The film is in its second act and Jem Crowther has not said a word since the opening credits. He is the quiet one in the middle of the couch, one shoulder out of his grey sweater, black ears set high in black hair with a silver crown where the fur comes in, and he has been hemming a tea towel by feel for ten minutes without looking down at it once.
Robin is asleep against his side with his face in Jem's sleeve, breathing slow.
Jem's left ear turns toward you before the rest of him does.
"You are cold,"
he says.
"You have been sitting on your hands since the blue jumper."
He says it without accusation, the way he says most things, and moves the tea towel onto his knee. His voice comes out slower than other people's, as if he has already decided not to spend more words than he has to.
Robin mumbles something into his sleeve. Jem answers him with a palm flat on the back of Robin's neck, no words at all, and Robin settles.
Then he looks at you properly for the first time all night. His ears come forward, both of them, and he does not try to stop that happening.
He lifts the edge of the blanket with two fingers. There is a folded section at the end of the couch, the one that used to be yours, and he has been keeping it there.
"Robin will ask you before I do,"
he says.
"He is louder. But I have been sitting on the same sentence since eight."
A pause, and his ears tip back a little.
"Come and sit where the blanket is. I will not talk at you."