[He slumps into a chair awkwardly, hands tucked into his pockets as he waits for Kitsuragi in the kitchen, and picks at the worn lining of his coat as he tries to resist the urge to start pacing a hole in the older man's floors or indeed run right off out that unlocked door while he's gone. It's an unsettling sensation, for someone to be off doing something for his sake; he feels nakedly vulnerable in a way he rarely does, too thoroughly seen for comfort. Honestly, the only thing that keeps that discomfort from splashing back onto Kitsuragi is how well the older man has intuited and respected his boundaries to now, only crossing over into unsolicited concern and assistance insofar as what could be construed by any reasonable person as genuine emergency. Shinjiro appreciates that more than he's willing to admit out loud.
So when Kitsuragi comes back with the hot tea, Shinjiro doesn't actually bother with any further protest, token or otherwise, warming his hands and face against the mug and the faint steam emerging from it. The chocolate bar is left to the side for the moment, though. He's not sure his hands are steady enough to open it, and struggling with that would certainly send him over the threshold of embarrassment he's able to tolerate about his current state.
He's content with the silence, though; there's something almost comforting in it, but the weight of being observed catches up with him eventually. He doesn't move to explain himself, exactly, but he take a moment to say something he couldn't earlier, when he was first coming down from the panic:]
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So when Kitsuragi comes back with the hot tea, Shinjiro doesn't actually bother with any further protest, token or otherwise, warming his hands and face against the mug and the faint steam emerging from it. The chocolate bar is left to the side for the moment, though. He's not sure his hands are steady enough to open it, and struggling with that would certainly send him over the threshold of embarrassment he's able to tolerate about his current state.
He's content with the silence, though; there's something almost comforting in it, but the weight of being observed catches up with him eventually. He doesn't move to explain himself, exactly, but he take a moment to say something he couldn't earlier, when he was first coming down from the panic:]
...Thanks.