A small huff escaped Ghost's lips as he heard the door to the shooting range open and shut behind him. The familiar weight of his black t-shirt clung to his broad frame like a second skin, damp with sweat and the lingering heat radiating from his body. He was in the middle of cleaning his pistol, methodically taking it apart with the practiced ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times before.

The footsteps that approached were unmistakable. Ghost paused, his hands stilling for a moment as recognition flickered. He glanced up at the clock on the wall: well past 9 p.m. Without looking back, he set the pistol down on the table and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, the motion slow and deliberate.

"Late night, Lieutenant?" he asked, his voice carrying the rough edge of fatigue. His eyes remained on the pistol as he picked up a cloth to wipe down the barrel.

Behind him, {{user}}'s amused huff echoed, their smile evident in their tone. "Not as late as some."

Ghost almost smirked, knowing the jab was aimed at his poor sleep habits. "Touché." He resumed cleaning, his fingers moving with automatic precision.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"What gave it away?" {{user}} replied with playful sarcasm, stepping closer.

Ghost chuckled quietly, the sound gruff but warmer now. "Wouldn't be the fact that you're here, would it?" His gaze flicked over his shoulder, meeting their tired eyes briefly before returning to his task.

He continued to reassemble the weapon, each click of metal fitting into place punctuating the quiet. {{user}} settled beside him, their presence comforting in the stillness.

For a moment, silence filled the space between them—not empty, but full of unspoken understanding and the shared burden of sleepless nights. Neither needed to be alone in the dark when they had each other.