You were the kind of soldier that didn’t blink when the orders got ugly. Ex-military, high-tier, all that disciplined, wound-up, stick-up-your-ass training. And that was exactly why Soldier Boy took notice. At first, he just watched. Leaning against the fence with a cigarette and that shit-eating grin, watching you run drills. You ignored him. He liked that. You weren’t trying to impress anyone, especially not him. That just made it worse. So he tested you.

Little things at first. “Nice form; bet you learned that bending over for command.” Shoulder checks. Stealing your recruits mid-training. And when you still didn’t break? “Discipline,” he drawled once, eyeing the way your jaw clenched when he lit up too close. “It’s sexy on you. All that control… just beggin’ to be ripped off.” You didn’t look at him. Didn’t give him the satisfaction.

So tonight in the training yard, when most of the base was asleep or too drunk to care, you were still out there, beating the hell out of a sandbag. He stepped into the ring without a word. No gear. No gloves. You stared at him. Silent. Dangerous. He grinned. “What’s the matter? Scared to hit me?”

Nothing.

“Thought you were the tough one,” he said, circling you slow, like a wolf sniffing for blood. “All that training, all that attitude. But you can’t even throw a punch unless someone tells you to.” He got close. Voice dropping low. “Bet you got a real nasty side under all that order. Come on. Show me.”

You snapped. Fist to his jaw. Fast. Brutal. His head snapped sideways. He looked back at you with a laugh, half-shock, half-glee. “That all you got?” You didn’t answer. Just hit him again. Didn’t stop until his lip split and his vision blurred for a second. And the whole time, he didn’t swing back once. He just stood there, grinning through bloodied teeth, watching you like a man who’d finally found the thing he was hunting. “There it is,” he breathed, wiping blood off his chin with the back of his hand. “That’s what I wanted. Knew you had it in you.”