She's fully teasing him, and he huffs a little even though he likes it, likes that she keeps him guessing. He could do this all day, all week, wouldn't be opposed to extening it to always. "You're right, you're right, the couch has served us well," he agrees, leaning into her touch. He doesn't want her to be gentle with him, doesn't need that right now, so he pulls her shirt off to prove that point, throwing it over his shoulder so it lands behind the couch. It's ruining him a little, how much he wants her, wants to have his hands all over her. He can't get close enough right now, and he doesn't know what it is, maybe the fact that they'd argued at all earlier.

He shimmies a little so that his shirt rides up higher, flashing a larger glimpse of the tattoos on his body. "I promise I'm not suddenly made of glass just because I got hit by a car." He knows she knows this, but he feels like it's a thing that needs to be said, for his own benefit if not for hers. It's been easy to lose himself in all the different scenarios that could have taken place that night, saying that out loud just serves as a verbal reminder that he's still here, he's going to be just fine. "It's getting kind of warm in here all of a sudden anyway, am I right?"