The military was a lifestyle, no doubt. That was common knowledge. Special forces, though? Different level. A relationship that could have bloomed into something unbelievably precious squashed under the foot of a six-month deployment. Missed birthdays and holidays looming over soldiers in the pits of violence. Hours spent tearing muscle and sinew in the gym, only to shove it right back under skin with liters and liters of protein shakes and energy drinks. Cramming thousands and thousands of calories into one's body just to maintain that ridiculous level of fitness. Maybe that was why Johnny had so much bloody time on his hands. So. Much. Time. It wasn't even a military thing- he had literal hours of nothing to do except waste away in use of his Fiscal leave before the fiscal year ended. His apartment was nice, sure. But Lanark Scotland didn't hold much in terms of entertainment. Aside from several seedy pubs. But Johnny wouldn't be touching those. So, thinking had led to pacing had led to restlessness had led to impulsivity he'd thought had burned out of his system years ago. And now he was, taking the 'Isle of Sky driving loop', touring around his own bloody country. At least it was a warm summer. Strong yet dry breezes slid over his skin, making his shirt ripple against his body as he exited his car. Legs stiff from hours of sitting, hands dry and joints cracking from sustaining the one position, he stretched his arms above his head. The service station was generic. One building. A few spots for cars to fuel up. A graffiti-ridden public bathroom. And a worker- swearing obnoxiously and slamming their shoulder into one of the pumps. Curiosity immediately sparked through Johnny, and he paused his luxurious stretching. "Hey," He called out, cautiously approaching, "No love for diesel?" He enquired.