"I do not see the appeal of that," Xichen says softly, shaking his head. He had tried coffee on the train and found it too-- well, it taste burnt. "Coffee, that is. At least without something to mask most of the taste."

The other time he'd had it, he had not been himself. Or rather, not a version of himself that was familiar or without embarrassing memories attached. Cheng. Lan Xichen turns a bit pink over the bridge of his nose as he thinks about it, but does not let that distract him from the more important matter of tea.