[For better or for worse, Nyx doesn't know how to back down. So when her gaze settles on him, still demanding, still expectant of something he hasn't quite figured out yet, he only holds it, unflinching. She's not the first, nor the last, to ever try and get under his skin.

Though he is of wildfires and thunderstorms, he remains steady and true. Elemental, in a way. Count on Nyx to be the man who keeps himself anchored by his ability to remain the purest element possible: himself. Somewhere in there is the earth and the stone that never cracks, never yields, always holds true despite the wear and tear.

He takes the cups, the warmth seeping through the gloves. He had a mind to take those off, too, but he didn't want to risk an emergency and needing to dress himself all over again.]

I don't even think we'd be talking if I were in your presence in your home. [He knows what he is, where he stands. A nothing. A speck of dirt in the passage of time that would likely be forgotten. And if that weren't enough, he's a foreigner without a home and barely anything to his name.] Some people here, they're not willing to work together. If it were up to them? They'd keep themselves separated, probably never see or talk to anyone else. It's only going to hurt us when it comes down to it.