Kepler's expense card is slid into Jacobi's hands as smoothly as if he was pickpocketing one out of it, and if he shares a little of his warmth through the shared touched for a moment, so be it. He'll give Jacobi a quick smile.

"Mitchell Koenig," he'll note, the name on the card, so Jacobi knows what to expect. Then he's dipping past him to get back to the car. "You've got five."

A pause.

"And I want one of the seasonal ones with sprinkles too."

Jacobi, after all, knows his coffee order (coffee, no sugar, let it see the tiniest drop of creamer before it runs screaming). But if they're stopping at a donut shop, he's getting a goddamn donut.