Fuck, my head is... Spinning. What did they say? Shouta blinks slowly, brushing imaginary dust off his clothes and clearing his throat to stall for an answer. He can't just admit that he didn't hear someone speak directly to him from half a room away, now, can he? It's almost as bad as just saying outright that he's too overwhelmed to process words.

And those words sink in. The disjointed syllables ringing in his ears coalesce, forming a coherent sentence ("Do you want some help with that?") and he doesn't know why but suddenly he's fucking furious. No, he does know why, and in his current state it seems perfectly rational to get angry. Help?! Why would anyone assume I'm that helpless? I'm not too incompetent to do a simple stack of paperwork by myself. He's bristling, eyes burning as the room is cast in a faint red glow, and that condescending asshole is directly in his line of sight.