"Oh, wow," he said, immediately hiding his arms behind his back. "You made a pie." He stared at it a moment, dumbfounded, before realizing there was a girl on the opposite end of the pie. "You made a pie!" he repeated, but cheerily this time. "Yeah, I love peaches. Who doesn't? They would have no soul." He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter.
"Wow, you didn't have to do this," he said, studying the confection closely. It looked really damn good. "Did you bake this yourself?" He reached out and took his treat from her, smiling at its adorable little pocketness. But then he noticed his arms were exposed. His bare arms. With nasty drug tracks stamped on them like failure notices. Hastily retreating them back towards his body (but making sure not to drop his lovely peach dessert), he moved across the room to place the pie gently on his desk. And while he was over there, he grabbed his shirt and "nonchalantly" pulled it on.
"Thanks, Ita," he said, still embarassed. "But you didn't need to bake for me." He paused. "Why exactly did you bake for me?"