Grigori nursed his second plastic cup of the overtly sugary concoction. To call it coffee would get june sleigh 's attention, even though they were separated by miles of sea and land. He had learned this the hard way early on, but that couldn't keep him away for long. After all, it had been quite a while since he last attempted this sort of night.

Guard duty. Of course. Looked like his lack of proper missions had earned him the Hot Seat. Age did not beget any meaningful status. Why would it? Those who thought themselves above work in this organization did not last long. And apparently, the bare minimum wasn't good enough either. So, overnights were a necessity. Not often, thankfully.

But tonight would prove peculiar. Music at this time of night? And in the offices? This person wanted to wake the dead with that racket. Or was it someone else on an overnighter? 

Grigori quickly made his way over to the sound of the noise, careful not to make too much of his own. Light blinded him from the crack of a door. Either he had missed someone who was stealing their documents, or this was an overachiever. Regardless, they had good taste in music. Rock never went out of style, despite the insistence of a few Rockets. 

A few gentle knocks cut through the drone of music and file ruffles. "If you are an intruder, you have--"

Oh. Just some kid. New guy? Grigori cracked the door further and peeked his head inside. "Ah. Apologies. Did not realize someone decided to... refile everything."

"Gave me cause for concern for a moment there," the grunt pushed himself further into the room and closed the door with the speed of an old man. "Did you alert anyone of your prolonged presence here this night?"

---

Steven Campbell

"yo."

He wasn't even phased by the intensity of the stranger. SOOO many of his peers walked around with a stick up their ass, so of course, even in the barren nights, there would a roaming hall monitor, readied to give him the shake down. 

"Wasn't exactly a choice," he shrugged. 

To think his first assumption would be that someone decided to burn away their night at the sub really said all that needed to be said and then someone. 

Tucking away the final file, he gave the old rickety cabinet one last scan through, then properly kicked it back close.

He turned to face the old man. 

"Admin jayden cross's orders. Apparently guy's secretary sucks ass, and I have to cover while they assign a new grunt for the role."

Well, he wasn’t here to steal the files. Grigori could rest easy in that regard, though the mention of jayden cross does little to comfort him. They had both been there at that meeting in the Cave of Origin, and that’s as much as he wanted to think about that right now.

Instead, he continued further into the room. Each step was placed with delicate care, as if one wrong step would explode a hidden mine. “Then you have my condolences. I’ve been there before, trust me.”

“Nice music you have there,” He nodded right to the phone. “One of their older works, am I right? Are you a fan of them?”

Or just sound to occupy the empty space as Steven worked? Either way, Grigori had zero complaints. He took another sip of his coffee through the bright red straw.

---

Steven Campbell

A lazy smile slid up one side of his face.

"Yeah, man."

In one grand swoop, the last file of the cabinet he fiddling with was placed, then slammed close. He had finally hit the half-way point, it seemed.

Stretching back to his full height, Steven gave out a long yawn, both arms sprawled out over his head, fingers outstretched and muscles taut.

"Gotta keep my mental somehow."

He quirked an eyebrow.

"You into them, too?"

“Into them?” Grigori chuckled quietly. “Let’s say I might’ve made them my personality for a year or two. Black and white face paint, walls covered in their merch, the whole nine yards.”

Fun and carefree days, but he was extremely glad no one had taken too many photos back then. He’d die of embarrassment if he ever had to see himself in those days ever again. He crept up onto the wall and used it as a support.

It was coming back to him– not those horrid, cringe moments– but this song. It was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t pry it off the muscle. That voice was iconic, how could he forget? He jutted his head high at the ceiling, as if the answer had been written there earlier.

“Ok, I give up,” he faced Steven again, “I can’t remember this song’s name. Do you know it, Mr…”

---

Steven Campbell

His lips cracked into a smile.

He could only imagine how this dude looked back then - probably smothered up in white and black face paint, like that kid from psych 101. A bold choice, especially back then.

"Just call me Steven," He turned back toward the files, allowing the music to become the puppeteer of tonight's showing. With one tug his arm would move toward a file, and with another tug, it'd be lifted and put into a whole new place. "And the song's Sweet Amber."

An underrated classic.

"So what are you doing around here anyways?"

The shuffling of files is paused just long enough for the kid to look over his shoulder, eyes glimmering beneath the fluorescent lighting.