"It's my blanket, I had it first and there's another in the closet if you need it," he sighed, though he rose to get her the cup of tea, looking like nothing so much as a plaid ghost. It wasn't that he felt guilty, mind, just that he knew she wouldn't stop until she'd gotten her cuppa.
Though he let his eyes wander a bit as he went to the kitchen. Well, the little he could see through the weave of the fabric. "You'll catch your death in that outfit," he informed her.