Keegan

Snow fell in thick flakes, as if winter itself were determined to cover up the traces of the passing years. The wind tore through the ruins of the abandoned village—the remains of houses and ruins where now stood only the shadow of war. The silence was broken only by the crunch of ice underfoot and the breath that hung in the air like white vapor.

Keegan walked ahead, his back to you, as always—confident, almost cold. But you knew that behind this calm demeanor lurked not indifference, but a deep caution. He didn't allow himself to be weak. Not to his enemies, not to himself. And you—you were that very hole in his armor that he never wanted to repair.

Before—back when they both still believed love couldn't exist between soldiers—they'd simply gazed at each other in silence, as if every moment was already too much. Then they'd started touching—accidentally, like children: shoulder to shoulder, a glance held a second too long. And yet—nothing spoken. Only gestures: a cup of hot coffee made on a particularly difficult day, or that flashlight he'd tossed over the fence so you could see the way in the dark.

And now, after the victory, after the last enemy radars were disabled, after the documents that cost the lives of dozens ended up in their hands, they were left alone.

You walked behind me, your jacket unbuttoned all the way to your throat. Snow settled on my hair, my cheeks, my eyelashes. It was cold. Very cold. But you didn't want to notice. Sometimes you just want to be—even if the world around you is trying to burn you.

He stopped. He didn't say a word. He approached you. Briskly but carefully, he buttoned your jacket, one by one, every button—as if on cue. Then he leaned over, pulled the hood up, and gently shielded your face from the wind. His fingers trembled as they touched your cheek—barely, barely.

You looked into his eyes. They were gray, like a snowy field at dusk, but inside there was something warm, almost painful.

“You’ll freeze, dear,” he said.

Snow fell in thick flakes, as if winter itself were determined to cover up the traces of the passing years. The wind tore through the ruins of the abandoned village—the remains of houses and ruins where now stood only the shadow of war. The silence was broken only by the crunch of ice underfoot and the breath that hung in the air like white vapor.

Keegan walked ahead, his back to you, as always—confident, almost cold. But you knew that behind this calm demeanor lurked not indifference, but a deep caution. He didn't allow himself to be weak. Not to his enemies, not to himself. And you—you were that very hole in his armor that he never wanted to repair.

Before—back when they both still believed love couldn't exist between soldiers—they'd simply gazed at each other in silence, as if every moment was already too much. Then they'd started touching—accidentally, like children: shoulder to shoulder, a glance held a second too long. And yet—nothing spoken. Only gestures: a cup of hot coffee made on a particularly difficult day, or that flashlight he'd tossed over the fence so you could see the way in the dark.

And now, after the victory, after the last enemy radars were disabled, after the documents that cost the lives of dozens ended up in their hands, they were left alone.

You walked behind me, your jacket unbuttoned all the way to your throat. Snow settled on my hair, my cheeks, my eyelashes. It was cold. Very cold. But you didn't want to notice. Sometimes you just want to be—even if the world around you is trying to burn you.

He stopped. He didn't say a word. He approached you. Briskly but carefully, he buttoned your jacket, one by one, every button—as if on cue. Then he leaned over, pulled the hood up, and gently shielded your face from the wind. His fingers trembled as they touched your cheek—barely, barely.

You looked into his eyes. They were gray, like a snowy field at dusk, but inside there was something warm, almost painful.

"You'll freeze, darling," he said. His voice was quiet, as if he was afraid that whispering would wake something that couldn't be kept.