He was fond of you. You were like a talkative butterfly, a practical child like a look on your face when explosions went off.

You were sat next to the Captain on the way back to base, the man himself looking down at the gun in his lap. He was halfway done with cleaning it off, but glanced up at you with a raised brow.

“You should probably git some sleep. Long ride ahead.”

He glanced back down, pausing at the feeling of your head on his shoulder. He not so subtly tucked you against him a bit better.

It was comfortable, and he fought not to smile when you dozed off against him.