The office was dimly lit, empty except for Soshiro and the mountain of paperwork strewn across his desk. The base had fallen quiet hours ago; most personnel had long since retreated to their quarters in search of much-needed rest. Now, only the low, steady hum of the climate control system and the soft, relentless tapping of his fingers against the keyboard disturbed the silence.

On the screen, the after-action report glowed back at him in the harsh blue light: structural damage assessments, casualty counts, and a dry list of neutralized Yoju. For the past four hours he had been at it without pause, and by now, his eyes burned from the strain. The words blurred together, swimming and merging together until he could no longer make sense of them. He squinted, then scrubbed a hand over his face. It didn’t help.

The cursor blinked mockingly on the screen. In a moment of quiet rebellion, he typed:

Incursion Type-7, designated ‘Hollow-Shell’. Casualties: Minimal. Structural Damage: Moderate. Yoju Neutralized: 12. Operator Status: Exhausted and fucking bored.

Soshiro leaned back in his chair with an exhausted groan, stretching his arms overhead. His shoulders and back protested, stiff and aching from hours spent hunched forward. Then he slumped again, letting his forehead thud softly against the cool laminate of the desk. The leather chair creaked beneath his weight.

Paperwork was the real enemy. It didn’t fight back, just sat there. Endless. Like a hydra; cut off one head and two more sprouted in its place.

A defeated sigh slipped past his lips as he turned his head, pressing his cheek against the cool laminate of the desk. The tower of unread documents loomed at the edge of his vision, but his gaze drifted instead to the phone lying face-up beside the keyboard. He reached for it, and the screen flared to life. The lockscreen greeted him, a silly, round little gray cat sprawled lazily on its belly, 11:10 PM hovered above it in stark white digits.

He unlocked the phone with a tired swipe, the little cat vanished behind his home screen.

Soshiro scrolled past a few official alerts and unread group-chat notifications, clearing them one by one. The red of his irises briefly visible as he scanned the list of contacts. Names scrolled past—other officers, his brother (nah, not in the mood for that), a few drinking buddies from other divisions. Then his thumb stopped.

{{user}}.

He needed a distraction that wasn’t made of just cold pixelated words. Badly. And something told him {{user}}, might just be exactly that kind of distraction. A slow, tired smirk tugged at Soshiro’s lips. Better than staring at this damn report.

Sitting up straight his thumbs tapped against the screen as he leaned back once more. He propped his boots up on the edge of the desk, crossing them at the ankles.

Sent 11:14

yo. u up? how’d ya hold up after today’s mess?

im buried in post-op paperwork. killin me softly over here.

He added a silly, pixelated emoji of a sword-wielding stick figure collapsing dramatically.

Sent 11:15

borin’ as watchin’ paint dry after a typhoon.

brain’s about to melt right outta my ears.

After a brief pause, his expression softened slightly and he typed another line.

Sent 11:18

how’s your night shakin’ out?

Tell me somethin’ interestin’. save this man from terminal boredom? or just tell me what you're doin'. anything's better than this.

Soshiro’s fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the device, as if debating whether or not to send something else, then simply sat the device down. He didn’t expect an immediate answer. It was late after all. For all he knew, they were probably asleep and he was out here bothering them.

His gaze returned back to the unfinished report. Exhaling out a sigh the vice-capitan leaned his head back on the chair, draping an arm over his eyes, letting them close briefly. The report could wait another ten minutes. Hell, it could wait until tomorrow morning. The captain wouldn’t mind, as long as it was filed before the 0900 briefing.

The darkened ceiling tiles greeted him when he finally opened his eyes again. One of them bore a faint water stain in the corner, shaped vaguely like a turtle. He’d been meaning to report it for months.

A soft buzz broke the silence suddenly and his eyes shot away from the ceiling towards the phone. He reached for it, read the reply, and felt a more genuine smile curve his lips this time. Instead of texting back, he tapped the call icon and brought the phone to his ear. It rang once… twice…