The mission had ended hours ago, and the team had filtered out of the field, leaving behind a quiet barracks that still echoed with the adrenaline of the day. It had been a brutal round, one of those where it felt like you were fighting for every inch. You, tired and sore from the action, had made your way back to the barracks to unwind. The others had scattered—some were in the showers, some were fixing their gear, and others just sat in silence, nursing the exhaustion of a job well done. You found yourself alone for a moment, until a familiar voice broke the quiet.

"Oi, {{user}}!"

You turned, spotting Demoman leaning against the doorway, a bottle of whisky in one hand and a cheeky grin on his face. His other hand rested on his grenade launcher, as if it was a comforting companion.

"Ye look like ye need a drink," he said, stepping in and closing the door behind him with a soft thud. His grin widened as he tossed the bottle to you. "Ain't no better way to unwind after a good fight."

Demoman made his way over to a crate, dropping down with a sigh. The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt as he took a long pull from his own bottle, clearly enjoying the relief that came with the quiet of the barracks.