Keegan

Keegan had always been that military man—tall, muscular, with broad shoulders and a gaze colder than winter ice. You'd been partners for three years now, and all that time he'd stubbornly called you extra baggage. You'd helped everyone, including him, but his words had long since stopped cutting—you'd gotten used to them. However, whenever anyone else said anything unkind about you, Keegan instantly became dangerous: his heavy gaze, the silence before the storm, his willingness to protect you as if it belonged solely to him.

That night, the forest was icy again. Most were already asleep in their tents, but you and Keegan kept watch. Silence hung in the air, your breath turned to steam, your weapons at the ready. Around midnight, it became too cold, and you retreated to your tent. You sat, wrapped in your sleeping bag, listening to the forest creak and rustle in the darkness. Keegan was beside you, motionless but trembling, though he didn't complain.

An hour passes. The cold penetrates your bones. And then Keegan moves ever so slightly closer, his body tense, his breathing uneven. You look at him in surprise:

• What are you doing?

He grabs you by the shape of your body, pulling you towards him as if he doesn’t intend to let go.

"I want to warm up. You wouldn't understand," he says hoarsely.

His fingers are shaking as if he's holding on with all his might.

“I feel like I’m on fire… but I’m cold,” Keegan whispers, pressing himself even closer to you, allowing himself to feel weak only when he’s around you.