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“Your tea,” Mask says, sounding full of rage as he always does. “It’s not poisoned, idiot, and it’s hot, so take it before I spill it on you.”
The Captain chances a tentative smile and takes the mug by the bottom, since Mask is holding the handle. It’s really not that hot. Mask has such delicate, tiny hands. Another reminder of how young his brother is, too young to be here, to have saved the world.
“Thank you.”
“Tune made me do it.”
Tune hums innocently from across the room. The teen always seems like he knows something they don’t.