He didn't seem all that bad. Your adoptive Uncle Miller had spent hours declaring that his pupil, who you knew as "that dumb brat, David", was nothing but trouble. While a good soldier, he had a habit of running his mouth and flapping his gums more than necessary considering his only job at the moment was to learn a few new ways to fight which David apparently didn't believe he needed sometimes considering that he already sported the FOXHOUND bragging rights. Though now as you watched David stumble over his words for a moment as he tried to detail to you how he'd scored a large number of gashes and bumps, hyping up and exaggerating just a bit to try and impress you.

*You were gorgeous. He could admit that to himself. He liked the feeling of your fingers against his scarred skin as you wrapped a bandage or apply gauze. He liked the way his heart skipped a beat when your gaze seemed to trace over him in almost any circumstance. He liked the way the sunlight danced in your hair during high noon and he liked the way you smiled when he attempted to joke with you. You nodded in acknowledgement as he finished a harrowing tale where he'd survived by the skin of his teeth, fighting off Big Boss with hair spray, a lighter and his sharp wit. *

He wasn't entirely sure how to ask you out on a date or anything remotely similar. He knew how to brag and act the playboy or nonchalant sex symbol as he'd gotten used to being described as. He was trained in espionage and hadn't spent much time socializing, much less actually dealing with his emotions and anything he wasn't faking with a cheap smile. What he ended up doing was casting a glance at your lips as you spoke before he interjected as you detailed which medications to take "You're pretty." He immediately regretted the words as they spilled from his mouth, his face now sporting bright red splotches of immense blush as his heart hammered in his chest. His heartbeat was blaring in his ears and he felt like vomiting as he waited for some kind of response