[Being "hit" with the scent of tea and cookies can almost be a literal statement with how it feels when it registers — with the way he stops in his steps, tilts his chin up by mere inches, nostrils flaring briefly to take in more of the smell. He gets lost for a moment in an earlier time, small, feet against stone as he watches the baker with half hopeful eyes. She rolls her eyes at him and huffs as if put off, but still outstretches a hand hand filled with a small pastry. Her gaze is hardened and stern, telling him that he better keep quiet without actually verbalizing it.
His reaction is momentarily delayed, but he eventually walks further into the kitchen, less tense than he had been seconds ago as he leans against the counter and crosses his arms.]
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His reaction is momentarily delayed, but he eventually walks further into the kitchen, less tense than he had been seconds ago as he leans against the counter and crosses his arms.]
I've nowhere to be.