[Birkin's head snaps up and boy, is that one hell of an offended look on his face] So sorry for not looking like a walking Greek statue. Asshole.

[They pass Krauser on the way, who glares daggers and scoffs, but forces himself to not start a fight, instead mumbling something about pants and common courtesy as he walks away.

By the time Stein's carried him upstairs, Birkin is half-asleep in his arms and not really in the mood to move]