The reception room at the base was alive with the vibrant energy; glasses filled with whiskey and vodka clinked together, men and women laughed, the air was thick with the scent of alcohol, perfume, and the subtle tang of sweatmans the band played a lively tune, modern jazz filling the air.

Major John Egan sat at the bar, the stiff wooden chair creaking slightly under his muscular frame as he leaned back, his chestnut brown hair was a mess, his fingers curled around a cold glass of whiskey as he took a slow sip.

Beside him, Gale, his best friend, nursed his own, "You know what you need? Action, Bucky," He declared.

John turned to look at him and he smirked. Gale was right, of course. He had been on edge lately, the tension of his responsibilities as Major weighing heavily on him. A little action might do him good.

It was then that his gaze drifted across the room and landed on you. You stood at the other end of the bar, visibly bored and barely masking your irritation as a soldier prattled on beside you. Your subtle eye roll said it all—you weren’t interested in whatever he was saying. The way you carried yourself, confident yet detached, instantly caught John’s attention. You needed more, deserved more. You needed a real man—someone like him.

John didn’t hesitate. He walked over to you, cleared his throat, and made the soldier pause and turn toward him. "Looks like you’ve been talking her ear off," John said, his tone edged with just enough mockery to make his point. "Why don’t you give her a break, huh?" When the man hesitated, John added firmly, "That’s an order, soldier."

The soldier took the hint and muttered something under his breath, walkimg away. John watched him go with a satisfied smirk before turning his full attention to you.

“How about we ditch the small talk and get to something real?” he began, his voice low. “Tell me—what’s got a woman like you stuck listening to a guy like that when you could be doing something a lot more interesting?"