There's a face for it at the mention of Helena, but it's brief, gone in a few seconds and hardly the sort of thing he's likely to notice half-drunk from shaking off sleep even if he's managed to sit upright for however long it lasts. "Think I can manage both just fine."

Better than, as she kicks off the covers despite the inconvenient, biting chill that follows, prompting a quick tug on the hem of her sweater as she walks off: barefoot, bare-legged, dark hair only half tangled up over yesterday's curls. If not for the fact that she'd promised him tea, ten minutes later might have him thinking she's abandoned the thought as the earthy scent of brewed coffee easily eclipses his still-steeping earl grey.