"Clearly," she repeats with just an edge of mocking. Her tone, an imitation of him, sounds a bit nasal with her thick accent. She does not miss the unease in his face, but she doesnt comment on it either. Instead, Johanna looks at his frost laden (and soon to be damp) outerwear with no small amount of disdain. She then reaches out and takes him by the forearm, all but dragging him away from the door. That he moves willingly is of little consequence.

She is clad in trousers, a long shirt, socks, and has a blanket draped around her shoulders like a shawl. It was clear she had hauled the thing, wholesale, from her bed when she rose to answer the door. Unlike him, she is not willing to part with a single piece of her "outfit."

Once they are far enough from the door that she cannot feel a chilly draft creeping in around the wood, she shifts her blanket shawl just so a draws him in for a hug, undoubtedly smothering him in more warmth than he can tolerate. (Which is fair, she thinks with a very slight vindictive edge, because she is still mad at him and he will have to put up with it because she is his best friend. That she is, in turn, suffering the chill of him inside her carefully cultivated warmth is, like his willingness to move, of no consequence and is summarily dismissed.)

"Technically, I suppose, you did make it but I would not suggest explaining technicalities to weather."