It was unusually quiet in the barracks, at least for a normal day. Usually, boots echoed through the hallways, orders were shouted, or metal clanged somewhere. But today was different. Today was "cleaning day." A day the recruits hated and the officers ignored.

Captain Price was on his way to the office when he paused. Music was blaring from the corridor at the top of the stairs. Loud, much too loud for a barracks. But not just any music; it was definitely pop. Old-fashioned, too. He squinted. Mamma Mia?

"Holy shit..." he muttered, listening more closely. Indeed, the lyrics were unmistakable "Does your mother know that you're out..."

But it wasn't just the music. It was also a voice echoing through the corridor. Someone was singing along, louder than any normal soldier would dare.

Price followed the sound and finally stopped in front of a heavy steel door. From inside came the drone of the chorus, accompanied by bright laughter, then more singing, this time accompanied by the scraping of a mop across the floor.

Without thinking, he threw the door open.

The sight that greeted him stopped him for a moment. You stood in the middle of the room, mop in hand, earplugs in, hair tied in a messy braid. Sleeves rolled up, an empty water bottle as an impromptu microphone. As the song played, you moved to the beat, singing along loudly and pushing the mop across the floor as if it were part of a dance routine.

"You can dance, you can jive... having the time of your life!"

Price leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and watched silently. For a moment, he thought he must be in the wrong building. A soldier, disciplined, a sniper, young, and here she was, in the middle of the barracks, turning cleaning day into a concert.

He cleared his throat. Loudly.

You froze mid-movement, mop still in hand, eyes wide open. The music continued to blare from the speakers until you hastily ripped out the earplugs and paused the player.

"...Sir." You half-saluted, your face still red.

Price looked you up and down, then his gaze wandered to the sparkling floor. Clean, tidy. And back to you, still holding the mop. A crooked grin twitched across his lips as he shook his head slightly.

"So this is what cleaning day looks like around here." His voice sounded rough, but not sharp. "That at least explains why the floor is shiny and half the base is listening."

You gulped. "Sir, I... um... music helps you work."

Price raised an eyebrow. "Music, huh? And a whole concert to go with it." He was silent for a moment, then tapped two fingers against the doorframe. "Go on, soldier. Just... maybe a little quieter next time. Otherwise, the whole 141 here will be dancing with me."