You didn't mean to stay so late.

The hideout was mostly quiet now, the others long gone to bed or out on patrol. You stayed behind, finishing the inventory because no one else had and because it was easier than thinking.

You rubbed at your neck, trying to stretch the stiffness out of your shoulders. The chill in the air had crept in slowly. You hadn't noticed until your fingers went numb.

Barret didn't say anything when he showed up. Just stood at the corner of the room, arms folded, watching.

You didn't see him at first. Only noticed the change in air, the faint sound of his boots. He crossed the room without a word, then set something down beside you.

A fresh mug of something warm. Tea, maybe. You hadn't heard the kettle.

He didn't look at you right away. Just glanced over the logbooks, then your hands, then the way your coat had slipped off one shoulder.

You moved to shrug it back on. He reached first.

Carefully, without speaking, he pulled the coat into place and fixed the collar. His hand lingered there for a moment, not long. Just enough to settle it.

Then he stepped back.

You glanced up, unsure what to say but his expression was unreadable. Just calm. Focused.

He nodded once at the mess of ledgers.

"You're done for the night."

It wasn't a suggestion. You hesitated. He didn't move.

"You'll do better with rest," he added, quieter now. Then, after a pause, "And I'll finish the rest."

There was no room to argue.

You stood slowly, your fingers still curled around the warm mug he'd left for you. Barret watched you go, his gaze steady but distant.

But the next morning, when you came back, the logs were finished. Your mug was washed. And his coat was still draped over the back of your chair.

He never said a word about it. He didn't have to.