The door creaked open softly.
Lu stepped back into the room, the camp quiet and half-lit by the flicker of the hallway lamps. She'd been gone a couple of hours, letting her thoughts cool in the night air.
Inside, 24 had just finished washing off the dust and grime from the day. His hair was damp, dark strands clinging against his forehead. He had a cloth draped loosely around his shoulders and another tied at his waist — casual, but not careless. It was the first time Lu had ever seen him look… human.
He turned at the sound of the door. "You're back," he said simply.
Lu froze for half a breath, surprised — not by what she saw, but by the normalcy of it. The quiet of two people sharing a space that wasn't under fire or threat. Then, realizing her face was warming, she cleared her throat and said quickly, "I—uh… I'll wait outside till you're done."
24 blinked once, not quite understanding the fluster, but nodded. "Fine."
She stepped out, closing the door behind her, leaning against the wall for a moment as she exhaled. Get it together, Lu.
After a minute or two, the door opened again. 24 was dressed in his usual plain fatigues, the towel now hanging around his neck. His expression was calm — unreadable as always — but softer somehow, the edge dulled by exhaustion.
"You can come in now," he said.
She slipped back inside. The room was dim except for a single lantern between their two beds. The faint hum of the generator outside filled the silence.
24 sat on his cot, drying his hair with the towel. "You were gone a while."
"Needed some air," Lu said, sitting on her own bed across from him. "Too much noise in my head."
He nodded slowly, setting the towel aside. "I get that."
For a while, they just sat there — the quiet not awkward, just… peaceful. A rare thing.
Lu broke it first. "What was it like… before all this?"
24 leaned back, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. "Before the war?"
"Yeah. Before the world turned to ash."
He was silent for a long time, like the question had reached into a part of him that didn't wake up often. "It was quieter," he said finally. "People still hated each other, but it was different. They didn't do it with guns in their hands."
Lu smiled faintly at that. "You sound almost nostalgic."
"Maybe." He glanced at her. "You?"
She shrugged, looking away. "I was a kid. Most of it's a blur. Just… colors, smells, noise. My father used to fix radios. I'd sit on the floor and listen to the static like it was music."
"That's not nothing," 24 said.
She nodded. "It's the only thing that felt normal."
He studied her for a second — not prying, just curious. "You never talk much about where you came from."
"There's not much to tell," she said quickly, the tone closing that door. Then, with a small smirk, "Besides, you're the mysterious one here. The man who never sleeps."
24 huffed out something almost like a laugh. "Sleep's overrated."
"Maybe for you." She stretched out on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. "For me, it's the only time I get peace."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You'll need it. Tomorrow, we keep training."
She groaned lightly, smiling beneath her mask. "Of course we do."
The silence that followed wasn't empty — it was full of small things: shared fatigue, faint understanding, and a strange comfort neither of them could name.
The lantern flickered once, twice, and dimmed to a low orange glow.
Lu turned her head toward him. "Good night, 24."
He didn't look up, just said quietly, "Good night, Lu."
For the first time in a long while, the world outside didn't feel like it was falling apart — not tonight.