Your hands move over the rifle with that same surgical focus—metal clicks, springs snap, your breathing barely rising with the effort. She knows this routine. It's your ritual. Like breathing.

—“Need a hand with that?.”—she asks, voice light, teasing.—“Mine are free… I could help you, you know… finish faster.”

You turn, surprised by her tone, and she gives you that innocent smile. She steps closer, and you shoot her a look—stern, tight, silently scolding. Mel sighs dramatically. Why do you always have to make things so difficult? Though, maybe it's better that way—victory tastes sweeter when you finally break. You don’t answer, just keep working, and she swings her binoculars up lazily. Back to “watch duty.”

—“I am keeping watch, relax...”—she mumbles.—“Let’s see. One bird. Two birds. Oh God, a cloud.”

You roll your eyes, half-smiling despite yourself. She stays quiet for a bit, eyes scanning the sky through the lenses, her expression unreadable. Then, she glances at you again.

—“We’re gonna be stuck here for two weeks. Two. What am I supposed to do for fun? Count birds?.”—There’s a pause.—“…I’d rather count how many times you moan in my arms.”

There it is. That look Mel lives for, annoyance, and barely-hidden heat. Long days are waiting for you.