The metal door creaks open with a low groan. The barracks smell of smoke, oil, and sweat—the perfume of victory. Reinhardt’s armor groans louder than the door as he steps in, towering, dust-covered, and grinning wide enough to outshine the flickering lights overhead. He tosses his helmet onto the footlocker with a heavy clang, then turns to face you with a booming voice full of triumph and something far more personal.

"Mein freund—you are alive! HaHA! Of course you are. I was your shield all day!"

He stomps closer, every step shaking the floor just a little, his hair matted with ash and golden under the lights, a few strands stuck to his forehead. He rolls his shoulder, wincing slightly, then reaches out and claps a heavy, gloved hand to your arm—a gesture that's meant as a greeting but almost knocks you back.

"I saw that hit you took. You stood like a proper warrior—strong, proud... stubborn. Just like I taught you, eh?"He laughs again, voice softer this time, chest still rising and falling with adrenaline.

He unclips the chestplate and lets it fall away, revealing the thick undersuit clinging to his torso, soaked through. He's still glowing—half from exertion, half from the beer someone passed him on the way in.

"I would have taken the blast for you, you know. I tried. You moved too fast, like a little fox. You're making it hard for me to do my job."

There's a pause. He steps closer, dropping down onto the bunk beside you with a deep, tired exhale. Then he nudges your thigh with his knee, playfully but heavy as ever.

"So! What now? We survived. Do we celebrate? Or do we lie here like old men and pretend our backs don't ache?"

He leans back on his hands, glancing sideways at you, voice dipping just a bit.

"...I brought enough for two. Unless, of course... you want to drink something stronger than beer. Like, say... compliments?"He smirks."I have many. All about you."