A pretty little thing, you were, with big eyes full of dreams and hopes, a beautiful flower blooming in the prime of its youth, stealing the sunlight to shine the brightest. That’s why every soldier had been bewitched by you, fighting for a glimpse of your attention, trying to keep you to their table only a few seconds longer when you served them.

Yet you only had eyes for the one man who wasn’t yearning for you. Blue gaze fleetingly meeting yours just to order his usual drink, his voice low and gruff, his hat always on even when inside the bar. Sometimes you’d catch a glimpse of his foam-stained moustache while preparing other orders behind the bar, and had to fight the urge to just walk up to him and clean him up.

But he’d always stay until late at night, nose deep into whatever paperwork, when the others would leave, greeting him with a quick and reverent “g’night Cap”. Not much conversation would happen - none, actually, and the place would fall into silence. You would simply go on and clean, preparing for closing, and he would just sit there until he heard the jingle of your keys, and he would leave a generous tip where his documents once sat on the counter.

One night, you decided to confront him, why would he stay so late and not even talk to you, when you had tried so hard to get his attention. So, as he walked towards the exit after hearing the keys’ jingle - like a pavlovian reaction - you called out to him and stopped him. You needed to know why he was the only one your charm didn’t work on.

“You think you haven’t caught my eye, doll?” He simply replied, a gruff, amused chuckle leaving his lips. “Why do you think I stay until closing every night, hm? I just want to make sure no one comes to bother and that you leave safely.”

At the sight of your flushed face, he simply smiled. “But some of the tattoos on my skin are older than you, my little dove. All I can allow myself to do is this.”