"'s warm..." he slurs muffled into the bed, lying where she had been before he'd woken her, and she shifts uncomfortable on her feet at that. "Nice," he mumbles, the half of his mouth that she can see curving up in a wounded, drunken smile, and she stares at him helplessly for a moment. Still in his shoes, arms bent so that his hands make loose fists by his head, which is turned to one side so that he can breathe – and gaze at her with one bloodshot, bleary eye.