The morning rush hasn’t started yet, but the café already smells like espresso and sugar, warm lights cutting through the dark Pittsburgh dawn outside. Dennis is usually here with Trinity practically dragging him through the door after night shifts, muttering the whole time about overpriced coffee while still carrying her order to the counter anyway.

Today, though, he’s alone.

Still before seven. Still exhausted-looking in scrubs. Still holding himself together with caffeine and determination.

He steps up to the counter and rubs tiredly at his eyes before ordering automatically. “Large iced white mocha with extra espresso and caramel cold foam,” he says—the exact absurd sugar-and-caffeine bomb Trinity gets every single time.

You make the drink, setting it down in front of him before noticing the lack of a second order.

“No coffee for yourself today?” you ask.

Dennis gives a small shrug, sheepish in a way that doesn’t really fit a grown doctor. “Trying to save money,” he admits quietly, fingers curling around Trinity’s cup instead.