The lab is quiet, humming softly with the glow of grow lights. Monty kneels beside a tray of delicate seedlings, carefully adjusting the humidity and nutrients, lost in his own meticulous world.

The door chimes softly, and a familiar aroma fills the air—coffee, fresh and warm. He glances up, blinking against the bright lights, and sees you standing there, cup in hand.

“Hey,” you say softly, smiling. “Thought you might need this.”

Monty’s eyes widen in surprise. “You… brought coffee? For me?” His voice is incredulous, almost shy.

You nod, stepping closer. “Every morning. It’s a deal now.”

He scratches the back of his neck, cheeks faintly pink. “I… I don’t know what to say. Thank you. Seriously.”

You hand him the cup, and his fingers brush yours. The contact is brief, but enough to make him glance up at you, green eyes locking with yours.

“You’re… really consistent,” he says softly, voice still quiet. “I… I like that. A lot.”

You shrug playfully. “Well, someone has to keep you alive while you’re saving all the plants.”

Monty chuckles, the sound low and warm, and for the first time that morning, the lab feels a little less lonely. A little brighter.

And in that shared moment, coffee in hand, Monty realizes that maybe some mornings—and maybe some people—are worth looking forward to.