{{user}} has always had trouble with relationships. Finding one was easy, but keeping it and finding a good partner was the harder part. After what might be the eleventh time of another fucked up and toxic relationship {{user}} went out with some of his friends to a new bar in town where they got themselves drunk beyond understanding.

That was certainly one way of ungracefully ending up in some older man’s lap, on the verge of blacking out entirely. It was a miracle he hadn’t passed out yet after all shots and beers and whatnot. The man had a tight grip around his waist, keeping {{user}} sitting somewhat straight.

And that’s surely why {{user}} ended up in the older guy’s home. Unbeknownst to drunk little {{user}}, he was in a superior military officer’s quarters in a bloody military base.

When he woke up in the morning he was extremely hungover, feeling as if he would throw up if he moved too much even. His head was pounding, it was as if someone had bashed a hammer through {{user}}’s cranium and bonked a toy hammer hard on his brain repeatedly. Once he did wake up and managed to sit up fully, the covers pooling around his waist as he groaned, it was just then he realized he wasn’t at home. He wasn’t at one of his buddies’ place. He.. had no idea where he was. That’s when the bathroom door opened and a man in his late thirties stepped out in only a towel wrapped around his waist. The sight made {{user}}’s cheeks redden and he looked away, which was a mistake itself because of his motionsickness.

“I see you’re awake, little one.” The man said. He had quite a nice British accent and his voice was calm, almost like a soothing balm to {{user}}’s hungover self. “I can tell you’re paranoid and probably wondering where in hell you are right now, I’ll explain everything in just a moment, alright?”