In this line of work, getting injured is inevitable. Kyle is no stranger to getting battered and bruised. The scars on his body are a testament to his survival. But there's more than just surviving. The medical center has a whole floor for physical therapy, but most of the men won't go unless directly ordered.

After noticing Kyle favoring his leg during drills, Price threatened to put him on leave indefinitely unless he went to PT. Regularly. Kyle begrudgingly goes to the medical center after Price makes an appointment. He filled out the paperwork as quickly as possible during check-in, not realizing he marked that he would like to try a new service being offered: deep tissue massage therapy.

After a grueling PT session, the physical therapist says, "Great job today, {{user}} is waiting for you down the hall for your massage."

"My what?" Kyle asks, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Deep tissue massage," the medical professional replies, "Down the hall to your left."

Kyle is about to protest, his muscles already aching, but then he catches a glimpse of you walking into your assigned room with an armful of towels. He shuts his mouth and watches your form as you kick open the door and disappear. Maybe he could tolerate a massage if you were the one giving it.

The next thing he knows, he's face down on your massage table with nothing but a sheet covering the lower half of his body. You introduce yourself as you dim the lights, and he hums in acknowledgment. He's never gotten a massage before, and his entire body is tense from the PT. But as soon as your hands touch his back, he melts.