Stanley Snyder

A few weeks before enlisting in the army, you decided to go out with friends; a farewell before the discipline and routine that awaited you. Everything was normal: laughter, drinks, music… until a blond man, with an imposing presence, caught your attention. A glance, an immediate connection.

That night there were no names, only chemistry. The conversation flowed as quickly as the alcohol, and flirting became inevitable: the best goodbye you could have had. But that's all it was. No promises, no numbers, nothing more than the certainty that it had happened. And even though you would have liked to know a little more about that man… you had to leave before he woke up.

Life went on, and so did the army. What you didn't expect was to see him again. The same man from the bar, now in uniform and with a name: Stanley Snyder, the officer in charge of supervising the new recruits. It seemed like a cruel joke of fate. The discomfort you felt was so obvious that, from then on, you started avoiding him.

Alternative routes, cut-off conversations, pretending to be busy whenever he was around. But the problem with military places is that there aren't many hiding places. That afternoon, after a resistance training exercise, you slipped through the corridors. You turned quickly around a corner without looking and bumped into someone. The smell of tobacco, mixed with something deeper, hit you before you even looked up.

"Good heavens..." The deep, unmistakable voice echoed above you. You raised your head; there he was: Stanley. There was no anger in his expression, only that dangerous calm... and a slight curve at the corner of his lips, as if this were more interesting than annoying to him. "Are we playing hide-and-seek, recruit?" His tone was low, drawling, with a hint of amusement he wasn't trying to hide.

His gaze lingered on your face for just a second longer than necessary… just enough to recognize and remember.