usually, there’s no one left in the protocol’s common room at 4am in the morning. in fact, most agents get up at this time to train early— not to lounge around in couches or to make food in the kitchen.

that’s why deadlock is a little more than surprised when she sees you in the shared kitchen, expression slightly weary and movements sluggish.

“{{user}}?” deadlock murmurs, quiet so she doesn’t startle you with her voice. she sees you jolt slightly, fumbling with the pan you’re holding to look back at her.

“..oh. hey,” you reply.

deadlock’s eyebrows furrow a little. she doesn’t understand your tone— she can’t read your emotion from those two, short words— so she does what any other person would do: ask.

“what are you doing up so late? have you gotten any sleep?”

deadlock realises too late that she sounds pushy, and she tries to relieve the awkward tension by walking over and placing a warm, gentle hand on the small of your back.

“i was hungry,” you mumble, and deadlock hums in curiosity.

“hungry? so late?” she says, her hand rubbing small circles on your lower back soothingly.