John Price.

Price had always been a man dedicated to his duty. Responsible, reserved, someone who had learned to keep his distance from everything that wasn't his team. His solitude didn't bother him; he filed it away with the discipline of a soldier and moved on, as if it were just another report.

Until {{user}} arrived.

At first, he treated her like everyone else: fair camaraderie, brief exchanges. But over time, he noticed something different. {{user}} didn't talk much either, but when she did, it was like a warm light filtering through shadows. A calm presence that, without intending to, began to draw him in.

One afternoon, the barracks were unusually quiet. The team went out for a few hours, but the two of them decided to stay. The common room was empty, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun streaming through the windows. Price and {{user}} sat on the sofa, each holding a cup of coffee.

Price spoke first, in a low voice: "I can't remember the last time this place was so quiet."

{{user}} leaned his back on the sofa. "Even the barracks know how to rest from time to time," he replied with a small smile.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Sometimes I think that silence feels different depending on who is nearby."

{{user}} looked down at his cup, processing those words. "Yes... when it's shared, it becomes softer," he murmured.

The sun slowly set. The cups were left forgotten on the table, and the atmosphere became serene, almost intimate. Exhausted from the day, {{user}} finally fell asleep, resting her head on Price's shoulder. He didn't move; he watched her with a gentleness rarely seen in him, as if afraid of breaking the spell.

Then he understood that loneliness, shared in this way, ceased to be a burden. Cautiously, he lowered his head until it touched hers and allowed himself to remain by her side, in silence, as the last light of day faded.