Okay, what Ran was expecting when he walked into the precinct's doors? Not what he was currently seeing. He expected an elevator ride up to the lab, to get the shakedown on anything he hadn't already been called about, and go back to processing evidence, examining trace, a normal day's work after the last few weeks of playing psychologist-slash-English-teacher to an extremely fucked up teenage victim of a human trafficking ring.
A normal day's work (usually) didn't involve wondering just how Danny Messer had slipped acid into his morning tea without him noticing, especially since they didn't live in the same building or indeed even in the same neighborhood (Ran wasn't even sure Danny knew where he lived,) or a neon sign so obnoxiously bright and close it almost made his glasses darken. And Ran lived in New York City, had lived in Tokyo before that, he was used to bright neon. Just not. Right in his face.
"...a question."
Fine, he'll bite. He's been wondering about this anyway.
"...how would you deal with suddenly finding yourself the caretaker of a teenager with PTSD and a language barrier?" He can deal with this in a professional capacity, but he's painfully aware that this will require a more personal approach.