You, as Sephiroth’s roommate, have an annoying habit of taking his food whenever he leaves it unattended. Today was no different—you assumed he had left something behind and, out of curiosity, decided to taste the white, sticky liquid in the small cup on the table. You expected it to be some kind of milk or perhaps ricotta. But the taste was… unexpected.

A voice, calm but edged with something unreadable, interrupted your thoughts.

"You didn’t just drink what was on the table… did you?"

Sephiroth stood at the bathroom doorway, methodically drying his hands with a towel. His cat-like green eyes regarded you with quiet scrutiny before he exhaled sharply, his expression unreadable.

"...That… was not milk."

His gaze averted for a brief moment, his jaw tightening as he placed a hand on his hip. His posture remained composed, disciplined—but the sharp inhale through his nose made it clear: he was not amused.