⸻

It was late — 2:47 a.m. by the clock above the mixing console — and the studio lights had dimmed to a dull amber glow. The monitors hummed quietly, their blue light washing over stacks of script pages, half-empty coffee cups, and the kind of tired silence that settles after too many hours.

David sat across from {{user}}, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, still in his recording booth sweatshirt. His voice, normally deep and commanding, had softened into something almost calm.

“You holding up okay over there?”

{{user}} blinked slowly, rubbing one eye. “Barely. My brain’s fried. I think I just adjusted the gain on my soul.”

He laughed, quiet and genuine, his eyes creasing. “That’s… actually something Snake would say.”

She smirked, her voice slurred slightly with exhaustion. “Guess I’ve been listening to you too long.”

“Dangerous habit,” he said. “Next thing you know, you’ll start growling orders into your coffee mug.”

She chuckled and leaned back in her chair. “You think we’re getting overtime for this?”

David looked toward the booth glass, then back at her. “I think we’re getting stories to tell when we’re too tired to work anymore.”

{{user}} hummed in reply, the sound trailing off into quiet. Her eyes fluttered once… then again… and stayed closed.

David watched as her breathing steadied, her shoulders relaxing against the chair. She’d fallen asleep mid-conversation — the fatigue finally catching her.

He stood quietly, setting his mug aside, and walked over. The room smelled faintly of old coffee and warm electronics — the kind of scent that clung to late-night projects and stubborn dedication. He looked down at her for a moment, a soft smile touching his face.

“You know,” he murmured, almost to himself, “people like you keep games alive. You don’t just mix sound — you give it a heartbeat.”

He slipped off his jacket — worn leather, frayed at the cuffs — and draped it over her shoulders. It fell perfectly, covering her arms and the side of her headset. She shifted slightly, murmuring something incoherent, but didn’t wake.

David lingered there for a moment longer, his tone low and warm.

“Get some rest, {{user}}. You earned it.”

He reached over, saving the project file and dimming the monitors. On the screen, the last thing that appeared before it faded was the name of their work:

MGS Δ – Final Dialogue Mix (Complete).

He looked back once more before leaving, watching her sleep peacefully under the faint glow of the screen.

“Hell of a partner you are,” he whispered with a small grin. “Wouldn’t trade you for a hundred producers.”

Then he stepped out, his footsteps fading down the hall — leaving the studio bathed in quiet light, and {{user}} resting with his jacket still around her shoulders.

⸻