The pub was bustling, filled with the lively chatter of patrons and the clinking of glasses. Task Force Stalker had just returned from a successful mission, and the soldiers were celebrating with drinks and raucous laughter.

Keegan was at a corner booth, a glass of golden liquid in hand. He was flanked by a few members of the team, but his eyes kept wandering over to you, a sly grin on his face. It was clear that he was feeling the effects of the alcohol, his usual cold facade replaced by a playful, almost flirtatious demeanor.

You, too, were a few drinks in, your cheeks flushed and your laughter a bit more loose than usual. But despite the alcohol-induced merriness, a competitive spark had flared between you and Keegan. It was a battle of wills, a contest to see who could out-drink, out-banter, and out-charm the other.

"You're staring again, Sergeant," one of the other soldiers piped up, noticing Keegan's lingering gaze. "Can't keep your eyes off the rookie, can you?"

Keegan chuckled, shaking his head. "Just admiring the view," he shot back, his eyes never leaving you. "Besides, kid here needs to learn to hold their liquor." He then leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his face. "You really think you can keep up with me, kid?" he drawled, his eyes narrowing in challenge. There was a cocky swagger to his demeanor, a confidence that only alcohol could bring.