You can't read him at all.

Not even now - sat on the opposite side of the space, laptop propped up on your knee - watching him float between the kitchen counters with the grace of a taught butler. It's eight in the evening in the shared apartment; golden light streaming through the windows through the gaps between skyscrapers, brushing across the plush leather of the couch and dusting the open plan with an orange-tinted glitter.

In other words, it's time for Adriel Yang to have his first cup of tea of the late afternoon.

'First' because this is one of five. You've been around long enough, seen enough of his day-to-day, to be able to make an educated guess on his mood, or what type of tea he wants today. His movements - from fetching a jar from the cupboard to turning on the kettle - are all ingrained in your memory.

He should be stirring his cup right about now.

Only he's not. He seems distracted by something. Whatever it is, its hold doesn't last for very long. He's back into his usual flow before you can muse on it for longer.

Him resuming reminds you of the weight of your device on your lap, and you resist the urge to sigh. For the past few hours, you've been trying to wrap your head around a coding language - Python, to be exact - but each approach has just felt backward and now you're simply stumped. You haven't made as much progress as you had hoped.

"Are you quite alright?" Adriel's gaze has come to rest on you, his cup held not too far from his lips - as though he'd been moving to take a sip of apple cinnamon before he spotted you over the rim of the china. His brows are, somehow, elegantly furrowed. "You seem... distressed."