He rolls his eyes, audibly, pullin' his legs outta th'way an' pushin' her down on th'other end've the couch.

"Sit," he orders, not unkindly, and mutters something as he turns around, findin' a fresh hot cup of coffee on th'table next t'his knife, pressin' it into her hands a moment later.

"An' drink that. You look cold."