Chapter Text
I’m exhausted. It’s 9:50pm. I just got back from an op yesterday, I couldn’t sleep last night, and I leave for another tomorrow evening. Fuck. I manage to keep my eyes open until I pull into the gas station, hopping out the driver’s side of my 1995 Ranger.
I pick out my favorite energy drink from the back and bring it up to the counter, where a man ordering a coffee stands at the register next to me. I look over at the worker, struggling to stay awake. No one else can tell I’m tired, it’s a skill I developed during boot camp. “Regular on 6. Fill ‘er up.” As he scans my drink, I pull out my wallet and add “And Camel Golds, please.” I slide my ID across the counter and he grabs the pack. As I finish checking out, I look over at the man next to me. He’s got a pack of the same. “Nice ones, huh? Mild n’ easy.”
“Aye,” he chuckles, looking back at me. “a little treat after work.” I nod, grab my drink off the counter, and head outside. I sit down on a bench just outside the door and light my cigarette. I took a few drags before I noticed a man had just sat down next to me; same one from inside. I hold out my lighter and lit his cigarette. “Cheers.” “Aye.”
After sitting in silence, enjoying the smell of gas and smoke for a moment, I notice the dirty taste of the filter. It’s out. I crush my cigarette and toss it into the bin, the man does the same. Turns out, his car was next to mine. A ‘97 Explorer. He comes over and holds his hand out for a shake. “John MacTavish.” I shake his hand, telling him my own name. “Keegan Bogoyavlensky.” His grip was firm, comforting when half of the hands I shake at work are weak, especially those of lower ranks than me. Not to call myself better, but it seems like drill instructors aren’t as harsh about everything as they were when I was there 8 years ago in 2014. Hearing about Bin Laden’s death in 2011 made freshman me (like every other teenage boy at the time) feel extremely patriotic, but that held until I graduated and enlisted.
John nods at me and smiles. “Ye seem fun. Take my number, we can go oot for drinks sometime.” I chuckle, responding “Will do.”
He put his number in my phone before we parted ways and I started back to my apartment. His accent was strong, endearing in a way. Kind of man you’d want a pep talk from. His build wasn’t bad either. He was a few inches shorter than me, 5’10 if I had to guess. His hair was the flattest, most limp mohawk I’ve ever seen. It was a bit funny and I don’t think it’d look good on anyone else, but he pulled it off fairly well. His eyes were the brightest and most startling blue I can imagine exists in the world. The hyperbole’s killing me, but I can’t quite think of another way to describe it. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in a week or so, but his neck is miraculously clean-shaven. The stubble looks quite nice on him, to be honest. For his height, he’s actually quite muscular. His t-shirt was tight-fitting but not because it was too small, he was just fit. If I had to be honest, his jeans fit… well. Certainly wasn’t something to complain about. I wonder if he was hit on often. I guess we’ll see, but until then, I need some sleep.