[ shirou looks to the kitchen, then back to this man — to juno, who he knows. has known, actually (dad would never leave him here by himself, of course), and he... he knows he can trust, juno. he trusts his old man, after all.

quiet all the while he's processing that, shirou nods absently because, he is tired, exhausted really. he feels tired, drained (it's probably blood loss, there's so many cuts), and the dull pound of a headache is building between his temples. first things first, then he can do as he's told: the groceries. the plastic bag crinkles once more as he lifts it, looking at the contents with a furrowed brow, before finally holding it out as an offering, an exhausted tremble in his hands. ]

The cabbage and ginger need to go in the fridge, but everything else is fine at room temperature. Well, not the green onions, actually... [ it doesn't feel odd, deputizing the kitchen but... juno-san... does juno-san cook? ]

Uh — which... room...

[ there's a hall with windows, he wants to think, but... it doesn't match the layout of this house at all. ]