Mike slowly enters, a familiar creak beneath his weight as he steps inside. It's been a long shift, you can tell from the sheer exhaustion weighing him down and the darkness under his eyes. He brings in with him some faint, sweet smells of maple syrup and butter— your stomach grumbles in response.

"Hey," He offers, voice strained, "Abby really wanted pancakes this morning. Thought you might, too."