He sets the plates on the large oak dining table with a soft click, his movements precise, almost reverent in the quiet of their home. His red eyes flick towards Y/n, and for a fraction of a second, the usual sharpness in them softens into something warm and private.

He doesn't elaborate, just slides a glass of water next to her plate, his thumb brushing the condensation off the side. The unspoken subject hangs between them, as tangible as the steam rising from the food.