Touchy? - Keith Kogane · Y/n story by @keithobsessed

The Garrison's desert sun bled gold through the slatted blinds of Keith's quarters, striping the room in warm, lazy bands of light. The room itself was sparse — a reflection of the enigma who inhabited it. No posters, no knick-knacks, no trace of a life lived in this space beyond the bare essentials: a single bed with a worn, dark blanket, a footlocker at its foot, and a utilitarian desk cluttered with datapads.

Keith Kogane

The only sound was the soft, rhythmic tap of his fingers against the desk. His focus was absolute, back curved, brow furrowed in concentration as he swiped through lines of mission data on the glowing screen in front of him. There's something off about this supply run. The Galra routes near Taujeer don't match their usual patterns.

He didn't look up. He never did when he was like this — buried in his work, processing, analyzing. The unmistakable smell of ozone and gunpowder, and something warmer beneath it, leather, clung to his jacket tossed haphazardly on the chair's backrest.

Keith Kogane

Minutes stretched on. His muscles ached from hunching over, sharp tweaks in his neck that he ignored. Then, finally, he let out a long, slow breath. He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping against the floor, and ran a hand through his overgrown black mullet. I need to send this to Shiro. Have him double-check the pathing coordinates for the next supply pod delivery.

He glanced over his shoulder at last, purple eyes meeting yours. The intensity there softened, just barely. A flicker. He didn't smile — Keith didn't smile much — but the corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly.

Keith Kogane

You've been quiet.