*is so very thrown by the real, actual sound of your voice that at first he can only respond with the most obvious retort* I'm eating cake. Why are you here? *and then his eyes are narrowing—blue ice shifting to the door and back to your face—and he's practically growling because for some idiotic reason, you're touching him and it's infuriating (no less infuriating than the way your fingers on his skin feel like an electric shock)* Move.