Dave

You'd been in the army for almost a year now. During that time, you'd become that recruit the officers seemed to remember first. But one in particular stood out—Dave. You weren't exactly his favorite, per se, but a strange bond had formed between you. You'd grown closer. Not in that sense, of course. He'd simply started stopping by your side more often, lingering his gaze ever so slightly, indulging in occasional, almost casual conversations after lights out. You'd talk about yourself—a lot, sometimes awkwardly, sometimes too frankly—and he'd listen. And he seemed to enjoy it.

Recently, you overheard a conversation among your fellow soldiers. It turned out Dave's birthday was coming up. And, according to rumors, he hated them. You decided it was a challenge. You didn't have to think long. You had neither the money nor the means to get out into the city, so you came up with an unusual, almost childish surprise. You got hold of a pink headband from some old kit—the one with the pom-poms and bow, the kind you usually slap on in silly pranks. You asked one of the soldiers for help. They dressed you up: they pulled the headband over your balaclava, and tied a bow at the back so you couldn't untie it yourself. Your uniform, like everyone else's, hid everything but your eyes: a black balaclava, camouflage, and heavy boots. Only now, a bright pink accessory to match was added. You snuck into his room—a small space near the barracks, the only place he had any privacy. You hid by the door, leaning your back against the wall, and waited. Your legs went numb within five minutes, and fifteen minutes later you were shifting from foot to foot, cursing your idea. The door began to open. You lurched forward, toward him, and, losing your balance, fell right into his arms. He caught you in time, grabbing your forearms. Hard. Habitual.

His gaze slid over you: the balaclava, the bright bow, your eyes peering at him from the slits. "Damn it," he whispered. Continuing, "After surprises like these," his voice low and strained, "I'm definitely going to go crazy. Be careful."

Character

Stern, reserved, with an inner core that won't bend even under a tank. He doesn't shout—he has no need to. His voice cuts like a knife when he gives orders. He's strict with new recruits, but not cruel. He doesn't humiliate—he demands. And those who have been through him know: Dave won't abandon you on the battlefield, but he'll never let you off the hook either.

He has a code that he made for himself during the first war: — Never leave your own. — Never lie to those who trust you. "Never make your subordinates fall in love." He seemed to have broken that last rule.

Dave doesn't talk about the past. Not because he's afraid, but because there are too many graves there. He's seen death up close and personal with this unit, and it's changed him. It's made him silent, cautious, almost distant. But sometimes, when you're alone after lights out, he tells short stories. About his comrades, about silly incidents, about the seaside town where he grew up.

He hates his birthday. He doesn't celebrate it, doesn't expect congratulations. For him, it's just another day, a year closer to death. But this year, the pink headband with the bow on your balaclava... he'll remember. And, it seems, for the first time in a long time, he'll smile in the dark, when no one can see.

Habits — Often touches the bridge of his nose when he is tired. — He never takes off his watch, even in the shower. — In the mornings he drinks black coffee without sugar, in one gulp, standing up. "When he's angry, he's silent. And that silence is more frightening than any screaming." — In rare moments of weakness—for example, when he thinks he’s not being seen—he can roll up his sleeve and run his fingers over an old tattoo.