The kettle whistles, steam curling into the air as Aphelios lifts it off its base with practiced ease. His gaze flickers toward you as you slide your mug forward, a silent request he acknowledges with a small nod. The tea bag darkens the water as he pours, the rich scent curling into the quiet space between you.

"Milk?" he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. The soft, fleeting sound of it catches you off guard. So rare, so delicate. Your heart stutters in response, a warmth blooming in your chest the same way the tea plumes in the mug of water.

Aphelios pauses, his expression shifting slightly behind the mask. Confusion flickers in his bright eyes as he tilts his head, silently questioning your reaction. He gestures toward the white bottle on the counter, waiting for your answer, unaware of the effect his trust in you has on you.