[ Well, something's definitely wrong--and it looks like his guess is right on the money. Cedrik's stuttering makes his own lips twitch; it's not as though he's going to laugh at him, but it's endearing in a way, if not incredibly relatable. Growing up in the mountains, he may be a little more predisposed to cold winds and terrible weather, but Cedrik's always seemed the resourceful sort to him, even though he doesn't know too much about where he grew up, or even where he came from to begin with. With a stretch, his palms braced to his knees, he brings himself to stand up straight again.

Cedrik's straightened up, too, though his arms are wrapped around himself like he's struggling to keep in the heat. Casually, one of Cloud's gloved palms rests against the top of the table, careful not to disturb any of the books strewn there. ]

...Well, you've got plenty of kindling. [ It's supposed to be a joke, his voice wry and amused; his gaze filters over the books, before drifting back to Cedrik. ] I could light it up for you. A bucket or a trash can'll do.

[ He wouldn't--but he lets out a soft breath, tilting his head like he would rather look anywhere but at Cedrik when he says it: ]

...I'm pretty warm, I guess. Maybe if we sit together, you'll defrost a little.