Immediately, she draws the conversation exactly where he doesn't want it. He's happy she's worried for him; he's not happy that she has to worry for him. Frustration quirks his brow, but he gulps back as much indecision as he can.

Just be happy. Just be happy.

"It's okay. Seeing your face in my darkest hour was so exciting that it got my blood pumping, that's all," he insists with an off-balanced smile, as if the weight of the expression itself is too much to carry without slipping. "It'll stop in a minute."