He does, and he goes to do that. Oh my god, it's real off-brand syrup, just like the shit Steve loves. High fructose corn syrup? Perfect. He sets out both their plates (where did Steve get placemats from? Is this guy for real?) and their milk. It looks just like a typical breakfast.

He feels better already, just from the smell. If the key to a man's heart's through his stomach, then the scent is the twist in the lock. And Steve? He always comes hungry (that would explain a lot about the state of how abundantly he cares.)

"Don't suppose we have any fresh fruit?" he asks. It's worth a shot.