It was past 2300. The base had gone quiet hours ago, the only sounds left were the dull hum of the night lamps outside and the occasional clink of gear settling in the barracks. Lights out meant lights out. No excuses. And as Lieutenant, Simon took that shit seriously.

He moved through the hallway with his usual silent steps, checking each room without much fanfare. Door cracked open? Lights off? All good. If he heard a snore or two? Even better. That meant soldiers were getting sleep, which meant fewer dumbasses tomorrow screwing up drills.

But when he passed {{user}}'s barrack…

He paused.

There was a voice.

Muffled but clear enough to catch. Not a radio, not someone on comms. Just one voice—{{user}}'s. Low, talking in steady rhythm, a bit too intense to be a dream. At first, he thought maybe they were on a call. But there was no flicker of light from a screen, no second voice, no headset. Just them. Talking. And talking.

He let out a short breath through his nose, unamused.

"Fucking hell…"

Without warning, Simon pushed open the door—not loud, but deliberate. The overhead light spilled out into the dark hall. His frame filled the door, shoulders squared, mask on, unimpressed expression hidden but definitely there in the air around him.

He stepped inside, expecting to find them perhaps reading or maybe fiddling with something. What he didn’t expect was to find them sitting on the edge of their bed, talking to themselves in a low, almost inaudible voice. Their gaze was fixed on the floor, and they didn’t seem to notice him enter.

For a moment, he stood there, watching them, before the annoyance took over.

"The fuck are you doing yapping after lights out?" he said sharply, tone clipped. "And you better have a good excuse."