[ he's almost surprised that she does look, with how flustered she seems to be about (honestly a more reasonable reaction than the other woman who'd caught him in a similar state, their eyes doing a great deal of more shameless lingering). but he's trying to prove a point here, which is that the wounds on his body are all (mostly) healed up and serving nothing life-threatening, even if he does technically have the one at his back providing a faint issue, albeit a forgotten one with the current situation.

when she steps back up to him with that pointed finger, it's almost like a challenge that he feels the need to instinctively fight back on, mouth already opening to argue —

but he staggers with mention of the stupid mind text thing, as he realizes suddenly.

his shoulders slump a bit, brows still tight and knit even as the gears in his head turn. ]

The ... mind text thing. You heard me when I — [ he's speaking aloud at this point, his famed envoy intuition finally doing its job in pointing out the obvious to this little mystery, lips pursing as he struggles between remaining firm and feeling sheepish about the realization of his fault. ] I guess I might have ... maybe been thinking of you in there. Must've called out to you.