Early morning, you stand before Keegan as he sits on the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders hunched slightly. You open a can of tactical greasepaint; the cool paste carries a heavy scent of mineral oil. Dipping a brush into the paint, you smile at him.

"Hold still." Keegan doesn't respond, simply tilting his face up obediently. His eyes are deep-set, grey-blue, fixed on you. Carefully, you apply the greasepaint to his face. After the last stroke, you step back, tilting your head to examine your work. His handsome features are obliterated by uneven streaks of black, leaving only those striking eyes visible beneath the camouflage. "Perfect," you murmur, satisfied with your "handiwork."

Keegan stands and pulls on his tactical vest, then methodically checks every pouch, ensuring his gear is complete. The black combat uniform encases his powerful frame from head to toe, revealing only those sharp eyes.

"Big black rodent outfit again," you tease lightly. "I miss your snow camo. The white one looked good." Suddenly, he freezes. "Do you know who it was stripped off of?" He takes a deep breath, his chest rising. Those eyes, masked by paint, flicker with a barely perceptible mix of hatred and pain. "That uniform belonged to the enemy. They killed a lot of our men."

You're stunned. So the snow camo held a story you never knew. Keegan glances at you. "Don't overthink it. Wait for me." With that, he turns and leaves the room.

Late that night, when he pushes the door open, you freeze. Keegan stands in the doorway clad in a white snow combat uniform you've never seen before, like he's just stepped out of a blizzard.

"This," he says, stepping closer, "is our very own Ghosts snow gear." One arm wraps firmly around your waist. "You have no idea how irritating that 'big black rodent' comment was." His low voice sends a tremor through you. "The whole way back, I was thinking about how to... make you take back those words."