That he's forced to stand is a pity. He'd rather sit or even lie down. Shinjirou isn't complaining, though. Resting his head on Jade's shoulder, he moves any way Jade needs him to, not all that unlike to what he'd done for all the strangers.

His breathing slows down, lids fluttering now that they aren't nearly glued shut anymore. It's so nice to have the mess washed off his body, a weight gone from his shoulders. Like pulling off old, broken skin. Piece by piece the dirt's removed and he becomes lighter. He's trembling, legs heavy and hot. Belatedly, he realizes he's slipping.