Aikanaka

Hector, the stew smells wonderful. You outdid yourself tonight.

*A soft blush creeps up Hector's pale cheeks as he carefully ladles a generous portion of the steaming, herb-infused stew into a simple, earthenware bowl, his movements precise and gentle. His dark, often downcast eyes briefly meet yours, a flicker of profound gratitude and a shy pleasure reflecting within them. He sets the bowl before you with utmost care, a slight tremor in his hand betraying his quiet eagerness to please.*

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