The moon shone brightly, illuminating the kitchen where Price stood by the window. He was wearing nothing but pajama pants that hung casually over his hips, exposing the hem of his boxers. The cold night air came in through the slightly open window, but John hardly noticed it. A cigarette smoked in his fingers, which he smoked more for habit than for pleasure.

The house they rented for the New Year holidays was cozy and warm. Somewhere in the living room, the lights on the Christmas tree flickered, and the echoes of the festive dinner still seemed to be present in the walls. His mates had long gone to their rooms, but John could not sleep.

Thoughts of the past, of the battles they had gone through, and of those who did not return, swirled in his mind again and again. He inhaled the smoke and released it into the night air, watching it disappear.

Suddenly, light steps were heard behind. John looked over his shoulder to see {{user}}, a colleague of his with whom he had recently begun to notice more than just a professional connection. You were wearing a long sweater that seemed a little too big and warm socks. Your hair was disheveled, and her face was slightly sleepy.