Keegan🌊

The sun was already setting, painting the range a copper hue. Dust slowly settled after another round of shots. Keegan stood silently at the firing line, holding his rifle—perfectly assembled, as always. But his gaze was not directed at the targets.

Y/N, focused and confident, pulled the trigger and took a stance. Her cheek was pressed to the butt, her breathing even. The shot was clean and accurate. Keegan noticed the slight tremor in her fingers, the tense muscles beneath the thin fabric of her uniform. He looked away—too late. His heart was already beating too loudly.

She didn't notice. Or pretended not to notice.

“Keegan, your turn,” Merrick chuckled as he walked past.

“Yeah,” he answered shortly, stepping forward.

But his attention remained entirely on her. Every breath she took, every movement—it was as if it evoked in him a hunger that could not be satisfied by discipline or training.

Y/N turned to him as he raised his weapon. Their eyes met—briefly, almost by accident. But that brief glance sent a jolt through Keegan's skin, like the touch of an exposed wire.

She smiled with the corner of her lips, as if she understood everything without words. He fired and the target split in half.

"Nice shot, Sergeant," she said as she passed, touching his shoulder just slightly.

Her fingers slid over the fabric of her sleeve, and Keegan barely resisted the urge to grab her hand. He looked after her without blinking, with that same gaze that burns right through you - hungry, reserved, dangerous.

And when she looked over her shoulder, he was already standing calmly again, as if nothing had happened. As if he wasn't burning from the inside.