Title: Tea
Fandom: Lost (Milliways version)
Rating: SFW
Summary: I’m a musician. I will drink tea.
Notes: Written for ‘s senses drabble challenge.

The name ‘black tea’ doesn’t tell you anything. ‘Black’ has no taste of its own and black tea doesn’t taste like anything else that’s black, like licorice and . . . well, whatever else is black.

Tea just tastes like tea.

But it’s not the taste of tea anyway that inspires such devotion. It’s the ritual, you see, the meaning. Pouring in the milk, putting the leaves in the strainer, pouring the water over the leaves, letting it steep and then stirring in a bit of sugar . . . each step like another line in a prayer. Bless me, Father, for I am thirsty.

I missed tea on the island. There was very little food but there was water—fresh spring water, stuff you’ll pay good money for in civilization—but even water gets tiresome after a while. And I’d lie near the fire and listen to the waves and dream of heating my water to boiling, sprinkling on some dried leaves and a squeeze of lemon, and drinking it slowly from a thick mug or a delicate porcelain cup. Something pungeunt, something earthy, maybe—mint tea for comfort, rose tea for relaxation, green tea to clear my head or black tea because black tea is the king of all teas.

They tease me at the bar, roll their eyes and tell me I’ve got to try coffee, but it’s hard to explain that you can’t just exchange one hot drink for another. Coffee barges into your mouth and lingers on the tastebuds long after the cup is cold. Tea slides over your tongue, complex and delicate as music.

I’m a musician. I will drink tea.


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