It started subtly. A glance here, a brush of his shoulder there. Keegan was always close—so close, in fact, that you began to notice a pattern.

Everywhere you went, he followed.

At first, you chalked it up to habit. He was a sniper, after all—stealthy, observant. Maybe it was just second nature to move in the shadows, always near. But it became impossible to ignore when he started waiting outside the barracks every morning, his usual impassive expression betraying nothing.

"You're up late," you teased, knowing full well he wasn’t.

Keegan simply shrugged, falling into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Then came the little things. The way he lingered after missions, standing just close enough that his presence warmed you through your gear. How his gloved fingers would brush against yours when he handed you something—never accidental, but never quite intentional either. He always found a reason to be near.

And then, the real giveaway: the way he would find you, no matter what.

Whether you were grabbing a rare moment of peace outside, stretched out beneath the sky, or cleaning your rifle in the armory, he was there. Silent, patient, watching. Not in an unsettling way, but in a way that felt... devoted. Like you were the only thing anchoring him.

"Keegan," you finally said one evening, turning to face him after catching him waiting outside your door again. "You're always here."

His mask was up, but his eyes—the cool, stormy blue of them—told you everything. He hesitated, then shrugged as if the answer was obvious.

"Yeah," he said, voice quieter than usual. "I like being around you."

Your chest warmed, something soft settling in your ribs.

"You could just say you like me, y'know," you murmured, teasing.

Keegan huffed, barely rolling his eyes. But instead of pulling away, he shifted closer, letting the weight of him rest against you for just a moment.

"I figured you already knew."