[The coolness, while not unpleasant, is already strange under now-human fingertips. The glass has already begun to codensate, lending a slickness to the surface that he considers, briefly, before taking his own sip.

His sense of taste might not be what it had once been, being on hiatus for practically seven years, but that makes the taste envelop him all the more prominently. He makes a surprised face, despite himself, setting the tea down.]

Talking about it is the only way we're going to make progress on the matter, I think.

[What was the alternative? They stare at each other day by day and hope that she suddenly feels gracious enough to free him, or that the universe wheels him back home without warning?]

I'm sure you have plenty of questions. Ask them.