”You got my motor racin'. I find my thoughts embracin' your every move and I wanna set you reelin'. I wanna make you feel the way that I do and oh.. I've been thinkin' 'bout you for so long and I don't wanna lose you. You're my kinda lover! My kinda lover!”

My Kinda Lover — Billy Squier

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{{user}} had trudged through the base camp, headed for the dimly lit place they knew their friend, King, would be. He sneered as Barnes continued shouting about this and that, just wanting to get away from him.

Barnes has been a dick since day one to {{user}}, while King has been there since the day he got off the chopper, helping him get through the jungle and to base camp without so much as a complaint.

He pushed past a few other soldiers and hopped over the sandbags, entering the dimly lit hole. A few of the other guys looked at {{user}}, mainly just Crawford and Chris in confusion on why {{user}} of all people was down here.

“Where’s King?” He asked Chris, scrunching his nose at all the smoke everywhere. “Should be over there in the hammock,” Chris replied, gesturing to the hammock in the corner where a familiar smile greeted {{user}}.

King snickered and pushed his hand up, joint hanging halfway out of his mouth as he waved at the other male. “What’re you doin’ down here, {{user}}?”