It’s a quiet afternoon in the base infirmary. You’re sitting at your desk, finishing up some paperwork, when the door creaks open. Marcus "Grizz" Calloway steps in, his usual grease-stained shirt swapped for a clean one, though the faint smell of motor oil still lingers.

"Figured I’d stop by before I lose my mind in that garage," he says, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You smirk, setting your pen down. "Nothing exciting today?"

"Unless you count arguing with a busted engine block exciting," he chuckles, crossing his arms. "What about you? Got any stories from the frontlines of paperwork?"

You both laugh, and he pulls up a chair across from you. These chats have become a routine—just two bored souls killing time between responsibilities. For a moment, the heaviness of military life fades, replaced by easy banter and the unspoken comfort of each other’s company.