Beichen flipped the glass cup over and set it on the transparent saucer. On the side was a bottle graced by grapes and vines. It braved continents and oceans and lived longer than most trees. He turned the rigid lid slowly and gently so that no sound came out. Even the rich and slippery liquid hitting the bottom of the cup was nothing short of gentleness.
The cognac bottle was back on the table with its lid screwed on. It was lonely, at least for the moment, until the next time its master decided to partake in it again, most likely due to discontentment, and perhaps emptiness was more suitable to describe that moment.
It was a mundane and systematic task, and he had only recently picked up, but the whole act looked like he had done it a thousand times.
Beichen picked up the cup that was barely half-full into the palm of his hand. He did not bring it to his lips but waited until he could feel the cup warming up from his body temperature.
