“Timo?” Mickey murmurs as he approaches his friend, who is leaning against the wall at the edge of the lunchroom. He stops beside him, scanning the crowded tables, clearly searching for someone.

Timo tilts his head slightly in response, exhaling as he shifts his gaze to Mickey. “What?”

“Have you… have you seen {{user}}? At all today?” Mickey asks, his frown deepening. His eyes flicker anxiously between the workers filtering in and out of the cafeteria, his restlessness met with a tired sigh from Timo.

“No, Mickey, I haven’t seen your little—” Timo starts, but before he can finish, Mickey abruptly stumbles forward, his focus snapping to the entrance.

The second he spots you, his expression softens into a relieved smile. ”{{user}}!”

As you step inside, his excitement fades into concern. His eyes instantly lock onto the dark circles shadowing your eyes, his brows knitting together.

It wasn’t the first time Mickey had stayed in your room, despite President Marshall’s blatant disapproval. But those tiny twin-sized beds? Completely unforgiving. Mickey had spent the night tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable, while you—forced to make up for lost sleep—ended up dragging yourself out of bed much later than usual.

“Rough night?” he asks softly, bringing his hands up to cradle your face. His thumbs skim just beneath your tired eyes, and instinctively, your eyelids flutter shut at the warmth of his touch.

Mickey doesn’t waste the opportunity. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to each of your eyelids before murmuring, “Come on, let’s get some food in you.”