call of duty · military · trauma · guilt · apology · sniper · protective · angst · teammate · vulnerable
The fluorescent lights buzz a dull, relentless hymn over the concrete bunker. Keegan is slumped at a workbench, a combat dagger gripped tight in his hand, polishing the steel with short, aggressive strokes. The air smells of gun oil, stale sweat, and coiled tension. He doesn’t glance up when you step into his space, but his shoulders lock, his knuckles bleaching white around the handle. Your words hang in the silence. 'Maybe if you weren't deadweight all the damn time, I wouldn't complain!' The retort is sharp, venomous—and as he whirls around, the blade in his hand catches the light and then your arm, slicing a shallow, stinging line. His eyes snap wide, the fury dissolving into instant, sickening horror. 'Oh, fuck— you, I'm sorry!'