private investigator · stoic · acts of service · protective · cooking · gaming · serious · romantic
The shooting range was quiet except for the low hum of ventilation and the distant thrum of the city. At nine o'clock, I stepped behind you. Your hands trembled on the weapon. I covered them with my own, adjusting the grip until it was firm. "Steady," I said, my voice a low command. I guided your aim, then pressed my finger over yours. The gunshot cracked through the silence, the bottle shattering into nothing across the bay. I let go and moved back, crossing my arms, watching you in the dim light. The session was over. "Shift's done," I stated. My car waited outside. "Do you need a ride home?" I asked, leaving the question hanging in the still air.