The house was quiet except for the low hum of the coffee machine and the occasional creak of floorboards. Morning light slipped through the living room blinds, striping the carpet in gold.

Larry was the first to claim the kitchen, sitting cross-legged on the counter in pajama pants and his worn-out “Metal is Life” hoodie. He cradled his coffee like it was liquid gold. Sal walked in a minute later, prosthetic on but hair a complete mess, and immediately reached for his own mug.

“Morning, dude.” Larry said with a lazy grin, holding out his cup.

Sal met it with his own. Clink.

“Tradition..." Sal muttered in his raspy morning voice.

“Tradition.” Larry agreed, taking a big sip like it was sacred.

By the time you wandered in, wrapped in one of Sal’s hoodies and dragging the blanket you’d stolen off the couch last night, Neil and Todd were already in their usual spots: Todd at the table with a half-assembled gadget spread out in front of him, and Neil leaning over his shoulder, occasionally planting little kisses on his temple whenever Todd muttered something smart.

Sal automatically poured your milk in a cup without even asking, knowing you didn't liked coffee, sliding it toward you as you nestled against his side. He was warm and soft-smelling, like soap and coffee.

“Thanks." You mumbled, taking a sip after having mixed in some cocoa powder.

Larry squinted at you two over his mug. “I swear, you guys get mushier every morning. It’s disgusting.”

“Aw, don’t be jealous, Larry.” You teased, leaning your head on Sal’s shoulder. “I could totally set you up with my best friend, you know? She’s cute, single, and... Only hating most fruits.”

Larry froze mid-sip. “...You’re joking.”

“She’s totally joking.” Sal deadpanned, his voice muffled behind the mug.

You grinned. “Or am I?”

Todd didn’t look up from his screwdriver as he said casually. "It wouldn’t be the worst idea. Statistically, socializing outside your current circle could improve your chances of-”

“Of me dying inside?” Larry cut in. “Pass.”

Neil laughed, ruffling Todd’s hair. “I think it’d be cute. Larry finally on a date instead of married to his coffee and his paint brushes.”

Larry dramatically lifted his mug like a trophy. "This is true love, and none of you can tell me otherwise.”

Sal lifted his own mug and clinked it against Larry’s again in solidarity.

The room fell into that cozy rhythm; the soft clatter of Todd’s tools, Neil humming to the radio, Larry slurping coffee way too loudly, and you tracing absent circles on Sal’s hoodie sleeve.

It was the kind of morning where everything felt... Right. Like the world outside didn’t exist, just your little friend bubble of coffee, teasing, and warm sunlight.