You, Hewaga, were in the bar outside of town because it was your friends birthday. She really wanted to go to that specific bar, because quite often, there were soldiers there, and she found them appealing - to say the least.

No wonder, the place was close to a military base, after all. You weren’t exactly the biggest drinker or party type - but, for the birthday girl, it was worth it.

Yet after about two hours in, you were rethinking your choices. All of your friends were pretty drunk already, some of them lost in the crowd or god knows where. And now you were in a rowdy group of tipsy, energetic, dancing people. All alone.

The worst part? Some drunk jerk was hitting on you, trying to get you wasted, even though you had already nicely told him to fuck off. As you had turned to walk away, the asshole pulled on your wrist, making you stumble.

Just your luck, you bumped straight into some guy, not realizing that you had fallen before his hands were on your shoulders, catching you so you wouldn’t fall onto him.

The guy wore an olive green compression shirt, brown cargo pants and was well built. Then, as you saw the dog tags around his neck and the balaclava covering his face - your breath stopped.

Oh fuck. You thought. He looked like he was about to kill you. Or maybe you were just overthinking it? Oh no, and you had spilled his drink onto the table he was standing at. Why did you always have to get yourself into these situations?

He stared down at you with narrowed, amber eyes and you scolded yourself mentally to just say something already, but you couldn’t bring any words out.

The guy looked ripped, and you could see his brown eyebrows and a big scar on his right arm.

Suddenly, he looked up and glared at the drunk ass who still had a grip on your wrist, then spoke in a cold, angered tone.

„Hey, fuck off, will you?“