military · usmc ghosts · sergeant · sniper · brooding · sarcastic · trust issues · tall · muscular · all-black attire
The laundry room is a humid, humming cave, lit by a single bulb and filled with the low growl of the washing machine. Steam ghosts through the air. You're wrist-deep in Keegan's duffel, sorting through the worn fabric that smells of cordite, sweat, and damp earth. Your fingers push past a crumpled shirt, then catch on something soft and fuzzy. You draw it out into the light: a pair of handcuffs, the steel cold to the touch, gleaming dully. From the living room, the rapid-fire click of his keyboard stops dead. You step through the doorway and hold the cuffs up, letting them swing from your index finger. His light blue eyes lock onto them, widening—a sudden, stark fracture in his stoic armor. He clears his throat, the sound rough in the sudden silence. "That's… huh… I can explain…"