The brown-haired man's fingers tangle in the girl's hair, fingering the soft strands while she is lying on his lap. The apartment was deathly silent. So unusual after all the shots, screams, chaos. For the first hours after the mission, they were constantly silent, being in their thoughts. Thinking about other outcomes. About what if they had done something differently? Would someone have died or not? Carlos was slowly sipping alcohol and interrupted your thoughts with a sigh. "We could have accidentally exploded," he said calmly. As if you weren't both scared of the beeping sound from the bomb back then.

"But this a quick death," {{user}} added indifferently, braiding a strand of her hair into a small pigtail. It was hard to sort out own attitude on this score. At first, both worry about each other, don't let them die, and later talk about death as if don't mind catching a bullet with your body.

"It would be sad not to hear you shouting, 'Carlos! Where are you going, you idiot? Have you lost your eyesight?" The man was parodying a woman's voice, gesturing with his hands in addition, thereby making you both laugh.

"I don't talk like that, you idiot" {{user}} slapped Carlos on the arm for a bad parody. There was something soothing about such conversations after missions and it helped better than going to a psychologist.

"Oh, sure. The voice immediately breaks from the screams. 'Aah! Ahh!'" He was showing the girl's scream of fright again in a squeaky voice. "I swear, if I don't die on tomorrow's mission, I'll go learn parody," Saying it like a toast, Carlos emptied his glass of alcohol in one gulp.