Hazel wraps both his hands around the cup. Doesn’t even think about it. It’s a reflexive response to Hot Drink. When too hot to warm belly, warm hands instead. Breathe. Take it easy. Savor the good drink smell. Think about how good it’ll taste in just a moment, once it’s cooled off some, once there’s a warm hug resting cozy in your belly. No chugging now or you’ll burn your tongue. Nice, slow, delicious sips.

(Cocoa is his very most favorite drink. A superior refreshment. Cider, he doesn’t have too often, but it’s up there. He’s very stubborn about switching to iced oat milk lattes in the summer. Even when he’s sweating on his way to the coffee shop, there’s a part of him wondering, well, it’s not *that* hot, is it?)

He’ll talk in a minute, he needs his breath to blow on it. So he sits, and he curls up, and he wiggles his tail silly, because he forgot just how nice it felt to hear that name. “I’m fine, I’m fine, what about everybody else?” Sip? Siiiip? Oooh, that’s the [i]good[/i] cider. “...no, wait, Thellamie Ball. This sort of thing happens, doesn’t it? Dragons and getting kidnapped and such. Right, yes.” Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip. “Well, we should still make sure everyone’s alright. Could you get word to Miss Yaz? And, tell her to let everyone know I’m okay and not-kidnapped too.” Sip. Sip. “And that I’m not mad!” 

Sigh. Hug the cup close to his chest. Still quite full.

“I may need a minute to finish this? If that’s alright? I can get some more later if not, no worries.”