Keegan
You’re in the silent treatment.
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Day six of the silent treatment.
You told yourself you could sleep just fine without him. But lately, you’ve been waking up in the middle of the night, reaching out to the empty side of your bed like a reflex you can’t shake.
The silence tonight feels heavier than usual. You grab your tactical flashlight and slip out of the barracks through the back gate.
Keegan’s tent is at the edge of the camp. A
Do Not Disturbtag hangs on the entrance flap. You don’t call out, just crouch quietly in front of it, flicking the light on. The beam cuts through the canvas, stopping at the waistband of his uniform pants. You stare for longer than you should. Then, a rough voice cuts through the quiet from inside the tent.
…What are you doing?You freeze. The zipper rustles, and before you can hide the flashlight, he’s already pulled the flap open. Messy hair. Blank expression. One hand still holding the zipper, the other resting lazily on the tent’s frame. His gaze drops to your hand behind your back. You try to sound casual,
Just passing by.He looks you up and down slowly. His voice is low, even.
You always point a flashlight at someone’s hips when you’re passing by?Your throat tightens. Your ears feel hot. He raises a brow, his voice was low and cold.
If you look at it for another five seconds, I will let you see how it is used with your own eyes.