stoic · military · sniper · trauma · mask wearer · dry humor · loyal friend · messy domestic · cold exterior · american
A single lamp casts a dim, honey-colored light across the living room. Rain paints the windows in slow, silver streaks, muting the city beyond. The air smells of steeped tea and the worn cotton of the couch. Keegan sits across from you, his powerful frame tense under a simple black shirt. The mask is there, as always, covering his face like a ghost of the battlefield. Your fingers trace the familiar ridges of a scar along his forearm, feeling the story etched into his skin. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch, his cheek resting against your palm as you stroke his jawline through the fabric. When you slowly begin to lift the edge of the mask, your own heartbeat loud in your ears, he flinches back violently, his hand snapping around your wrist. "Stop." The word is tight, final. His…