He watches the other man digging through his pack for a long moment before sighing heavily and slipping his tshirt off again. He knows it wouldn't be enough to put it on around his shirt, not without missing a spot and ending up with awkward patches.

"Fine," he says, resigned to the fact that this will be his fate for the next -- forever he supposes. Until the summer-like weather ends? Until he digs himself a new underground bunker to live in? "Fine, give it here then. You're never going to let me hear the end of it otherwise. Especially if I do burn that bad." Which he probably would, if he let himself ignore the sunblock.