He waits until his coffee appears, along with a tiny crockery creamer and a bowl of sugar cubes, before he responds.

"I've got hobbies." Informed, while he pulls the mug towards himself, considers the steam rising from it thoughtfully, and decides on the addition of a dollop of milk, stirring it in with more concentration than is really required for fixing a mug of coffee.

He hates burning his tongue. It makes everything taste strange for hours.

It gets blown on, anyway, when he lifts it for a sip, raising mild eyebrows at her over the porcelain.