[ oh, god, is he starting over? why is this happening to him, specifically. he spares an idle thought to be grateful for the fact he doesn't need to breathe, before muttering, just a tad petulantly, ] I am still.

[ is he, though? not really. he has a hard time standing still on a good day, usually fidgeting with something, bouncing his leg, some part of him in constant motion; right now, he shuffles his feet every few seconds, his fingers curling and uncurling, as if he's trying really, really hard to not do something impulsive — but, for the most part, he's actually not moving all that much. watching junpei is keeping him occupied, quiet for once, eyes trained on him.

and from how carefully he's watching, one might think it's all to commit to memory how exactly to wear the yukata. and yet, it's with a sinking feeling charles realises he can recall absolutely fuck-all of the proper yukata-wearing etiquette. in fact, the question makes him blink, like shaken back into the present. ]

Bloody hell, [ he says, sounding a bit embarrassed, ] Forgot I was meant to be keeping an eye on that. [ he clears his throat. ] So, uh, no.

[ and because apparently his mouth is running on autopilot, what comes out next is, ] Wait, does that mean you'll help me put one on the next time I need to wear one, too?