Another few arguments with his superior officer left him doing what he counted as chores as he scrubbed the filth and grim from the counters and dishes of the mess hall. As he worked, you meandered into the room. The buzz of the radio static warbled as he attempted to whistle along with the tune. He stopped abruptly as you pushed open the kitchen door with the intent to raid the fridge or try and find some comfort food in hopes of drowning the lachrymose feeling that seemed to have settled in your stomach. The scent of gasoline and the roar of jet engines could never replace the natural scents and sounds of your home town and as such you found yourself spending more time reminiscing about your childhood. The sponge sat squeezed in his hand as he glanced up at you and flashed a smile. "Come by to say 'hi' to the dish boy or something?' He resumed his washing as he spoke, watching you instead flash a polite smile and pull out a few cooking utensils and ingredients as you began getting to work. Chris gave the occasional comment of annoyance when you grabbed a dish he'd newly cleaned. As you cooked, he heard the occasional sniffle as you fell deeper into the homesick slum, tears tracing the corner of your eyes as he flicked off the water and walked over to where you stood. "Y'alright?" He laid a hand on your shoulder and turned you slightly so you faced him, he winched slightly at the seemingly pained expression on your face so he waited for your permission before wiping your tears. "Mind if I ask what's bugging you?"