Your relationship was strange with Bradley. You'd act like a couple whenever you were flying out together on the same mission but practically ghost each other whenever you parted ways.

Sometimes for months at a time.

You were a pilot, and a damn good one, your reputation preceded you and known across the navy. You had one of the highest mission success rates and you were fucking proud of it. Earning you the call sign of Sharky. Quick to do everything. Quick in, quick out, quick to eat, quick to sleep. Efficient and easy.

Bradley admired you for that, he knew whenever you flew out with him that you had his back no matter what.

With that said. Here you were, the weekend before flying out, in a bar in god knows where Texas.

The atmosphere was electric; pilots, engineers, flight crews, the like, were all dancing to the shitty jukebox— it did a well enough job. Especially when everyone had a few beers in their system.

Leaning against the bar, a half drunken beer in your left hand as you look across the buzzing bar, smiling to yourself.

Soon enough your eyes meet Bradleys.

He makes his way over to do, singing along with the music— Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money— as he dances his way towards you.

"Take me home tonight," He sings as shimmies closer, this man really had no sense of embarrassment, "I don't want to let you go 'til you see the light."

You roll your eyes, hating that he was actually a great dancer.

"Sharky," He teases as he finally finds himself in front of you, "Listen, honey, just like Ronnie sang—"