This is a moment, alright. Huaisang isn't used to vulnerability in the, hm, traditional sense— a vulnerability not cultivated (ha), not designed around an exaggeration meant to foster a certain response. To stumble indelicately through trying to talk about his brother and offer his clumsy efforts is different, a slightly more major-key reprise of falling into each other last night. It's a relief then to be told of course, to have Fitz's hand settle warm against his wrist. It's almost enough to make him blush, which is silly.

It's a moment. A good one no matter the uncertainty or the lingering despair, and Huaisang can't help but laugh when Fitz is so very earnest about the tea thing. Oh, no, no one has taught this man about the proper preparation of a fine tea, the poor thing...

"You put milk in it," he says, eyebrows raised, like it's obvious (it should be obvious). He taps the back of Fitz's hand in mock disapproval with a slight shake of his head. "I've never seen anything like it! If you were anyone else I'd ask the waiter for a new cup on your behalf."

Feel honored, Fitz, to receive the privilege of explaining this tea with milk monstrosity instead of having it publicly shamed with a fresh cup.

"Isn't it overwhelming?" It's milk. "How do you enjoy the flavor of the tea?"