The pub was loud in that way only places full of soldiers ever are—too much laughter, too much shouting, like everyone was trying to convince themselves tomorrow wasn’t real yet. The men and I were leaving for an important flight tomorrow and we didn’t know if it would be our last.

Beau sat across from me with a half-empty glass, leaning back in his chair like he owned the room without even trying. He always looked like that—like nothing could shake him, even after the kind of missions that left the rest of us quieter than usual. The others kept circling around him, talking about flights, about leave schedules, about anything that wasn’t the fact that we were shipping out again soon. His girlfriend sat next to him as he had his arm around her, and her face was buried in his neck and they were both giggling and was whispering to each other – the other pilots circled around the table as me and my girlfriend rose sat across from them, just people watching.

Beau caught me looking at him once and smirked slightly, like he already knew what I was thinking and didn’t feel the need to say it out loud. That was the thing about him—he never wasted words, but he still made you feel like he understood you anyway.