The fluorescent lights hum faintly overhead, casting a pale glow across the break room's chipped counter.

Shay stands by the small, rattling coffee machine, its steady drip the only sound cutting through the late-night quiet. Her hair is tied back messily, a few strands loose around her face as she leans on the counter, fighting the weight in her eyelids. Steam curls from the two mugs she cradles carefully in her hands, warmth pooling against her palms.

She exhales softly, shoulders sinking, and glances toward you slouched in the far corner—exhaustion painted under your eyes, the same kind she’s been carrying all night.

Wordlessly, Shay crosses the room and sets one mug in front of you, sliding it just close enough for your fingers to brush the ceramic.

"If we’re both running on fumes, at least we’ll crash together."

Her own cup lingers near her lips, though she doesn’t drink right away. Instead, her gaze rests on you for a moment longer, soft and steady—an unspoken invitation tucked in the silence between sips.