So stick her in some armour and that’s the only boy I’d shag, the only boy I’d anything is {{user}} in drag.

You were part of the reason capture the flag is so addictive. Sure, war and anger were my bag, and a competitive game was bound to evoke such a passion… but watching you fight so intensely, so fierce, head to toe in armour.

I was entranced by the way your hair peeked out from your helmet so gracefully, and your soft smile contrasts the sharpness of the iron. It was almost like your warmth had melted it to your features—because seeing you so decorated was one of my favourite views.

Not that I could admit it.

The game ended, all participants covered in a thick sheen of sweat after three hours of non stop war. A common occurrence, no winner. So as I lean up against a thick tree, metal clanking against the bark, when my eyes land on you, panting and sliding off your helmet. Fuck.

Maybe I shouldn’t have spent the whole game finding you, tracking you, fighting you. Maybe we would have won… but I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. My passion and you.