Chapter Text
The dim half-light fell on your face as you sat, silent and stone-faced, in the corner of the bar. The glass of wine you had previously been sipping on now sat forgotten in front of you, stagnant and cold, as you stared blankly into space. Around you, laughter and chatter erupted, drunken cries of delight mixing with cheers and off-tune singing as people writhed and enjoyed themselves around you, but you blocked it all out.
You had never been more miserable or lonely in your life.
And your ‘friends’ (or, rather, college acquaintances), the ones who had convinced you to join them in the first place, apparently couldn’t care less. You scoffed quietly. Why should they? For hot, confident twenty-somethings, it wasn’t like they had any shortage of suitors. And it wasn’t their problem if one member of the group hadn’t said one word all night, let alone join in with the mingling.
‘Why don’t you stay with the bags, then?’ The nicest girl — which wasn’t saying much — had told you when you all first arrived, a sympathetic, pitying sort of expression on her pretty face as she noticed your hesitance to join the fun. Even with an undertone that would’ve typically irked you, you didn’t have it in yourself to argue, and you had since resigned yourself to the idea that it was the best you were going to get and that you should be grateful for it.
A sharp, shaky sigh left your lips, as you finally glanced down and checked your phone for what must have been the thousandth time that evening. 12:34. Pretending to be in your own world was a challenging task when self-consciousness and anxiety seeped into your mind with every pair of eyes that fell on you. It had only been a couple minutes since you last checked, and the thought only made you more stressed.
Deep, rowdy cheers erupted from somewhere behind you, and even though you had been trying to stay inconspicuous and keep out of the way of what was going on, they were so loud that you couldn’t help but turn your head to the source of the commotion.
You didn’t know why you bothered. It was just a drinking game — about ten men, sturdily build and wearing various military uniforms were playing a game of beer pong in a booth, and a man with a spiked Mohawk and gleaming eyes had just won. A crowd of women surrounded them, about half of them girls you had came here with, and they were all cheering like maniacs. Military men were always popular, here, you recalled, with the bar being so close to a few known bases. It helped that they were all pretty attractive, in their own ways.
Out of pure curiosity and a need to do something instead of just sitting there miserably, you allowed your gaze to travel over the group. Playing with, and having presently lost to, the Mohawk man was a young-ish Black guy who looked entirely wasted. On a large table behind them sat the rest. However, a man clad in skull balaclava at the head instantly made you uncomfortable, and you quickly averted your eyes to the other end.
Wrong move.
Immediately your gaze locked with the gentleman that sat on the opposite side of the table. His irises were a comforting shade of blue, framed with lashes you would die for, and you registered how he seemed distinctly older and calmer than the rest of them. Whilst the other men were acting like hysterics, the only thing that illustrated his amusement was how one corner of his mouth was twitched up in amusement, thick moustache quirking. He nursed a whisky in one large hand, and the other rested on his knee.
You weren’t even going to try and lie to yourself. He was absolutely too old for you, absolutely out of your league, and absolutely your type.
His head cocked to the side ever so slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. Even so, your unconscious admiration of the man instantly screeched to a halt as it happened, your neck snapping back over your shoulder, as you felt a flush come over your cheeks.
Fuck.
It was just your luck, wasn’t it? The one time you were genuinely interested in a man, and it was at a shitty bar with friends you didn’t even know the names whilst of having the worst time of your life.
“Just my luck…” You repeated sullenly, once again bringing your phone back out and preparing for another two hours of anxious scrolling.
Until a tap on your shoulder made you freeze.
“Fancy a refill, love?”
A heavy figure settled down on the stool beside you, and you didn’t even have to look up to know who it was. Somehow you knew instinctively, like it was already a reflex for your body to recognise this man whose existence you had been aware of for less than five minutes.
A sharp inhale. “I’m… sorry?” You choked. You couldn’t believe what you had just heard. You couldn’t even dare to look up. Maybe he wasn’t even talking to you.
“A refill. More alcohol. A little boost. Don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t look awfully thrilled right now.” His voice was deep, his British accent not overwhelming but pleasing to the ears.
You hesitated. “I’m… I’m okay, thank you.” Your eyes remained fixed on the table in front of you. Fuck…
The heat of his body shifted. He was looking directly at you, now, you could feel it — feel how his eyes roamed your body, zeroed in on your face, analysed you and truly noticed you. It made you shiver slightly. “You sure?”
“…I’m sure…” A lie.
You wanted nothing more in that moment than to be the kind of person who knew how to respond to this kind of interaction, but you weren’t, and it was killing you to turn down the only person in the bar who you wanted to talk to.
Basically… you didn’t know what to do. You quickly concluded after he remained silent for a few moments that he must have been joking — and if he wasn’t, then he’d undoubtedly go to find someone else to chat up after your quick rejection. Wouldn’t that do wonders for your already-pitiful self-confidence?
It seemed you had predicted correctly. Just then, he stood up, and you watched him out of the corner of your eye as he left your side made his way over to the bartender — just as one of your friends sidled up to him, a drunken expression of flirtatious delight on her face.
You couldn’t keep your heart from dropping, and your forehead to slam onto the table in front of you with a defeated groan as he left. It was stupid to get jealous when you had rejected his offer, you knew that, but… your chance. Your one chance.
God, did you hate yourself.
Letting your eyes linger on the man even after his departure didn’t help. Your friend had nuzzled up to his side like she was some sort of cat, gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes and biting her lip, and you could tell that she was showering him with compliments from the way he nodded every few seconds with a polite smile. The only thing that made you feel better was that he didn’t seem to be reciprocating the interaction quite as eagerly as she was, but that very well may have just been your jealous imagination trying to calm yourself down.
A bartender approached him, and a few minutes later, the man was handed with another glass of whisky and a red wine. You fixated on the way your friend eyed the second drink delightedly.
To both of your surprise, however, the man took the two drinks from the counter, stood up…
And completely ignored your friend, who looked a little dismayed but quickly busied herself with another man nearby. He walked right back to sit down next to you again and slid the wine across the counter.
The gesture was clear.
For you.
“I know you said you didn’t want it, but just in case,” the man rumbled. He seemed almost amused with your obvious inner panic. This time you met his gaze, eyes wide.
“I…” Was he serious? Were you actually getting a second chance at this? “I… Thank you.” You swallowed, so nervous that your throat felt like sandpaper, and you winced at the feeling.
The man chuckled. “No problem, love. Figured you may have just been shy. If you really want me to leave, I will, but somehow, I get the idea that that isn’t the case.” He gave you a crooked smile before taking a long sip of his whiskey, the warm amber liquid sloshing around in the glass appealingly.
You didn’t know how to reply to that, drenched in fear.
For some reason, at that, his smile widened. “What’s your name?” He asked suddenly, after setting his cup down with a soft clink.
You told him quietly, voice shaking.
“Hmm. I like that. I’m John. John Price.” He held out a calloused hand, and you were immediately aware of how big and sturdy it seemed, “Nice to meet you.”
After a moment of stunned silence, you took it, the warmth and thinly veiled strength that enveloped your palm sending small shivers down your spine — and for the first time that evening, you offered him a small smile of your own. “You too.” Even if this was some sort of sick joke, wasn’t it nice to pretend? And that was the worst-case scenario. Which meant there was a good chance he was being genuine. You didn’t want to raise your hopes all too high, though.
“Thanks again,” you said awkwardly, nodding to the glass in front of you and taking a small sip appreciatively. The wine slid down your throat, the alcohol boost immediately putting a happy fuzz in your mind.
“As I said, no problem at all.” John nursed his whisky, and your eyes flicked to how the muscles in his arm strained with the movement. “Having fun?”
You couldn’t help but scoff softly. “Does it look it it?”
John’s blue eyes twinkled. “Good point. What is it that’s got you so down, then? If it’s some bastard, I wouldn’t mind dealing with him for you outside.”
A small laugh of disbelief left your lips. “Oh. Good to know. But… no. It isn’t some bastard, though for some reason I kind of wish it were, because then at least I’d have something to blame.” You paused. “I don’t even really know what the problem is myself, to be honest. Just this place in general. I would’ve gone home a while ago, but my friends want to stay a bit longer and I think I’m the DD.” You stared at your wine. “That ship may have already sailed, though.” Great. Now, instead of being unable to form words, you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. The magic of alcohol was a true wonder.
You were relived to find that John didn’t seem perturbed by the sudden spluttered paragraph. In fact, he seemed quite pleased, by the way the corners of those gorgeous eyes wrinkled kindly as he listened. “Don’t seem like very good friends, if they leave you alone like that and don’t even bother check on you.”
“They’re not even my friends. They’re just— I don’t know, acquaintances.” You paused, frowning, as a flush gradually spread across your cheeks as more alcohol flooded your system. “I don’t know a lot of things, apparently.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” John commented, raspy voice ever so slightly softer than it had been before.
“Agree to disagree,” you sighed.
The two of you fell into a comfortable silence — and the realisation surprised you, because a few minutes ago the thought would have seemed crazy.
You began to speculate about him as the silence lengthened, both of you sipping your drinks quietly as chaos continued to rage around. How old was he? What did he do for a living? What was his relationship with the other men?
Why did he approach you?
“You work in the military, right?” You suddenly blurted out, unable to keep the endless swarm of questions contained in your fuzzy brain.
He nodded with yet another smile, before gesturing to the men behind you. “Correct. Captain John Price, at your service. I’m in charge of most of of these lot. The rest are strays, but I brought them along because it’s been quite a tough time for them all and they deserved a bit of a break.”
You blinked. “That’s… nice of you.”
The captain huffed a laugh. “Well, as I said, they can all be pricks, but they’re the most hardworking and loyal pricks I know. Here, let me show you. That one there…” He pointed directly at the man with the Mohawk who had first caught your attention, who was now lounging with an arm over the man who had lost’s shoulder and watching another match of beer pong. “Scotsman we call Soap. Troublemaker and demolitions expert.” John’s finger moved to the man who had lost. “Gaz. Ex-SAS. Skilled like hell, but has a hell of a temper.” Finally, his finger settled on the man with the skull balaclava who had instantly made you uncomfortable. You shivered just setting eyes on him again. “And that’s Ghost. All I’ll say is, not a man you want to mess with.” He didn’t need to tell you twice.
Maybe if you hadn’t been as drunk as you were, you would’ve been a little freaked out, but at present, you didn’t really care. You had to take a second to absorb the new information in, before musing, “I have to say, those are some odd names.”
“I don’t think they’d appreciate me giving out their real names to a stranger, pretty as she may be.”
Any form of response died in your throat, as a burst of heat spread through your body and raised goosebumps along your arms at his words. God, he was so attractive, and so sweet, and so attentive, and he smelled so good — like smoke and pinewood — that you just wanted to wrap yourself around him and bury your head in his chest and—
“You alright there, sweetheart?”
“I— huh?” You inhaled sharply as John brought you out of your momentary compliment-induced stupor. ‘Oh, yeah. Fine. Just fine. Amazing, actually.”
“That so?”
You nodded earnestly, preparing to explain just how amazing you really were, when the movement caused you to lose you balance, and you swayed dangerously on your stool.
You squeaked, just as a large, warm palm spread across your shoulder and kept you in place. “You… are drunk,” John said carefully, his hand remaining on your shoulder for a second too long before he removed it. Not that you were complaining.
“Pretty drunk, yeah,” you agreed weakly, heart faltering at the mini heart attack you had just given yourself. You were definitely a lightweight.
“I’d say even more so than that, love. You sure you don’t want to start heading home?”
“But… my friends. I’m the DD…”
Price scoffed affectionately. “Don’t mean to assume, but you don’t seem too close with your friends, and you’re going to get pulled over the second you try to drive like this. Look, you want me to give you a ride home or something?”
“I…” You hesitated. It probably wasn’t a good idea to give a stranger your address — especially a military captain who couldn’t even tell you the names of his comrades — but you were just about out of money for the night and he was so attractive. “Would you?”
“‘Course. Promise not to murder you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he added, with a small quirk of his lips.
“…Reassuring.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Good to hear. Well, if you’re ready to go now… then c’mon, love, let’s get you home.”