Twenty years. Had it really been that long? Twenty years since his life was destroyed, twenty years since Matteo had found him curled up in the corner of some faux 'cave' the boy had been thrust into. Twenty years he had endured and for twenty years Matteo kept coming -- with bubbly, hot, homemade Mac and Cheese. The now man rolled his eyes at that sarcastic declaration, even if he could hardly argue the point. "I'm glad to have filled your life with purpose." He grumbled though Tetradore was hardly complaining in the slightest. After all, the Frenchman had been the very cornerstone of any hope he had desperately clung onto for years. Those words might not have been far from the truth but, neither man, he was sure, would ever admit it out loud with any real sincerity. Rather, his arms crossed over his chest as Tetradore leaned back in his chair, watching as Matteo simply tossed that box of pasta in favor of something more akin to what he had, secretly, been expecting all along. The Alpha was more than content to simply turn his attention towards the demure young woman at his side whilst he Frenchman busied himself with not only the creation of noodles but too, those purposefully obfuscated insights of the future that Tetradore knew he frequently had.

Truthfully, Tetradore found himself entirely inquisitive of the work Arya did. It was an intriguing idea that a woman who could become a seal might take it upon herself to care for them in return. She was, he was certain, uniquely qualified to understand the needs of her brethren. It was no surprise that the seals, in turn, tended to favor her over the other staff of the aquarium. Frankly, he wouldn't be astonished if they could recognize the creature within her, the one that lay dormant under her skin that was just like them. That declaration of her parent's approval, however, drew his gaze from the young woman to the fae, the were-King altogether meticulous in his observations of his faux father. Arya hardly seemed to notice that slip of the tongue, instead snorting at her own experiences with her family and their disapproval. Tetradore hardly saw what was worth the criticism. It seemed like a respectable enough career path, was it not? He was just about to inquire after it before Matteo interrupted with the very inquiry of the cheese that the Ark happened to have on hand. His assertion that cheese was the same as any other cheese seemed to prompt a sudden pause within the fae, one that surely promised some sort of ridiculous antics.

That suddenly soft gasp upon Matteo's lips cause his eyebrow to raise, the man certainly not falling for that ploy. After all, he had years to familiarize himself with those tactics. He was almost expecting that comment that came but a few moments later. Matteo's obsessions with cheeses and wines and French bread eternally baffled him. "Oh, har, har." The were-King replied, thoroughly unamused at how he had so obliterated the elder fae's heart. Clearly, cheese was of vital importance. Absolutely critical. He eyed that grater that was placed in front of him with a soft sigh. He was so used to simply receiving that already cooked dish that to have to do actual work for it almost prompted a groan of protest. Any attempts he might have made to coax Arya's assistance with the sharp tool, however, was thwarted by Matteo's immediate declaration that she should ignore him and his emerald hypnotizing eyes altogether! It wasn't fair that Matteo knew all of his tricks! Another grumble left his lips as he reached for that cheese, struggling to undo the wrapper for a few moments before his hand moved towards the grater, that renewed sense of purpose filled him in those moments - a sudden desire to be a master grater.

He only half heard the musical laughter upon Arya's lips combined with Matteo's sudden insistence that they would merely pretend this cheese was cheese (as if it wasn't). His movements all but froze at that moment as he struggled to comprehend those emotions that afflicted him. That realization of the origin of those feelings quite near collided into him, bringing in its wake a plethora of sensations. That sense of hopelessness prevailed above all, that melancholiness that, in spite of everything, he still so easily fell under the control of another. That outlook he head on his very future turned so desperately grim within that singular moment, that determination to fight somehow wavered. The were-King hardly heard that soft sound of Arya's name on Matteo's lips, those mental walls were so quickly thrown up as he tried to regain some level of composure and cease that onslaught of memories that so threatened to take hold of him. He was equally oblivious, at that moment, to the way his own reaction had afflicted Arya, much less those very emotions he had unintentionally assaulted her with in return. Those whispered words went unheard before that very sadness from the girl's affinity pummeled into him, sending the already fallen King spiraling further into that darkness that could so completely devour him.

His actions were intensely deliberate as he focused on grating that cheese. It was hardly the determination she wished to instill in him that encouraged him onwards. On the contrary, it was the simple repetition of that one meaningless action that seemed to remind him that he was here, safe and sound within the Ark. That shredded cheese, in return, quickly began to pile up thanks to his persistence, even despite the short amount of time Matteo had left them alone. It was that singular sound of that nickname he had been given as a mere child that caused those emerald eyes to flicker upwards towards the fae Frenchman. How many times had he heard that word in the very deepest of his despair? Until that singular name had become a guiding light of sorts. He watched as that glass and it's liquor slid precariously down the bar towards him, his hand effortlessly catching it as he glanced down at the contents. Tequila. He should have known. A soft sigh left his lips as his attention fluttered towards that pile of shredded cheese. "There's your cheese," Tetradore muttered, only to bring that glass to his lips. That liquor burned as it moved down his throat and yet that sweet taste of Tequila was a welcomed distraction to the far darker thoughts that lingered on his mind - thoughts he knew Matteo had some knowledge of all the same. Still, it was the fae's effort to once again praise the young were-seal that caused his own gaze to linger upon her. He had almost forgotten they had a guest.

His cheek settled in the palm of his hand as Matteo declared dinner nearly complete, that blase facade settled upon the were-King's features in the same fashion he had so trained himself to - thousands of times before. That sudden announcement that Arya intended to leave so suddenly, caused the corner of his lips to twitch downwards ever so slightly. "That'd be lame." He retorted in a decidedly deadpan voice. "You'll never have Mac and Cheese like this again." The were-King continued, only for a soft puff of air to leave his nose. "It's better when he adds sausage and puts a breadcrumb topping though." He muttered those last few words under his breath, as if this version was inferior to what he had from the fae in the past. Oh well....it can't be helped.