Loki hasn't the energy to startle, but he makes a passable attempt at it as she snaps. He turns, still perched on the bed, and looks back at her. His confusion has no fight in it, no stance ready to disagree, but one is slowly coalescing in his insomnia addled mind.

"You do not want tea, then?" He asks, his brow arching in an echo of his normally scathing wit.

"Or shall I refrain from something else?"