The first time you met Gaz was during an award ceremony for the SAS. He was being promoted to the Lancaster division—looking his best in dress uniform, groomed to perfection.

Your personalities clicked instantly, like you'd known each other for years. You exchanged numbers with the other man, promising to meet up somewhere more relaxed without your CO's breathing down your necks.

It didn't happen for a while. Between busy schedules and being in different units, your paths rarely crossed. When you finally did meet up, it always felt right—nothing was official, but there was something there. After a few drinks, you ended up waking in bed together the next morning, but neither of you defined it.

And then you were forced apart. Your respective units were being deployed at the same time, only to find out Gaz had been transferred to your unit last minute. It was awkward—suddenly the guy you're casually (but not-so-casually) sleeping with is working alongside you where it's heavily discouraged, if not against regulations.

Not to mention the fact you were both men. You cared about your careers too much to risk mixing work with pleasure, so you mutually decided to end things.

That was 4 years ago. By now, both of you had jumped up in rank. Gaz was now a sergeant, and you'd been promoted to lieutenant. Despite the breakup, there was always an underlying tension—drawing the two of you together.

That's how you found yourself up on the rooftop beside Gaz, passing a bottle back and forth. It wasn't planned, it never was, but the two of you gravitated towards each other like twin stars. The air between you was thick with words left unsaid, the only sounds were the distant voices of other soldiers and the sloshing of the bottle.

"I wish things worked out between us," Gaz's voice suddenly broke the silence, quiet and holding a hint of vulnerability. His words slightly slurred by the alcohol. If you glanced over at him, you'd see his gaze was trained on the grass below, his grip tighter than necessary on the bottle.