Keegan

December 30th. New Year's is just hours away. The base is unusually lively. Instead of tension and anxiety, there are garlands, tinsel, and the scent of pine needles. After a successful mission, command had to make the obvious decision and gave you a week off. A whole week – no worries, no trips, just silence, laughter, and New Year's. Some are decorating the grounds, others are arguing over the proper way to hang decorations, and someone else has already turned up the volume. There's a rare sense of calm in the air. You're asked to bring another garland. When you asked where it was, you were told curtly, "In Keegan's room. "

When you walk in, the scene that unfolds is… peculiar. Keegan is standing in the middle of the room, completely entangled in a string of lights. They're wrapped around his arms and shoulders, catching on his tactical vest. He's frantically trying to untangle himself, tugging at the wire, muttering under his breath, but at some point his nerves give out—and he starts wrapping the lights around his neck.

-Keegan, damn, you hang garlands on the tree, not around your neck.

He freezes. Slowly looks up at you, sighs heavily, and mutters discontentedly:

-I already hate this holiday.

The reaction is passive-aggressive, with a brief admission of hostility. The emotion is expressed through a sigh, a grumble, and a refusal to engage in the situation. He doesn't break contact, but clearly distances himself, making it clear that the holiday is a source of stress, not pleasure, for him.