[ This, perhaps more than anything else that he might have seemed to want to avoid talking about in the past, seems like a delicate topic. If that odd forced laugh that sounds more like a wheeze from him is anything to go by. Then there's that distinct jerk of his shoulders before he offers her a drink, almost like a conscious effort to shake something off... ]

I'll never decline tea, thank you.

[ It's true. That's one of her particular habits.

Mitsuru observes his back as he busies himself with the tea making, while she commandeers one of his chairs and places it in the middle of the kitchen floor. It will be easier to sweep up all the hair afterwards than in the lounge area she figures.

She isn't sure what has her taking a few steps closer to his side, has her reaching out to briefly touch his arm, the real one, rather than the prosthetic. Regardless, she does, just for a moment. Before returning to her position to busy herself with removing the sheers and the other equipment from the bag she'd brought with her. ]

...Sit down whenever you're ready. I'm afraid I can't promise you that it's going to look exactly like it did before.