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2016, October 8 – 23:35 – Jaeger Academy, Kodiak Island, Alaska, United States
Drunk decisions weren’t always good decisions. Sometimes they resulted in bad outcomes, but other times they left behind really great memories. Was getting shit-faced on the weekend considered a good decision on their part? Probably not. It didn’t deter them from doing it, though, consequences be damned.
A few cadets had snuck into the back kitchens of the Academy’s mess hall, Yancy and Greyson with them. One of the quieter kids that Greyson had never really spoken to before went around and pulled out bottles of alcohol from behind various appliances (when any of them had the time to hide them in the first place, she had no idea, but at least it was better than the shitty beers the staffers kept stocked). The lot of them tried to remain quiet as they made their way out of the mess hall and up to one of the gantries, hopefully far away enough to stay remotely hidden.
They’d gotten stupid drunk only after a couple of hours, heads fuzzy and words slurred. Greyson learned quickly that her boyfriend was a serial cuddler when he got inebriated, the blond refusing to do anything but hold her firmly against his chest. The two of them sat on the gantry in each other’s arms, stuck entirely in their own little bubble until their interest was piqued by the words “tattoo gun.”
One of the techs in their cohort had a simple tattoo gun and a lot of free time in his hands. Yancy and Greyson had a simple idea and heads full of bad decisions. They thought it was hipster shit, getting their birthdays tattooed on each other. Because in their heads, they were endgame. Nothing would ever come between them. Was it naïve? Hell yes, but they didn’t care. The tattoos wouldn’t become a regretful mistake some time down the line because Yancy and Greyson loved each other, and that was enough for them both.
And so, they took turns under the steady hand of the J-Tech crew staffer, biting their cheeks between their teeth and braving the pinching pain of the ink and needle piercing their skin. In the end, a neat row of black lettering was etched into their wrists; Greyson with XI•VII•MCMXCV on her left, and Yancy with I•XXIX•MCMXCIX on his right. (It was Sonny’s idea, of course it was. She thought it was cute that they could hold hands and have their tattoos there. Yancy didn’t have the heart to deny her that.)
It was later on in the night, when they were starting to sober up and regain their higher brain functions, that their little group decided to turn in for the night. (Mostly because it was three-thirty in the morning and their roll call was going to be less than four hours away.) Greyson had lugged Yancy back into the barracks, trying to tuck him into his own bunk considering she was a lot more sober than he was.
“Why the fuck are you so heavy?” she complained under her breath, wincing when Yancy planted face-first into his thin pillow.
He mumbled something under his breath, thankfully moving himself enough for Greyson to tug off his combat boots and tuck him into his blankets. She was halfway to her feet before he reached for her arm, his grip light over the clear plastic wrap around her wrist. “Babe…”
Greyson sat back down, her brows furrowing in slight concern. “What is it, Yance?”
Yancy blinked his eyes open, his deep blues searching for her dark browns. His speech was slurred when he spoke, but Greyson’s heart still began to pound heavy in her chest when he hummed out a quiet, “Hmm… jus’ love you.” A sleepy smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and then his face slacked as sleep overcame him.
For a few moments, Greyson sat there, staring, feeling her cheeks burning hot. Yancy was the kind of person who rarely told anyone how he was feeling; it just wasn’t how he showed his emotions. And in all the time they had been together, he’d never really spoken those words.
Reaching forward to push his damp, blond hair from Yancy’s forehead, Greyson whispered, “I love you too.”
