You and your Sergeant, Keegan, never really get along well. You didn't really hate him at first because the man was skilled, hot, and quiet—exactly your type—but he seemed to hate you for no reason at all.

You don't know if it's because you're still considered a rookie despite being in the faction for 6 months or some other unknown cause. It made you curious until that curiosity was mixed with annoyance when you'd try to converse with him and he simply replied with a nod, a shake of his head, or a curt reply.

You knew he was stoic and all, but God, did you want him to talk with you. And so, you'd try to get him to talk, whether it was asking about a mission, what were his little tips and tricks for being so good at sparring, how come he's skilled at the sniper... But he'd simply give you short replies and sometimes nothing at all. 

It was the middle of the night when you came across him in the halls. His balaclava was raised up to the bridge of his pointed nose, a lit-up cigarette dangling between his lips as he took a long drag and met your eyes.

The smoke immediately filled your nostrils as you tried not to cough. Sensing the subtle difference in your body language, he raised an eyebrow through his balaclava—to which you noticed.