabe startles and sends a handful of cards flying off the table. Eyes set firmly down, he hurriedly gathers them all up into a stack and shoves them roughly into his pocket like a child caught doing something naughty.

"N-No. Please. Go ahead," he mumbles. Gabe stares at the table, at his now empty hands and his fraying watchband. Don't pick at it. Don't pick at it. "Sorry. I'm not always so...like this."