He looks young, for a second, and for a second Jupe feels sorry for him. “If they were actors—” He rubs his arms, fending off a shiver. It's not that he's never had this conversation: he has, the self-defeating awkwardness of insisting you're famous and the other person inevitably concluding, okay, asshole.

“I'm an actor. Was, I guess. Whatever, people know me.” His gaze flits off toward the party, the lights. Gets lost along the way. “But not here.”