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Watching Thor make his special tea is a delight.
Each night, Bruce’s kitchen becomes a makeshift potion brewery under Thor’s hand. Bruce knows the basic steps by heart, now. The leaves, obtained from the World Tree, must be carefully cut and steamed and placed into an infuser. An incantation - something Bruce hadn’t even known Thor was capable of - is required as the infuser is set in the pot. (“Thought spells were more Loki’s forte,” he’d asked the very first time Thor underwent the process. “Yes, but we were both schooled in basic spellwork in our youth. It’s unusual to find an Asgardian who wasn’t.”) The water must be boiled and poured in increments into the pot, cup by cup in a specific sequence that Bruce, for all his observational ability, has not been able to peg down quite yet.
Not long after, the tea is piping and letting off an otherworldly aroma as Thor brings it to Bruce in the den.
Bruce has gotten spoiled, he knows this well. How many people have, in the most literal sense, godly boyfriends to make them magic drinks nightly? But Thor insists. And it soothes Bruce so, sweeter than anything he’s ever tasted, flooding his entire being with warmth as it goes down.