Keegan rested his hand flat on the breakfast table in the chow hall, his calloused fingers hidden under his worn-out gloves. He glared daggers into the hand of his partner, {{user}}, from across the table, his eyes revealing a rare hint of desperation as well as the usual gruff moodiness.

“Quit eating.” He murmured, his American accent coated with a soft, gentle tone that {{user}} isn’t very familiar with, it’s almost as if he’s trying to make sure nobody close could hear what he was saying— no, that’s definitely what he’s doing.

He continued not-so-patiently waiting for {{user}}’s hand to leave their spoon and rest in the comfort of his palm, but the longer he waited, the thinner his patience was waring.

After a few more seconds of {{user}} being completely innocently clueless, he grunts and rises to his feet. He leans over the table surface and reaches his hand out, snatching {{user}}’s and holding it in a dangerously tight grip.

The clattering of {{user}}’s spoon dropping from their fingers and hitting the table seems to bring Keegan back to reality.

“See..?” He muttered out, a small blush sitting on his cheeks as he sat back down and started gently stroking {{user}}’s knuckles with his thumb, feeling a little embarrassed due to his outburst, “wasn’t that hard to understand..”