"We'll just see what you have to say about it in the morning," he replied, as the feel of her hand cemented the matter for him. He was exhausted, unkempt, unshaven and felt as though he were dangerously close to developing a permanent twitch, and it struck him as strange that she would want him with her. It made sense enough to castigate him for not coming to bed, but it seemed to him that the logical closing of that particular argument ought to have been more nights spent alone on the couch, not fewer.
But then, he wasn't thinking clearly. It was better not to try to puzzle things out until he could do so as himself. Another few hours (he hoped and prayed no more than another few hours) wouldn't count for much. There wasn't any rush. He took her hand, feeling unbearably clumsy. "Although it's warmer here, you know."