“What?” He asks, half turning to look at her over the rise of his own shoulder, finishing the last of his efforts to tug light fabric down into place.

“That’s not at all the same thing.”

And with a snort he moves again, reaching down to fiddle around in search of yet another sleeping shirt— throwing it just across the bed so that it lands on her face.

“Change. You might need those clothes again later, and it’s not worth risking ruining them for a good night’s sleep.”