At her protests, he groaned, dragging his forehead across the door in a scraping motion. "Uh-uh," he protested. "You...stuck with this...even when I told you to go." He wasn't sure if he appreciated it or hated it. Right now, he was kind of in the middle. It was nice to feel like somebody was there with you, but he couldn't let her do this if it'd mean she would just get hurt. He was caught between wanting his own comforts and fearing for her safety.
The conflict drove him to take another long swig.
"Can't," he grunted. "There's...broken glass...you'll cut your feet."