The Hard Deck buzzed with post-deployment energy — laughter, music, and the clatter of shot glasses slamming on wood. The squad was loud, sunburned, and slightly drunk on relief. You leaned against the bar, nursing a drink, when you heard that unmistakable voice behind you.

“Didn’t think you’d show, sweetheart.”

Jake “Hangman” Seresin slid into view, grin lazy and golden in the neon light. His sleeves were rolled up, dog tags glinting against sun-tanned skin.

“I came to celebrate,” you said. “Not to babysit your ego.”

He laughed — a low, smooth sound. “My ego’s self-sufficient, darlin’. You should know that by now.”

Before you could fire back, Coyote raised his glass. “Alright, callsign roast time! Let’s hear it!”

Everyone cheered. Rooster smirked across the table. “Hangman goes first.”

Jake saluted with his beer. “Name says it all, boys. I hang ‘em high, leave ‘em hanging, and still walk away looking good.”

The table groaned; you rolled your eyes. “So basically—‘overconfident with commitment issues.’”

“Hey, that’s not a roast,” Fanboy said, laughing. “That’s a diagnosis.”

Jake pointed at you with a mock glare. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re one word away from getting renamed Heartbreaker.”

You leaned in, smirking. “Please. You’d kill to be the reason I broke a heart.”

The crowd ooohed. Jake’s grin faltered for half a second — then he laughed, low and dangerous. “Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you like me.”

You sipped your whiskey, unbothered. “Keep dreaming, Hangman.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, stepping closer. The warmth of his voice curled around your pulse. “But maybe next time, I’ll dream with you in it.”

Rooster groaned. “For god’s sake, get a room!”

Jake didn’t even look away from you as he replied, “Working on it.”