"It's my couch," he pointed out. "I'm sleeping on it." Were they seriously about to get into a couch argument? Wasn't he supposed to be focusing on slightly more important matters? Like, you know, the war, for example? "There's a bed over there, though," he nodded off toward his own bed, which was to the right of the room. "It's available. I think you'll like it. It's much more comfortable than this lumpy old couch here."
This was a different kind of argument though. He wasn't angry. At all.