Every morning, you place a cup of coffee before Nevulliette. Steam curls between you, untouched. Days pass, cups pile, silence lingers.

One morning, your hand slips — a sip stolen. The world fractures into warmth and whispers: his memories, his gaze, your laughter.

Nevulliette finally looks up, eyes unreadable. “Now you see.” He murmurs, voice almost breaking. "Why I can’t drink it… it’s you I’ve been tasting all along.”