t4t soapshipping central

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On the first real non-awkward morning they have together, Sniper wakes up to Blue's polite ruckus, clinking the kettle over the campfire and scuffing his boot against the pebbly ground. It's chilly. The first rays of sunlight are hitting against opening of Sniper's tent. It's barely dawn. Checking his watch for the actual time might make him depressed. Figures. Sniper sits up from his roll and peers blearily out his swag set up.

Rubbing the gunk from his eyes, he squints at Blue by the fire and grumbles, "Look at you with the coffee going already. Didn't peg you for an early riser."

Blue hitches his sunnies up to give him a long look in return. The weak horizon light hits the rim of his lens just right to show his tinted frown.

“Wasn't always a morning person,” says Blue, glancing to the side. “Started after I was stationed here.”

He jerks his head in the general direction of both their bases, some far off distance away where they can still see the smokestacks but no one can see them.

Thus far, Badlands has been the bane of Sniper’s entire RED career. He used to be a relatively early bird, just like Blue, until he was assigned a fucking base facing east where the morning guaranteed the sun in his eyes and a glare in his lens. Most of the REDs struggled in one way or another with the position of the sun during the first half of the day, and it's no fault of Blue's that he gladly takes every advantage of it.

“Haha. Fuck. Mr Sun-In-My-Eyes, you are,” Sniper says, still crouched and huddled in his tent. Unless there's a blessed cloud blocking the way, he’s usually forced concede the morning hours. He can hold his own fair enough shooting the other BLUs but Blue knows the trick of hiding in bright sunlight and cover his muzzle flashes.

Kind of like now. Staring at Blue against the early horizon reminds him of how the rays reflect off the cool-toned rooftops of the BLU base and into his scope. Smetimes, when Sniper tries to look for Blue before a match and clear his sightlines, he thinks he can see flashes of another laser flitting over the grounds. He'll focus on a spot with chilly glares of light beams mixing with the sun, and it's blinding.

There are only so many sniping spots to have when chasing after the right angles of sun. From morning to noon, Blue knows them all—in the same way that Sniper will have the sunlight on his side from noon to dusk.

With muted exasperation, Sniper realizes that he has set up his tent facing east anyway. It's habit now to try to look at Blue in the morning and expect the sun in his eyes.

Good, Sniper thinks. It should be hard to look at him.

He shouldn't be allowed to look too long anyway, through the scope or his own eyes.

A shadow falls over him as Blue's slim figure blocks the morning light. Sniper blinks, eyes adjusting, but he pats his pockets for his own pair of sunnies.

“Bugger off,” says Blue, offering out his hand while Sniper puts on the shades. “You're always a fuckin' pain in the arse at sunset. Who builds a base facing west?”

“Shoulda been south to north,” Sniper agrees with a wry laugh, noticing how Blue had set up his tent opposite of Sniper's—west facing. Habit again.