"I have 'em, I just don't ever wear them because glasses are way more badass, dude. That's a scientific fact." Also, putting on contacts means having like, seven less seconds in bed with Kate in the morning, and he's just not down with that. Maybe he can deal with it for for these sunnies, though, he thinks Kate would back him once in awhile in the name of looking like he could kick some ass and take some names.

Apparently, he doesn't look like that all on his own, which is total bullshit because maybe he's not the tallest guy in Darrow, but he's scrappy as hell. Or at least, he totally would have been in that bar fight back when he'd first gotten to the city if that dickhead hadn't punched first. He still stands by his claim that the fight hadn't been his fault, no matter what Owen and Chuck try to say.

He tilts his head as he watches Sawyer pour the milk into Clementine's cup, shrugging a shoulder at the somewhat self-deprecating comment about responsibility. "I can imagine, actually. I mean, aside from watching you actually, y'know, be responsible about it. You give a shi--" He cuts himself off, eyes widening as he scans the room for Clementine and relaxing when he sees that she's not paying them much attention because she hasn't seen her full sippy cup yet. He keeps his eyes on her even as he takes one of the glasses of cider from Sawyer, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"You care, is what I'm trying to say. You're a good friend, you kind of take care of me sometimes." He rolls his eyes fondly, a default reaction to himself getting kind of mushy, and takes a drink of his cider before continuing. "Doesn't surprise me that you'd be a good dad, okay, maybe I should start calling you daddy, too. No, wait, scratch that, might get weird."