Oh, that--definitely lasted shorter than what Zelos thought it would. He almost leans forward again when Malos lets him go as if chasing after him, but he manages to hold his ground instead, face carefully blank and instead busying himself with running a hand through his hair as if to brush it. Not wanting to unpack whatever the fuck that was, Zelos seals it away for never and loses the envelope in the mail.

Malos making such a big deal about the fire is funny, though, and despite the emptiness in his core left behind by the flames of his own emotions Zelos still chuckles at it a little. He directs a hand towards the dying embers and flips a wrist, raising his hand palm-up, bringing the campfire back to life to a satisfying popping height that quickly warms up the area. "Here you go, chief. Only the best from the best," he jokes. Then Zelos tilts his head, curious. "What's a s'more?"