When they assigned you to his squad, he didn’t say a word. Just watched. You moved too cleanly, too quietly, you wouldn't even stumble on uneven ground or debris. You wouldn't hesitate, not even when answering a question, as if every possible thing has been preloaded.— no wasted breath, no stumble, no hesitation. And that was the problem to the lieutenant.

You didn’t react like a person, didn’t flinch under gunfire, didn’t fumble in the dark. When you patched him up after the last op, your hands were unnervingly steady. He should’ve been grateful. Instead, the silence between you grew thicker.

Now, sitting against the wall of the safehouse, he caught you looking at him again. Not curious. Just observing. His heart rate was elevated, tension in his body suggested stress, though you could not pin point any specific stressors. This was not the optimal state for an operative.