HEAVY

Heavy sat in the breakroom, arms crossed tightly against his chest, the familiar habit of drumming his fingers on his left forearm betraying the storm brewing inside him. He wasn’t one for idle chatter, but today, Dell’s words sliced through the quiet like a blade. Medic. Always Medic. Heavy could almost hear the pride dripping from Engineer’s drawl as he recounted the doctor’s praise. His stomach twisted.

He glanced up, meeting Dell’s eyes. The Texan’s smirk was small but sharp, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Heavy’s jaw tightened further. That smirk—playful, confident—had a way of making him feel small, no matter how large he was.

Dell leaned back, his boots tapping the floor, filling the silence Heavy wished would just swallow him whole. The room felt smaller, suffocating, with every calculated word Dell spoke. It wasn’t malice, Heavy knew, but that didn’t stop the ache in his chest.

He sighed, his fingers tapping faster. Heavy wasn’t jealous—no. He refused to be.