"I don't mind. I just didn't know. Who owns there? Will they mind if I get a coffee?" Miguel asked, after turning round to look at where she had pointed. He'd tried to twist at first, but his ribs didn't like that in the slightest and he wasn't currently doing anything that had him pumped full of adrenaline, and so he felt every twinge.
He shrugged with his left shoulder at the mention of icepacks, though. "I heal quickly. I'll be fine tomorrow," he pointed out. Not because of some macho nonsense or an attempt to somehow impress her. He simply couldn't help but react like he was still back on the other station. Medical attention and supplies were rare and saved for those who needed it most and would still survive (or for those who just... took them). Someone like Miguel who healed quicker than most (and didn't just take what they needed and shock everyone else)? They just got used to the pain. And now that he had regular access to food and could sleep somewhere safe, he was healing even quicker. He still had to actually heal, though, and that was the crappy bit.
His right arm was now clamped down against his ribs to try and brace against the throbbing, so his signing was a bit more awkward again because of that. "Here is fine. I want to sit down," he admitted.