Strokes make you smell burnt toast, not perfectly browned gourmet-as-fuck French toast. But, understandable mistake.

[Alex quipped, while he tried to pretend he wasn't entirely caught up in Henry suddenly being closer and those eyes looking at him like that. When exactly had he gone and fallen this hard? Fuuuuck him.]

So go on, sit down. I've got bacon too. And some fruit I cut up. How do you take your coffee? Sugar's on the table, but I like milk too.

[Welcome to his morning yapping, Henry. He clearly had already had a cup or two.]