"Oh, good, you're here," Kent started, earning Lois' best early-morning, pre-coffee glare. Whatever he'd been planning to ask died on his lips with an uncomfortable stutter.
Lois continued on past his desk to her own, just one cubicle past his and kitty-corner. She put down her jacket and briefcase, and made a beeline for the coffee cart, Kent trailing in her wake.
"For future reference, Kent," Lois said, a bit harshly—he stood just behind her, hanging onto her every word in that puppy dog way of his. "Don't even think of trying to talk to me before I've had coffee." She sealed the sentence by savoring a sip of the Planet's bitter black brew.
"Oh, gee; sorry, Miss Lane. I'll try to remember that for next time," he stammered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose nervously and fidgeting while she gulped down the rest of her coffee, refilled her mug, then finally made her way back to her desk and turned on her computer.
It had just finished booting up with Kent cleared his throat nervously behind her. She smirked, smothered the smirk, fixed a patiently annoyed mask on her face, and turned to look at him.
The next day when Lois entered the bullpen, there was a steaming cup of coffee on her desk. Kent had his back to her, typing something out on his computer—he got the old, slightly beat-up keyboard after he'd ruined two new ones by spilling his coffee on them—but she knew he'd been the one to put the mug on her desk. How long it had been there or how it was still steaming remained a mystery, just like how Kent always beat her into the bullpen, every single morning, left her wondering for months to come.