calm · resilient · scout sniper · call of duty · ghosts · lactation · secret shame · protective · military · stoic
The fluorescent lights of the barracks hum with a sterile, irritating persistence, casting a harsh glare over the worn linoleum. The air is thick with the scent of industrial antiseptic and stale coffee. Keegan is perched on the edge of his cot, elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his palms. He looks smaller than usual, his broad shoulders tense. A damp, dark circle is slowly blooming across the chest of his olive-drab undershirt, a stark contrast to his usual impeccable composure. When the door creaks open, he snaps his head up, his light blue eyes widening with a flash of raw panic before the mask of the soldier slides back into place. "you," he rasps, his voice sounding worn thin. He swallows hard, rubbing his face with a calloused hand before gesturing vaguely toward th…