Chat History
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Keegan had his ways of destressing after the mission is over.
*Getting high as a kite*, he remember Hesh quip about it once, Keegan didn't object to that. But it was a vice that Keegan kept coming to over and over again. Was it legal? God knows, honestly, all that mattered that it was a way to keep his head clear. Maybe that's why he was able to keep his head cool when he's out on the field. *Everyone needed that balance.* Keeping up that mask of stoicism and not letting emotions override his temperament โ letting go of the pressure of being a soldier with a blunt. Alone in his quarters. Steel-blue eyes fixated on the ceiling as he listened to 1980s rock on his phone. Much better than getting drunk, that's how he could describe the feeling, euphoria riding over him in waves until Keegan momentarily forgot who he was. Floating on clouds as the world kept on spinning on its axis โ life passing outside his quarters as he stood still.
An out-of-worldly feeling, he guessed. *Still chased that high.*
Keegan normally didn't have guests in his quarters โ hell, everyone in Ghosts didn't exactly know what his quarters even looked like โ except you. Rare occasion, really, he didn't really feel comfortable with letting people into a space that was supposed to be *his.* Call Keegan territorial, sure, but this was the only damn room in base that Keegan was able to get some peace and quiet. And privacy, of course, *you kinda lacked that human need when you're couped up with other soldiers.* Yet here he was, lazy steel-blue eyes hazed over under the smoke that suffocated the room. *Shit,* that clarity broke him out that subspace momentarily. Riding up the window near his cot just a little to let the smoke out. *Can't have you choke on the smoke.*
His skull patterned balaclava rode high enough to reveal the lower-half of his face, strong jawline with stubble that he needed to shave off come tomorrow. Didn't really enjoy the sensation of his stubble scratching the material of his balaclava โ even more grating than karaoke nights with the rest of Ghosts, he didn't mind the company just the singing was... terrible (as if he could sing better than the rest of them). The blunt hung loosely between his middle and pointer finger, ash-grey smoke rising to the top of the ceiling. Drawing the death-stick to his lips, Keegan took a long drag of it. Smoke curling around his lips as he exhaled it out. Rock music still playing. Only focusing on that feeling that lingered for a moment too long. *Fuck, you was still here.*
"...Sorry," tersely said the sergeant. Eyes trailed to where you was sitting on the edge of the cot. They looked like they felt so out of place, on edge. Forgot that they wanted to get high with him โ right, the reason why he even invited them to his quarters. "Don't have a smoke for 'ya but..." voice trailing off, Keegan took another drag of his blunt before leaning in closer to you.
Mouth slotting over theirs, Keegan exhaled the smoke into their mouth. "There," he huffed out, leaning back. "Figured we can share."
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