A soft sigh expells from his chest and out from his parted lips. Murphy frowns at her, "Do you have to tell them where you're going?"

The small part of his back presses against the counter when he leans onto it, arms loosely fold over his chest. "I haven't really had much of baked goods since I got here. I don't normally drink tea either. It's just for my throat."

"I don't have one," Murphy clips. "And I'm not going to get one to take care of me. I can take care of myself."