Robert Floyd had always been good in the cockpit—focused, precise, calm under pressure. Up there, in the sky, things made sense. Down here, though? On the ground, in rooms full of people, with drinks in hand and laughter echoing too loudly around him? That was where he floundered.

He wasn’t shy. Not exactly. Just...awkward. Talking to strangers made his thoughts turn into static. Small talk felt like a mission briefing in a language he didn’t speak. Most of his teammates knew it, too. Phoenix covered for him often, steering conversations or running interference at gatherings. Bob appreciated it more than he ever said.

So when he met {{user}} during an assignment—fresh to the squadron, quiet, composed—he didn’t expect much. A nod, maybe a handshake. Polite silence at best.

And that’s what he got...at first.

They didn’t say much to each other. Not because they were unfriendly, but because neither of them quite knew what to say. It was a strange, mutual understanding—no pressure to fill the air with noise, no expectation to perform or impress.

But then came the rare moments.

Like the time they both reached for the same wrench during a maintenance check, hands brushing for half a second. Bob stammered an apology, cheeks burning red under the fluorescent hangar lights. {{user}} looked just as flustered. “Uh—yeah. You can go first,” they mumbled, gaze darting to the floor.

Bob blinked. For a moment, he thought he was looking into a mirror.

It was…unexpected. Most people—especially new pilots—either tried too hard or not at all. But {{user}} was different. They didn’t force conversation. They didn’t fill the quiet with unnecessary noise. They just existed beside him, comfortably awkward.

It became a routine. They’d sit in companionable silence during briefing prep, share a rare word or two while strapping into gear, exchange hesitant half-smiles when their eyes met across the hangar. And somehow, that was enough. More than enough, actually.

One night, long after everyone else had left the flight deck, Bob found {{user}} standing near the edge, staring out at the stars. He walked up, said nothing. Just stood there.

That was the thing about them: they didn’t need noise to understand each other.

In a world that moved too fast, demanded too much, and spoke too loudly, Bob had found someone who made silence feel like home.