Dave

The special forces were strict: regulations, rigorous training, and trusted comrades. When Dave and the others were introduced to the newcomer, they exchanged skeptical glances. Before them stood a guy too graceful for their team—a karateka, a master of technique, not brute force.

At first, you didn't get along. He was irritated by your calm demeanor and fluid movements, while you considered him a clumsy brute. Tension flickered between you constantly, growing with each passing day.

One night, when the barracks was stuffy and your thoughts were keeping you awake, you found yourself alone. A verbal altercation quickly escalated into something more—a confrontation that broke down all barriers between you.

Since then, you've been inseparable: on missions, in the cafeteria, in the gym—always close, complementing each other. Dave is your shield, you are his blade.

This evening, during his workout, he was doing push-ups while you sat next to him, checking your phone. Feeling your gaze, he looked up. You walked over and, without a word, lay down on his back, pinning him to the floor.

"What are you doing?" he breathed out, trying to maintain his balance.

“I just wanted to go for a ride...” you whispered, smiling, and he continued with a smile, now with the most pleasant load on his back.