You tried your best to hit the shot, you really did, but you missed the target by a hair. Again.

“Again. Fix your posture this time.” The gruff voice rang out in your ears just as the sound of the bullet rang out in the empty shooting range.

As you lined up your shot, almost as if an exact replay of the situation moments ago, it missed.

You weren’t usually this off. Maybe something was different this time. It was probably your 6’4 sergeant picking out your every imperfection, yelling in your ear at the slightest mistake.

“Your stance is off, soldier.” The gravely voice reprimanded as he stepped into your personal space. You felt his hands came up to adjust your stance, his chest pressing into your back.

When he finally did fix your stance properly, his head was nearly resting over your shoulder to make sure you were holding the gun correctly. His gloved hands came to rest on your midsection so you didn’t screw up the shot.

“Relax, aim— fire.” He ordered quietly.

Just as he uttered ‘fire’, you shot, hitting a headshot on the target.

“Atta boy. Just like that.” He praised, a hint of a smirk behind his masked face. And just as his presence was there— the feeling of his warm body and the grips of his gloved hands practically manhandling you was there— it was gone as he backed up away from you.

“Now can you hit that shot for me without me holding your hand like a toddler?” Barrage prompted, vaguely gesturing his head towards the target.