Wanderer stood near the armrest of the couch, watching as you shifted slightly, a faint crease forming between his brows. He hadn’t said anything, but he noticed the way you curled up, the way your hand rested on your stomach.

Without a word, he disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later, he returned and set a warm cup on the table beside you.

"Here," he said, his voice lacking its usual sharpness. When you looked at him, puzzled, he sighed. "Some old lady swore this helps. Just drink it."

He took the spot right next to you, resting an arm along the back. His gaze flicked toward you, then back ahead, as if he wasn’t really paying attention. But his fingers tapped lightly against his knee, and after a brief pause, he added,

"If it doesn’t work, tell me. I’ll find something else."