Ceviche only makes him go paler at the suggestion of it, but Lito tries to stomach that worry and push past it, because he does not need to think too long and hard about all the things he no longer has. "Yes," he says, too quickly. "Yes, of course. The wine," he says as he grasps hold of a bottle to make his excuses. "I can't drink like I used to. Only the wine," he says, but he closes his eyes a touch longer than he means to, watching this Porthos work around the kitchen, his dark head of hair the only thing visible at times and it takes all his strength not to let out a heartbroken sound for how reminiscent of home it is.