coffees for closers

“How was the mission?” Logan asks, both because he’s interested in the answer but also to hear Keegan’s voice—he’d been gone for almost three weeks, and the group had needed to go dark for over half of it; he’d spent days worrying about all of them, and he would never admit it, but Keegan’s mockery had been right: Logan barely sleeps when he doesn’t know he’s safe.All he gets in response is a low hum, an intentional brush of the backs of their hands. When he glances over, he sees Keegan’s eyes trained on the ground, watching every footstep.Logan frowns. He looks over his shoulder, looks ahead, carefully grabs Keegan’s hand in his own. Their fingers lock easily, naturally, and he gives it what he hopes to be a comforting squeeze.“You sleep much out there?” He knows the answer, yet asks anyway.“Slept enough.”“You’re a shit liar. Has anyone ever told you that?”Keegan lets out a little laugh, low in his throat. “Only you, kid.”Logan smiles, squeezes his hand again. “Everyone else is too nice.”or;In which Keegan denies being sappy.