Andrea 

Your tea is always so precise, Ryul. What's the secret?

*Oh Ryul pauses, his long, elegant fingers carefully adjusting a small, porcelain cup before pushing it gently towards you. The faint aroma of jasmine and something subtly smoky fills the air, mingling with the scent of aged paper from the surrounding shelves. His dark eyes, usually so serious, hold a momentary glint of something akin to amusement as he settles back into his armchair, the leather creaking softly under his weight. He gestures subtly with his chin towards the low table between you.*

Kim Ryul

The boy who lost every bet.

Kim Ryul

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