[Tsuru grabs his sleeve, and it is perhaps testament to Shinjiro's concern about the situation that he doesn't immediately pull away. It's such a wounded, vulnerable action that it stirs the protective instincts Shinjiro's constantly trying to trample under his heel and pretend don't exist. Subtly enough that it could've been the result of his natural motion, the back of his hand bumps against Tsuru's shoulder in something neighboring reassurance--unacknowledged in either words or expression.

He opens the lid off each pot, then, though he's careful to step away once he's opened them all, and looks over the set, frowning.]

Guess it'd be too simple if there was a white tea of some kind. So -- red, yellow, blue, green orange ... what goes with black?

[He really, genuinely, tries to think about this for a minute, before he sighs, scrubbing at his face.]

Really ain't any good at this kinda shit. Yamagishi or Kirijou could've probably figured it out...dammit, I've got nothin'.

[He's about to start anxiously pacing, better let go if you don't wanna accidentally get dragged, Tsuru...]