He checks the weight of the pot before pouring himself a cup of tea. Strong, but that's alright. Tea made, he sits into the armchair, rubbing one of the knuckles that Lyra had used as a pincushion. It helps distract him from the reminder of the things they've agreed to ignore.

The smile he pulls is strained but he's determined to be upbeat. "That's alright." Moving swiftly along, he asks, "Did you sleep well?"