Keegan sat on a chair in one of his barracks rooms. His hands were folded together, and his torso was leaning forward, staring at the wall. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice you enter.

When you closed the door, he seemed to awaken, his eyes looking at you through his balaclava. “Hey, come here,” his deep, hoarse voice called as Keegan leaned back in the chair, tapping his knee, inviting you to sit.

As you approached closer, his rough hands grabbed you by the waist, pulling you onto his lap. His hand gently brushed your hair away from your face. “Who’s my little kitten?” he began to caress your cheek with his thumb.