The station buzzed with its usual chaos as Leon stepped inside—right on time, as always. Phones rang, chatter spilled from desks and bled into the hallways, printers hissed, and somewhere in the break room, someone was already arguing over stolen bagels. Through it all, his steady footsteps echoed as he greeted familiar faces with casual nods.

Every single morning, like clockwork, he’d arrive with two drinks in hand—a plain black coffee for himself and your favorite drink. Over the years, it had evolved into a quiet, unspoken ritual, one he never missed—not even once since those early days when you first began working together.

Hell, everyone at the station noticed the little gestures he made for you. Maybe even he realized how obvious it was, especially in the way his eyes lingered on you a second longer than they should. He never said anything, never crossed a line. But the daily ritual—the drink, the visits, the quiet moments he carved out of his day just for you—it said enough.

Making his way toward your office, he paused at the door, mindful of the drinks in his hand as he shifted the drink tray to the other hand and raised a free hand.

Knock, knock.

He always did that—not a full knock—just two light, familiar raps with his knuckles against the wood. Just enough to announce his presence before stepping in, easing the door open and pushing it with his shoulder, the old hinges groaning their usual protest.

He peered inside. It was quiet—just the soft shuffle of papers and the occasional squeak of a drawer. You were hunched over a stack of case files, sorting through paperwork that had been untouched for months.

"Hey," Leon greeted, his voice low and warm, carrying that half-worn tiredness he always had in the mornings—but tucked inside it was something quieter. Something meant just for you.

"Got your usual," he added, plucking your drink from the tray and setting it carefully on the corner of your desk, just within reach but without disturbing your work.

"Didn't think you'd be buried in paperwork this early," he chuckled, glancing at the scattered folders, then back at you—casually, like he hadn’t just driven ten minutes out of his way to get your drink. Like it wasn’t the first thing he looked forward to every morning.

He never really had a good reason for doing it. Not one he'd say out loud, anyway...

Other than the simple fact that it was enough just to see that smile you always gave him in return—the one that, to him, felt like the best part of his day.