He smiles, that same, sweet, crooked smile that she always manages to get out of him. Not many people do. Especially since his run-in with the FBI. (He doesn't talk about that, or about how they got him out, or about what exactly went on in that detention center.)

He laces their fingers together, his gloves brushing against her skin. He doesn't dare take them off, not even for her, but it's nice that she doesn't shy away from him, that she's not terrified of him.

"I like you too. S'why I asked you out," Kevin admits, softly, stepping up to the window to pay. He mangles the Urdu name of the film, but the ticket person is apparently used to it, and offers him the pair. "Do you want a drink for the movie?"