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The first time you saw him, you were handing off a book to Gaz and on the cusp of being late for work. It wasn’t anything special, the paperback, it was just an old non-fiction from your personal collection; littered with dog-eared corners and a violently bent spine. That book was old, to say the very least. Ancient. In fact, you think you found it at the library – in those three-dollar book giveaways bins – nearly five years ago now.
More than ancient. Archaic.
But it was still one of your favorites, though, despite the coffee stains on the pages.
“I’m telling you right now, Garrick,” you level, glaring without any real fire, “if this comes back with so much as a scratch – it’s coming out of your sizable paycheck. Mark my words. I’m not having another Zambia Deployment on my hands.”
The object was pointed at the man’s chest like a weapon of PVA glue, uncoated stock paper, and fading ink. You raise a brow with expectation, looking into the embarrassed brown eyes ahead of you.
“C’mon,” Gaz groans quietly, tossing his hands up in defeat, “it was only one time, Love.”
“Yeah, and one time was enough. You somehow got my Collector's Edition burned…Did you expect me to be happy about it? Give you a medal engraved with ‘Sergeant Garrick, for excelling at the destruction of other people's shit?’”
“I expected you to not chuck a hardcover at my head when I told you, at the very least.”
“Well, that was the least you deserved.” Huffing out, you roll your eyes, lowering the book only slightly. “I should have thrown a dictionary – then you could have looked up the definition of a ‘half-wit. Mark my words.”
“Hey!” The man exclaimed, a loud burst of shocked laughter flying from his lips out into the mid-day air that smelled like tar and cigarettes. Jet engine oil. “You’re horrible to me, y’know that? Bloody ruthless, you are.”
His brown eyes crinkle at the corners, muted glee lining the expressive lines of his forehead and lips. Chuckling, your fingers tighten over your book one last time, sparing him a shake of your head, before holding it out flat with a raised brow and a galled expression.
“Just take it before I change my mind, Garrick.” Disappearing from your grasp, the Sergeant carefully holds the paperback, looking at you teasingly. A smirk meets your vision.
“You sure? Don’t want you bursting out to tears when it’s not on your bedside table, now. Get all shaky in the lips.”
The mockery of each other was constant – you’d practically grown up with the man, but as your younger years left you for more mature ones, the fellowship had only strengthened. Inside jokes, silly handshakes, and large strangled hugs that nearly left you blacking out. The words the two of you spoke were always laced with sarcasm, but that wasn’t to say it was hostile or unfriendly.
You both lived off annoying each other and would have it no other way.
“I find one new scratch on the cover…” You smile and reiterate and, even as you try to hide it, your blood is thick with amusement that bleeds through your eyes like syrup.
“I know, I know,” Gaz chuckles, fixing the cap on his head with his free hand and resting his weight more on one foot, “I give my word, no more book murders from me this year.”
Sighing, your hands go to itch at your left wrist, fingers catching on the band of your antique watch as you giggle out a ‘good.’ Blinking, you’re about to look at the time, forgetting for an instant you’re only on your lunch break, before a voice across the tarmac startles you and Kyle.
Both of your heads snap to the side with shell-shocked expressions.
“Sergeant! You care to tell me why you’re not in the briefing room, eh?” It was a large frame that the deep, raspy, tone came out of, built reminiscent of a boar with large shoulders and a tapered waist. An air of authority.
Unconsciously, you straighten your spine even if you weren’t a soldier.
Your lips thin when you spot a square face, beard hair all across his jaw and under his sizable nose, and deep grayish blue eyes as blank as stone. This stranger wears gear nearly similar to Gaz’s, except for a bucket hat that sits over a head of brown hair.
Who’s this guy? You can’t help but ask internally, but instantly avert your gaze when the man locks on you, not wanting to seem like a creep for obviously looking him over. Ending up sending a sporadic glance to your childhood friend, you bite the inside of your cheek. The stranger was in no way unattractive, but that only made the regular spark of nervousness settle in your chest.
Kyle’s face is the epitome of embarrassed regret, you think. Eyebrows turned in, lips pulled back, and brown orbs that stared at the ground for a second before filtering back up like mist over mountains. If you weren’t about to make a first impression, you would have laughed and slapped Gaz on the shoulder.
“Captain.” He says, raising a hand to rest on the back of his neck. “Shit. I…must have lost track of time, yeah? Bloody hell.”
“You could say that again.” The Captain, as you had now just realized, walks over the ground with measured steps, ingrained professionalism in his expansive build, and built into his genes like he was born for this career.
Maybe he was, you can’t help but confess, I can’t see him being anything else but a bodybuilder.
The Brit stops a few feet away, toned arms going to cross before grasping at the collar of his vest as a deep sigh enters the air; fixing his feet A swift glance is sent your way, and a bland, “Ma’am,” is grunted out with a polite, yet incredibly firm, nod.
You have a stiff feeling that you’re interrupting something sacred, despite Kyle and yourself having started the conversation first. Shuffling on your feet, you take a breath and give a kind smile in greeting as Gaz speaks after you.
“Hello.”
“Sorry, Sir,” Garrick explains, holding up your book as the blue eyes slid to it with a quirk of a brow. Almost saying, well, that was all? “I was just picking up a book for the next deployment.”
“Oh, you mean to replace the one that you got thrown into the fuckin’ burn pile, then?” The Captain asked with a huff in his chest and a bland, sarcastic tone, as he turned to you, tilting his head forward as he leveled you with a stare. Despite the blatant no-nonsense attitude, he had a kind face, you admitted. Like…well, you couldn’t really pinpoint it, to be honest. “Who’s this?”
“The woman who got her book torched,” you comment slyly with an unheated glare to your side directed at Kyle.
Gaz clears his throat and hits your shoulder with his arm as you steadily divulge into chuckles. An easy smile flicks over your face, glad to have him at your side to at least help the interaction along. Your friend grumbles under his breath, something along the lines of ‘she’ll never let it go, will she?’
Turning back to the Captain, you hold out your hand loosely and say your name, “...I’m Garrick’s friend and apparent literature dealer. Here’s to hoping he won’t destroy this one, else I might need to have a few words with him when you all come back.”
The hand that encompasses your own a small second later is incredibly warm, and you can feel the layers of calluses and scars that breed over the skin like his own personal history. Like every raised line was a chapter in a book, peeling back the pages to see the story hidden underneath muscle and nerves.
I bet he has a lot of stories to tell.
As your heart speeds in your chest, a silver of hesitation inserts itself into your muscle tissue. A shroud of caution goes to plate itself into your skull like a bit of metal shrapnel and digs itself into your brain.
First meetings were always strange for you – trying to gauge whether someone likes you or not. It was stressful, but never more stressful than finding out you considered someone attractive.
“Captain Jonathan Price.” The Brit tells you, lips going tight in a not-quite smile under his beard. ”John is fine.”
John shakes your hand once and blinks at you a moment later. Whatever he finds in your expression makes the stocky man’s eyelids slide down minutely, as if looking at an object a great distance away. He then promptly lets go, allowing both of your grips to part naturally as his own limb goes back to resting on his collar. The Captain’s eyes flicker to the various other residents of the Base walking behind you, tracking them for a moment in what you assume is a common behavior. Trying to smile up into his stoic, yet handsome, face, your fingers brush against your pants as your heart bounces; feet shifting.
Your lungs were tight against the confines of your ribs. Brushing the bone over and over as if the collagen was nothing more than a cheese grater tearing you up.
But you knew in your mind that your nervousness about first meetings was never this bad. Especially if John was just a friend of Kyle’s. His Captain. This was something different. Something that always came along when you found someone else even mildly attractive in your eyes. A deep, intestine-twisting, fear.
Gaz sighs, and you turn to tune in as the man speaks honestly, your legs twitching, “how mad is Laswell?”
“Borderline, Sergeant,” John says, chuckling deeply though there seems to be no humor in it. You swallow thickly, biting your lip between your teeth. The Captain tosses his head behind him, hips trading weight as the sun momentarily bounces off his fair skin when the fabric of his hat moves along with him. “Go on.”
“Bloody…” Kyle trails, shaking his head. He turns to you as you laugh lightly, finding the dread on his face to be comically similar to childhood events. When the two of you were younger, you would sneak out to go stargazing, only to be found out by his parents when you were making food in his family's kitchen at two in the morning.
Gaz’s mother was always too kind, and his father was still so much of a soft-hearted giant that you remembered. Thinking of them brought an ache to your heart.
How could the pair love each other so unconditionally? So… wholeheartedly? You still ask yourself about that, even if you hadn’t seen the two in years. Work was too demanding; life took too much commitment and it was admittingly harder if you thought too long about your own romantic situation.
You’d never had a boyfriend – never even gotten into a situationship with someone.
A small piece of your constantly running mind was comforted by the fact that there were no extra belongings in your apartment; no messes to clean up, and no arguments to try and de-escalate. But a small part of you, that deep, dark, abysmal part, wished for a soft hand and a warm presence. Someone to talk to and confess words rarely said.
With every step forward from a potential other, you always took two steps back. You’d been burned before by the presence of volatile relationships close to home.
You never wanted to end up like that with someone else. So, then came the fear. The fast rejections and awkward laughs; eyes roving for an exit filled with a quivering uncertainty in your breast. Like a little bird just waiting for the cat to jump from the red-coated windowsill.
So even if the Captain was making your cheeks go hot and the Oxytocin pump faster, it didn’t matter. Nothing more would ever come of it. Could never come from it.
Gaz puts a hand on your shoulder, and suddenly you’re back on the tarmac, blinking back up at a childhood friend who you miss more than anything when he’s away. He smiles and squeezes your skin, a raised eyebrow leading to a similar expression on your own face.
“I’ll see you in a few months, yeah, Love? Shouldn’t be away more than three, y’know the drill.” A huff falls from your lips, and your arms cross over your chest, body leaning into his hold as if trying to memorize it.
When will I stop worrying about this boy? You ask yourself. He can take care of himself, at the end of the day.
But it was a friend's job to worry.
“Where to this time, then? Or is it classified?” Kyle isn’t the one to answer, and your head perks up at the now-memorized gravel voice.
“Laos,” John says, making his cinder-colored orbs stay on you. Taking notice of the specks of silver in the optics, you can’t help but hang off the beauty of them – eyes are always so telling of a person's character. Although the Captain holds such an air of professionalism, his eyes are somehow…chilled. Not in a bad way. It reminds you of a steady storm at sea, mist over rocks, and a lighthouse bathed in sea-foam. Weathered perhaps was a better word for the expression. Bathed in memory. You’d see the same look in Gaz’s eyes, sometimes. “He’d of known that if he was in the meeting room at 1100.”
Glancing away from you and narrowing his eyes at his Sergeant, Kyle snorts.
“Copy.” He kisses the top of your head, ball cap hitting your scalp as you wrap a single arm around Gaz and lightly bring in his scent of rain and fresh-tilled earth. You squeeze him and send a prayer to whatever God was out there that he comes home safe. Peeling back at the same time, you both wear matching appearances of alertness. “See you soon. Don’t get into any trouble without me, yeah?”
John watches silently ahead of the two of you, feet still.
“Trouble?” The insulted voice bounces off the air particles as if falls from you, “please, you take all of that shit with you, bud.” A gruff, singular, chuckle pierces your heart from the bearded man like a black-tipped arrow, but you shove off the way your breath hitches at the sound.
“Lie of the fuckin’ century, that is.” The words are muttered under breath, but you hear them nonetheless. It makes you want to shrivel up.
Stop that.
Kyle ruffles your hair, and you let off a string of muttered curses, but by the time you look up again, he’s already half-gone from sight; jogging as he laughs and sends glances behind him to you.
Beaming, you shout, “don’t destroy my book, Garrick! That’s my favorite one…!”
He yells something back, hands cupping his lips, but it’s lost to the wind as he turns back and continues on. It causes a roll to your eyes and a steady smirk to infect your flesh as you chuckle, pushing your hair back into place.
In the bittersweetness of your goodbye, you nearly forget you have someone who now watches you as closely as a bird watches a bug, standing just a few feet away.
Pausing, you turn to John, hands fighting to not stick themselves in your pockets. He tilts his head at you, perhaps wondering why you were even allowed on Base in the first place.
“I’m sorry,” you say awkwardly, trying to push away the tension in the air and itching at your wrist. John blinks, “I shouldn’t have distracted him. I know how important everything you guys have going on here is. If I’d known he had to be somewhere, I’d have just shipped him the book instead.”
Your hands lock in front of you, an awkward and embarrassed look on your face.
“It’s no trouble, Ma’am.” John raises a limb, and you watch his chest move in a grumble. “...I’ll make sure the Muppet has your property returned, eh?”
In your chest, your heart stalls, veins feeling as though blood has stopped pumping to every corner of your being.
What? You want to ask, eyes wide.
You shouldn’t have been surprised – it was a common courtesy after all. Polite. Something a gentleman would do if you’d bothered to get acquainted with one before. But since when had someone offered to watch after your belongings that wasn’t Gaz?
Never, you think.
“Y-you don’t need to do that, Sir.” Stuttering, you try and peel back internally, clearing your throat and conscious of the eyes on you. “It’s really no–”
“‘Bloodlands,’ was it?” John hums, and his large arms move from his vest collar to cross over his chest, packs, and gear making his biceps seem ten times larger as they press against them. You try not to stare. “Timothy D. Snyder. That’s a proper read, that one.”
The nervousness dissipates in an instant.
“You…you’ve read it?” You can’t stop the subtle interest in your voice that leaks to the floor like ambrosia.
John nods firmly, chest grumbling as his hat flops.
“Hm, have a copy back at my flat.” The way he speaks now is different than it was before – still formal but less stiff than it was when he was ordering Kyle. His arms slightly shifted in their hold, and you feel your lungs loosen.
“Wow,” you chuckle, suddenly enjoying yourself and confused by the fact that you do. No, you think, you should really leave. An ingrained exit strategy soon forms, but the blue eyes leave you too breathless to say anything right away. “It’s not like I find many others who’ve read it before. I…I would love to stay and speak about it but, I, uh–”
You blink in surprise as you glance down at your watch as if instinctually; sucking in a sharp breath when the ticking hands show a time far later than you anticipated. There was a failed excuse on your tongue that quickly became a real one. Ironic.
“Shit.”
If I don’t start running I’m going to be late back to work!
Appearance fixed, you tap a knuckle against the watch crystal in a panicked display, opening your mouth only to be beaten to it.
“Problem?” John’s shoulders are loose; eyes piercing. He glances at your watch as a wave of intrigue washes over his face when he notices the antique.
“Sorry, but I’ve got to run.” You turn on your feet as quickly as the headwinds without another word, already speeding away with the ground pounding under your legs. Only a slight piece of regret is in your heart, but you don’t know exactly why. This wasn’t any different from other interactions you’d had.
Speak to someone, find out you might be interested in them, create a half-assed excuse, and leave with your tail between your legs.
You were sure, if John asked, Gaz would explain why you disliked talking with people you thought were attractive, but it still felt like a cop-out. And you’d probably die if your friend worded it like that, regardless.
Halfway down the tarmac, you pause with a curse under your breath, a needle in your heart digging with every movement. Feeling the surprise burning under your skin, you twist around and call out politely to the Captain as you walk backward, gathering courage for someone and doing something you’d never bothered to do before.
“Nice to meet you, John! Stay safe! A-and keep Kyle alive for me!”
You hate to say it, but he was already watching you go. Head tilted forward and eyes crinkled. A small smile was hidden under his beard that you take no notice of as you turn back.
He leaves soon after you do, feet leading him back across the tarmac on a beautiful day.
That was the first time you knew you were in trouble.
—
“Garrick,” the Captain grumbles, “you dropped this.”
He tosses the book lightly to the Sergeant’s lap, making the man jerk forward to snatch it before it hits the ground. John perks a brow with a glimmer in his eye and saunters past farther into the safe house.
“Best not lose it again, yeah?”
–
The second time you saw him, you were at the library, fingers skimming the spines of old books with a childlike wonder. You came here often on your days off, enjoying the quiet atmosphere and a reason to find yet another book to check out.
You just never expected John to be here as well.
“The Sergeant told me where to find you – came to give this back.” Blinking up at him with wide eyes, you put the book that you were about to take out back on the shelf; gazing at your paperback held out in his grip in shock. You looked like a deer in headlights. “Hope it’s not a problem, but I managed in a re-read as well. Garrick said you wouldn’t be bothered, though I’d wanted to ask you ‘bout it first.”
“N-no,” you stutter, shaking your head, “I don’t mind. I’m glad someone else found some use out of it.” You reach out and take the book with hot skin, stalling when your fingertips brush together.
Three months had come and gone faster than you expected.
John looked about the same, just his beard was a bit longer and a scrape was on the flesh above his right eyebrow. Small pieces of medical tape pull the skin tight. Trying to slow your racing heart, you point at it and wonder aloud with genuine concern.
“...Everything go alright over there?”
“Hm, well, in fact,” he nods his head from where it sits under a black beanie without hesitation, a brown leather jacket around his shoulders, “just a scratch. Nothin’ to worry about.”
“Good, good.” To say it was awkward was an understatement – this was like a pair of teenagers trying to ask each other to a dance. Not that you’d know about that. “I’m glad.”
You take down a breath and tuck your paperback close to your abdomen. John nods and places his hands in his pockets, eyes going from your figure to stare around the aisle as if sensing you needed his attention off of you so fixedly. The gargantuan man lessens the position of his feet and re-sets his jaw.
You couldn’t begin to fathom why he bothered.
The Brit’s about to speak, lips peeling back, probably about to announce his departure at your blatant uneasiness. He seemed the type – and you wouldn’t doubt he’d never speak to you individually again. It made you feel…sad?
You wanted to speak to him.
Your hips shift, eyes quickly snapping down to your feet before moving back to John’s visage that you found you liked looking at. Tracing lines with your roving trail and catching onto the imperfections. Muted scars and blemishes. Sunburn. Gentle-set eyebrows and a jaw that clenches once more before he begins to grunt something out.
Say something! For the life of you, you don’t know what the need in your mind signifies, or why you listen to it.
But this Captain was making everything you’d built very difficult to follow as of late. “I…don’t suppose you’re looking for another one? A book?” John’s eyes slide back to you, sparkling in the overhead lights as other quiet conversations go on in different sections of the tiny building. “No better place to get one than here. The clerk even lets you buy some, sometimes. But you have to catch her on a good day - otherwise, she’ll just glare at you.”
God, am I even making any sense? How do people do this?
John pauses, shoulders pulling back, and lets himself stand a bit taller as his legs twitch. And then he gives a small close-lipped smile under his beard and you watch the well-groomed hair shift. You can’t help but mirror the expression as your once-raging heart slows. You quite liked it when he smiled at you.
It made his already kind-looking face go incredibly sweet, you thought, and found yourself almost breathless at that. Since when has a smile done that to you? Sure you’d had crushes – but never had it left you feeling like you were suddenly bursting from stone or waking from a long hibernation.
“Any suggestions, then, Love?” John asks with a tone of amusement. Perhaps the reason you were more comfortable talking to him here was that the library was familiar to you – like a second home of old wooden floors and deep-painted walls. More old books and texts stuffed into every corner that could have rivaled ancient Alexandria’s library. It was quiet and as calm as your room back home; with an ample amount of overhead lighting but not enough to leave you with a headache.
And if John liked to read as well…hm. Oh, what was the harm in it? It wasn’t like you were asking him out! This was just a friendly proposition for your friend's boss.
Maybe this won’t be too bad after all, you think to yourself, nodding to the rugged man ahead of you. After all, if he was a bad person, Gaz would have mentioned it before.
“Do you have any preferences? Favorite genre?” The Captain’s optics hold a certain expression you’re not sure you’ve seen before – bordering on curiosity and a level-headed calm that seemed to always be there. The centers were soft, flecks of silver melting. Your fingers twitch around your book, smile suddenly turning sheepish as your flesh burns.
“None. I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it.” His chest moves with the baritone words, uttering lowly so that you felt it more than heard it.
You’re not even sure what to call the feeling that’s brimming in your body, a sensation that leaves you turning away with a squeaked, “let’s go this way first,” as you scuttle off. Perhaps you’re embarrassed? But embarrassment had never been like that. Shame? What would you be ashamed about? Surprised? No.
…But what else could it be?
A large shadow follows after you, keeping a respectful distance away as you head to the back of the library. You don’t know how, but as you feel John’s eyes gently stuck on your frame, your heart manages to skip two beats; lungs struggle to suck down hazy air and eyes blink rapidly. His boots make little to no sound behind you, but you’re astounded to figure out that between the three months of, strangely, thinking of John from time to time, having him over your shoulder wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. Almost…comforting? You can hear his breath, the working of his lungs, and the gravel in his ribs. It made your eyes soften…
Were you dying?
That’s how I’ll go, you comment to yourself, taking a corner and sending a quick glance behind you. John meets your gaze, head forward and misty eyes flickering across your features. A heart attack because I somehow managed to gain a bit of long-lost tenacity.
The mortification you’d feel from dying in front of John would probably bring you back spewing quick-lipped apologies, anyways. Did that mean something more? Probably, but you decided not to dwell on it.
You lead him on and wonder why you like him by your side.
That was the second time you knew you were in trouble.
—
John followed after in silence, listening to the soft drone of music coming from the front desk as you turned down rows and rows of books. He didn’t know what overcame him to ask Garrick if he could return your paperback in person, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since the meeting on the tarmac.
The last three months in Laos had been…strange. At first, it had been a simple, yet baffling, concern that he had scared you away back on Base. But now…well…
He dodges a man walking past with an armful of books, shifting his expansive top half to the side so that he was standing parallel to the shelves. And then he noticed how haphazardly the stranger had shoved past you a few feet ahead. Your widened eyes had glanced back with startled disbelief after being ruthlessly shoulder-checked, but seemingly continued on without a word.
“Watch it, Muppet,” John hissed, eyes sparking with annoyance as his jaw clenched. But the man was already turning the corner and disappearing into the next aisle.
Grumbling, the Captain narrows his blues at the shadow before continuing on, not particularly happy about the encounter.
What kind of a man runs into someone and doesn’t apologize? John couldn’t fathom it. He stares at you a little more closely, making sure the fool hadn’t done any damage with a coiled gut and intense eyes.
He most likely didn’t, but it was only in the Brit's nature to make sure. The Captain gets as close as he can to walking beside you in this bastard of an aisle to make sure it doesn’t happen again.
If anyone comes by, the fuckin’ prick can go down the next row. Place is too bloody small anyways.
“Alright, Love?” He asks cautiously. John wasn’t an idiot to how you acted around him – nervous, tense. Like you wanted to leave.
In fact, not a moment before you’d offered to find him a book, he’d been planning on making a half-arsed excuse to leave with his dignity still intact. John had taken it as it was; disinterest and blatant rejection. And then he remembered what Gaz had told him after you’d both met for the first time – that was just how you usually were with certain people.
Didn’t say why, but it wasn’t like the brunette was going to ask. That was your business, not his.
Couldn’t be helped, the Sergeant had said, but the younger man was sure that you would like the Captain.
Once she gets to know you, Sir, you’ll be stuck at the hip. I’m sure of it. She likes old things like you do. WWII, antiques, history, you name it, Cap, and she’ll love it. You two’ll be damn near stuck in your own world.
John didn’t really know what to say to that. Truthfully, the Brit wasn’t even sure if he wanted to ask you out on a date – he didn’t know you beyond comments from Kyle and that brief, strained, meeting. But.. he had come to the conclusion that he found you pretty, proper pretty, and that your uniqueness about your books and old antique watch to be intriguing. It wasn’t common that he found people who called Bloodlands their favorite book. Much less such a beautiful one.
He wasn’t going to act on much more than admitting that, but he currently wouldn’t turn a lady down.
“Yeah, trust me, a bump in the shoulder isn’t going to lay me out, ” you speak freely, a spark of that teasing nature he’d seen with Gaz peeking through. He listens in intently, staring at you softly from the corner of his eye with a twist in his lips as you both continue on. A strange sense of pride hits him in the heart. “It’s not a big deal – I’m sure it was just an accident. The library’s a cutthroat place, y’know.”
A delicate laugh falls from your lips and John’s chest hitches. He clears his throat and rotates his nose, chucking to shake off the stirring in his gut.
“...But thanks for saying something. That was kind of you, John.” Turning to look at him, the brunette reaches up to scratch at his beard hair as you innocently smile.
Fuckin’ hell.
Kind wasn’t what the man would describe himself as, but if you told him he was…well then, he guessed he was. For you. A slow grunt cascades like water from his throat.
“Copy.”
He supposed that was when he realized he would wait for you until you were ready.
—
The third time you realized you were in trouble, it was already too late. You’d been going to the library with John when Gaz was unable to for a few months, gradually growing to enjoy the bearded man’s company.
Every time you saw him in the small, raggedy, leather recliner chair that he favored – situated next to your comfy forest-green swivel seat in the back - your lips would naturally curl upwards like a leaf.
It had become routine, almost. Comfortable. As easy as breathing. John Price had gradually won you over with gentle words and a steady hand; a love of something that you enjoyed. Rarely now were the two of you spotted in the building without the other close behind – either John was helping you get a book down from a tall shelf, or you were recommending a multitude of texts and handing them to the Captain behind you.
Comparable to a couple so love-struck, it was surely a surprise to everyone that the two of you weren’t dating already.
Once, Kyle had come in just off from drills and had a stifled laughing fit in the doorway as the librarian hissed at him to quiet down. The Sergeant had seen his stiff and stocky superior trailing after you like a loyal hellhound, holding upwards of five books in his grasp as you placed another on top. The older man just had a soft glimmer in his eye watching as you went to grab another down the aisle. Completely whipped.
The only person who seemed not to notice was you. Or just didn’t know how to act on it.
Slowly but surely, your friend had thought, slowly backing up to the door before either one of you saw him.
—
“I was thinking we’d go out today, eh? It’s nice enough.” John asked you, and you pause your reading of the back of a book, blinking up at the man. He tilts his head and continues. “The bench down in the park, then?”
It was a beautiful day out, you thought. Taking a quick glance out the window, you turn back to the brunette and smile easily.
“I think that would be great. Let's just hope it stays that nice out for the rest of the day. I’d hate to get rained on.” Chuckling, you slide past the man and go to grab your bag on your chair.
“Alright, lets go,” you say with an expression on your face like an eager hiker waiting to see the sunrise over the mountains. Talking and being around the Captain was surprising in how quickly it had happened – you can’t remember a time when you’d experienced…whatever this was, so suddenly.
He made it uncomplicated. Undemanding. The Brit was a breath of fresh air; a fireplace with picture frames lining the mantle, bathed in warm light. You weren’t exactly sure what to make of him, but for the first time in your life, you wanted to learn. To try and figure out what all of this would mean and be like.
John holds out an arm from his side and moves his head to the door, leather jacket crinkling much like the skin of his face. The blue of his eyes is strange today, you think to yourself as you loop an arm to grab his bicep, darker but still melted into silver flecks. Beautiful.
You had told him as much, at one point.
“Y’know, your eyes are really pretty.” More courage had gone into that statement than any other previously said. John’s head turns, giving his full attention as his lids lightly peel back in apparent shock. Your lips twitch. “Like water after a storm, or…something…I don’t know.”
You release a small batch of innocent laughter, blinking up at him and smiling; not doubting that he didn’t receive many compliments.
He deserves them, you thought. Especially if you got to see his cheeks slyly blush under his beard.
John clears his throat. Hiding a fervent twitch of his mouth.
“...Thank you, sweetheart.” A pause. “Yours are lovely as well.”
You show your book to the librarian, holding it up in your free hand as John’s shadow towers over you. She only nods as you head out the door, knowing you’d return it when you were done.
The walk to the park is nearly silent, a light hum in the back of your throat as you pass trees and verdant hills; trading harsh concrete for a more packed-down lawn of blade grass. The Captain keeps you close, glancing down at you often to make sure you weren’t having any trouble with his faster pace and also watching the other trials in case someone showed up.
A smirk flickers over your lips when you notice.
“You’re just like Kyle.” He scoffs incredulously, raising a dark brow when he looks at you, beanie sitting firm on his head.
“What’s that, now?” You squeeze his bicep, cheeks hot but not feeling the poke of hesitation anymore. That had all gone out the window a while ago.
“He doesn’t know when to just enjoy himself, either. Take a breath. We’re at a park, John.” Spreading your free hand out to gesture around, “it’s a beautiful day, yeah?”
“Hm,” his chuckles are like being thrown into a bed full of soft furs; gazing at the stars out of a fogged window. “All that tells me, Love, is that at least one bloody thing I taught Garrick is sticking, that does.”
You lightly elbow his side and roll your eyes, huffing in amusement as your skin grows goosebumps.
“How did I know you were going to say something like that?”
“Hm, well, I’d say you’ve been around me too much.” John’s eyes grace down your face, and he seems to unconsciously let himself loosen up. You feel his body partially morph into yours, and find you don’t mind it at all.
The bench was on a small square of concrete surrounded by trees to act as a wind-breaker, separate as a well-trodden path went to it, infected with small flowers. You couldn’t ask for a more lovely day, but your breath gets stuck in your chest when you come to a strange conclusion.
This day wouldn’t be half as enjoyable without a certain Captain by your side.
You both sit down, and, despite the confusion in your mind, you smile and take a deep breath; sucking down the scent of pine from John and the unexplainable smell of a lazy breeze.
He slides an arm along the back of the bench, brushing your shirt, with one large leg going to rest atop his other. The scuffed material of the Brit’s boots draws a small chuckle from your lips, spying John’s tilted down head, angled to you.
A curl of his cheeks was under the beard, a small reverberation living in his ribs like a car engine. There’s a comfortable silence that settles as you look out at the nature surrounding you, not quite ready to reach for your book yet.
John speaks, calling you by your first name, and drawing you back with a turn of your head; a shiver travels your spine when the man’s hands lightly brush behind you. When you find his face, you’re stuck at the fact that he looks…nearly serious?
Your eyebrows turn in.
What just happened? Did I miss something?
“John?” You wonder, seeing the Captain’s head turn away for a second, his body shifting back farther in the seat as a harsh clearing of his throat bursts forward. He clenches his jaw as if there's something he wants to confess. Like a guilty boy to a father.
Where did this shift come from? You want to ask but had already realized in your subconscious that it had been there since the Library.
Dark eyes and moving feet. Roving eyes. Your heart speeds up when your fingers twitch in puzzlement. You didn’t….didn’t like when he looked like that. Especially when he was with you.
He could tell me anything, you blink at the thought, he could tell me anything, and I’d listen to it all without complaint. He’d done the same for you, it was common sense to replay the notion, was it not?
Your mind hissed that it was not. Nothing about this was common sense for you.
“What’s the matter?” Your body moves, form angling itself so it would face this beast of a man head-on.
The Captain curses under his breath, startling you. He’d refrained thus far from using vulgar language around you, though you don’t know why. Kyle had let it slip that the Brit had quite the mouth on him around the 141 but had resigned to limit himself around you.
It makes your heart go wild.
“I was wondering if you’d like to go to dinner with me, eh?” Freezing, your wide gaze stays locked onto the face that leaks out the gravel tone, mind wonderfully blank like a TV screen. Oh. Your lips parts. “My flat’s down on Main Ave,” John’s visage is deathly serious, and as sweat forms on the flesh of your palms, he doesn’t stop. “I’d be one lucky bastard if I could have you over, Sweetheart. Cook you a proper meal.”
A breeze ruffles your clothes as your muscles tense.
…A date? With…John? Is that what he’s asking me for?
“I-” You stop yourself from speaking, breath shallow.
But John watches silently, waiting with hooded eyes laced with intent. He’d give you all the time in the world to answer him, but you did have to answer.
There would be no backtracking this time.
You called to memory your shared moments in the library as your body shifts – seconds where a part of you had yearned for him to allow you to snuggle up in his chair with his arms around you. Wound tight in an embrace and listening to the heavy thump of his strong heart; you’d never acted before on any form of infatuation, but had struggled when it came to John. His courage and selflessness. Constant rapt attention when you spoke as if your words were coated with honey and dipped in sugar.
And you had acted just the same. Stolen glances with hot cheeks, dreams at night that kept you awake and nearly made you cry from loneliness. Longing so strong it made you hate the quietness of your apartment. How long had it been since someone had held you in their arms that wasn’t stemming from a friendly embrace? Has that ever even happened to you? Did you never notice the way he was trying to make you understand? To tell you he would help you through it?
You craved that sensation of wholeness – violently; perpetually; unceasingly.
It was John. Oh, good lord, it was John.
You wanted to be with him, not so he could try and fix you, no, you didn’t need that. What you simply needed was someone to hold your hand through all of it. A buffer. Someone to look at you and kiss your forehead when the days got bad. Whisper promises and come home from work with a new book to read aloud beside the fireplace.
Callused hands and a small smile that made your heart skip beats.
That was the fourth time you realized you were in trouble. Because, suddenly, for the first time in your entire life, you had a reason to say yes.
“...And who would I be if I said no to a homemade meal, Captain?”
—
You were gathering your things with shaking hands. Taking a moment to draw down oxygen and shake your head, you clean the glass of the picture frame in your hold; wiping the glass with the sleeve of your shirt.
Running your eyes over the printed photo, you smile, nerves momentarily settling.
John’s eyes stare back at you, lips pulled back in a large smile as your mirror image is looking off into the distance, also beaming. His beanie sits on your head; the leather jacket that he had passed off to you sits over your shoulders.
“Looks better on you anyways, Love.”
Off in the distance, more of a glimpse and a vague shape, the bench can be seen surrounded by trees. Flowers grow along a trodden path.
Such a beautiful place, you think, reminiscing over memories and humming under your breath. Wondering at the span of years that had already passed. Three, to be exact. And you were finally saying goodbye to your own apartment – moving into John’s flat.
It was a big step, insanely big, and you would be a worse liar than Odysseus to say you weren’t nervous. Kyle had been such a large support system, and since getting back into contact with his parents, who had been thrilled to speak to you again, it was easier. But John made it the easiest.
“Have another ready for me, then, yeah?” You look up from the photo, catching the man leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed. Smiling sincerely, you laugh. How long he’d been there, simply watching you, you knew not. The fact made your heart soar.
“You don’t have to do all the heavy lifting, My Love. I’m perfectly capable.”
“I know.” He levels lowly, leaving it at that with a grunt and a sly smirk. “What’s that?”
Nodding to the frame, you tilt it toward him in the nearly empty bedroom, “ring any bells?”
The Captain pushes off the wall, walking up to you as you watch the sway of his hips. He takes the object from your hand lightly, using his free one to loop it around your waist. Even after years, your skin still sings at his touch. You lean into him deeply, hearing that sound of satisfaction deep in his chest when your cheek nuzzles his peck.
Your arm pulls him onto a side hug as John chuckles.
“First year anniversary. Same place I asked you on a date.” He tilts his head down to you and presses a kiss deep into your hair. “Reminiscing without me, Sweetheart?”
Whispered words make your body heat; silver tongue perhaps even more lethal than the glowing flecks in his eyes. You can’t help the giggle, muffled by his athletic shirt, from fighting to meet the air.
John hums, but you both have a schedule to complete, and soon it’s back to putting your belongings into boxes.
Until there’s nothing left. No sofa in the living room, or a dented table in the kitchen. The bathroom is void of toothpaste stains or even a toothbrush in general. It was…
Surreal, you comment, eyes flickering back and forth from the doorway. Only one box was left – the most important stuff. Pictures, antique watches. Old books with broken spines that smelled like coffee even after all this time; you imagined they always would.
John goes to pick it up, just coming back from the moving vehicle outside. He slides past, as loose as a snake, and gears for the last mark to compete for his task. When he sees you staring off like that, the little box in his hands suddenly means nothing. His eyelids narrow with confusion, jaw loose.
“Sweetheart?” When you don’t respond, he puts the box down immediately, attention fixed. John’s orbs fill with concern, mist now swirling over the dark rocks. “Hey, you alright, there, Love?”
You looked around at the vast nothingness, and that little voice in your head came back. The one you’d thought you’d gotten rid of.
What if it all breaks apart? What if all of this…all of John isn’t…
Concern was inevitable. You’d never gone through this before - never moved in with someone; never thought you’d get into a relationship, even if you might have wanted one. And now…
“Sorry…it’s just…” You trail off, face burning and eyes watery. John’s body moves as close as it’s able, hand traveling up to cup your cheek with utter tenderness. As delicately as glass, one would say, if they were paying attention. The action makes your eyes flicker closed at the scrape of tough flesh that had become so familiar to you. Warm. Safe.
No one else would ever hold you like that, if not him.
“I know. Easy. I’m right here.” His chest moves in a deep breath in, and you let yourself be angled into his hold, arms going to wrap around his waist as his own encompass your shoulders. “I’ll always be right here.”
Those large limbs are tight but never, never, restricting.
And you knew they never would be. Not until the both of you were buried in the ground, rigor mortis set in and fingertips boring into each other's flesh for eternity. White bones falling into one dust pile.
You pull back and grab his cheeks, tears dribbling down your face, and smile so large your face hurts. And you kiss John with every ounce of love and loyalty you could muster, feeling his beard scrape your skin like it normally does; his hands circling your waist like always, and that gentle grumble in his breast that makes you whole.
Soon that apartment was nothing more than an old piece of yourself, much like the hesitation and fear of opening yourself up and allowing yourself to experience…this. Wounds had scabbed over, scars had faded like bad memories.
And by the fifth time you had realized you were in trouble, you had decided trouble wasn’t really what it was at all. Maybe it was just the fact that the gap in your heart was finally getting filled.