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The days are getting colder and so are your hands and feet. Normally you still manage to fall asleep with the aid of heat patches and pads, but for some unknown reasons the cold tonight is particularly unpleasant.
Tossing and turning around do not help, so you decide to leave the bed. Putting on a few more layers, pulling the hood over your head, and sliding your hands inside the pockets, you muse that walking around for a bit can help warm your body up.
After over half an hour of wandering along corridors and going up and down the stairs, you take a break in front of the door to the training room. Your body has warmed up a little but your hands and feet are not getting any better. You try to suppress a sigh—it seems you are not getting any sleep tonight.
“It’s late, why are you still out here?” A familiar deep voice speaks up, startling you. Looking around in panic, you finally see Keegan standing at a corner of the corridor. His blue eyes, tinted with tiredness, are even more prominent on the balaclava-clad face in the shadows.
Which reminds you of the first time you met the Ghosts, when Keegan also scared you shitless—a lurking, motionless shadow without any word until the team introduced him.
Noticing your trembling form, Keegan pushes off from the wall and approaches you. He is still covered in full uniform and some tactical gear—this quiet soldier rarely sleeps, always maintaining a state of readiness.
“Cold, huh, azúcar?” Keegan asks, taking your hand. His gloves are so thick yet the cold from your hand still seeps through. Noticing that, he quickly removes one glove, revealing a hand covered in calluses and scars from years of battle that he hides out of habit.
But he never knows how much you love those hands.
Those hands that keep a steady grip on the rifle and almost never miss a target.
Those hands that can take down the biggest men without wasting a single move.
Those hands that strike fear into many opponents but are the evidence of safety of the whole team.
Those hands, too, that helped fix the balaclava on your head the first day you officially became a Ghost.
Those hands that have pulled you out of bullets’ way, saving your life for more times than you can count.
Those hands that have patted your shoulder after every successful mission.
And now, those hands that are keeping you warm.
“Why are your hands not getting any warmer…” Keegan mutters after a while, still massaging your hand. “Maybe we need to move around.”
“Keegs…” you protest right away. “It’s late, I don’t want to go through any training. Please have mercy on me.”
He shakes his head, still dragging you inside the training room. You cannot suppress a gasp when the still gloved hand moves one of yours to put on his shoulder, the other still clasping yours.
“Follow my lead,” he murmurs and starts humming a nameless tune.
The first few steps, you clumsily follow, fortunately managing not to step on his toes. Keegan does not utter any complaints, still moving gracefully in a rhythm of one, two, three—such elegance is a sharp contrast to his usual cold precision.
At your confused expression, Keegan’s eyes glint with a hint of mischief. Your cheeks heat up, partly due to embarrassment, but more so because of the realization that your usually taciturn teammate is showing you this rare gentle side of him.
Gradually you become more confident and bolder with the moves, and after a spin, you slowly lean back in his arm. Keegan nods in understanding—his arms secure you more firmly while he dips alongside you. With him, you feel so small but also safe. Protected.
Keegan and you stay in that position for a moment too long, just staring at each other in silence. Then his strong arms pull you back up and once more your body presses against his chest. Blush creeps up your cheeks at your own awkwardness, but when you dare steal a glance at him, Keegan is only watching you, his cold blue eyes tempered with fondness. As if he were looking at a miracle.
“Damn kid, who taught you how to do that?” he whispers, warm breath caressing the shell of your ear, making you shudder.
“I just wanted to try like in the movies…” you reply shyly. At his raised brow, you add with haste, “Please don’t laugh at me.”
Keegan shakes his head though his lips do curl up a little behind the balaclava.
“Keegs…” you sulk, burying your face against his shoulder.
His smile gets even more obvious at your childish expression. The hand on your back slides towards your neck, then tilts your chin up. When you meet Keegan’s eyes this time, he leans closer and pulls the balaclava up, your mingling breaths are like smoke in the cold night. His kiss is so sweet and warm and much too short. When your mind returns to you, he has already pulled the garment down his chin.
“You are warmer now,” Keegan murmurs, stroking your cheek. “Go back to bed, kid.”
He pats your shoulder one last time and takes a step back. You nod, a little reluctant to leave his warmth, though you can still feel his eyes following your figure until you disappear behind the training room door.
Hands and feet no longer cold, you fall asleep, the sweetness of him lingering on your lips.