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Being sent to Top Gun was very much something to be proud of—unlike your accent, you thought. Once you spoke a couple of words to someone, they could tell immediately you were from the south. Back at home, nobody was bothered by it, but when you moved to California, that was vastly different.
Suddenly everyone seemed to be put off by your thick accent that wouldn't go away, no matter how hard you tried to adopt Californian speech. In your case, it only merged into some weird mix of both. The only solution was to stick to your own accent and not speak more than necessary around unfamiliar people.
You continued living by that in Miramar as well. Among all those aviators with—in a way rightfully—big egos you would work with for the next three months, you didn’t want to embarrass yourself. Of course you weren’t here to make friends and there could only be one whose picture would be on the wall while not everyone even graduated. Still, you would have liked not to be held back from having conversations outside of instruction. You weren’t necessarily a shy person, but you didn't want to be laughed at for your way of talking. What mattered was that you were deemed good enough at what you were doing to be accepted into this program.
From the first day, you noticed one man staring at you the whole time from the row behind you. You didn’t let yourself be bothered by it, despite admitting that there were less attractive men in this class. He had short blonde hair with bleached tips and green eyes that could stare into your soul if you looked into them for more than a second. The constant twirling of the pen between his fingers both annoyed you and subconsciously drew your eyes to his hands, a slip you quickly fixed by turning back around in your chair to look at the blackboard.
When you packed up after the last lesson and stood up, he blocked your way, standing almost too close to you. “Hey,” he said and you just nodded with a tight-lipped smile. “I’m Ice, what’s your name?”
You pointed at the embroidered name tag on your shirt and he smiled. “You don’t talk much, do you?” he asked, sitting on the edge of your desk.
“No,” you simply replied and took the chance of a free aisle to leave the room.
The worst thing was you would have liked to talk with him, but based on his tough guy behavior he had proudly shown off this week, you couldn’t be sure he wanted a serious friendly conversation and neither could you be sure he wouldn’t make fun of your accent if he heard it. Better be safe than sorry, even if safe possibly meant passing up on a date with the self-proclaimed best pilot of the class.
To your surprise, Iceman didn’t give up in the following days, attempting to catch you in the hallway for a quick chat prompted by things as trivial as him liking your pen and asking for the brand name. Also to your surprise, you persisted and always found a way out of the situation without speaking or only giving very short answers.
Maybe he was consoled by the fact that he was not the only one you avoided talking to as you only spoke during practice flights and when you had to answer a question—or had a question yourself—during instruction. You didn’t pay much attention to the other guys’ reaction except for low murmuring in some corners that might have just been regarding the topic, but you couldn’t play the mute pilot forever in situations when you had to talk. That didn’t mean you would start being more communicative privately, though.
After actually hearing your voice for the first time, Iceman brought the big guns in. Secretly, he found your accent kind of cute and not at all as big of a deal as you made it out to be. He had to get you to talk to him somehow. The next level was straight-up flirting with you. Professionalism was out the window all of a sudden, even if he kept it subtle in the classroom. On the volleyball court or in the corridors, however, he was more direct.
“I was wondering if you wanted to go to the club with me tonight?” he asked, sounding genuine and smiling with his arms crossed. “Most of the others are coming too and I like going with someone to these things.”
Frankly, you felt bad for rejecting him as you would have loved to accept the invitation, but you still didn’t know if it was a trophy chase like you had heard about Maverick betting with Goose that he would hook up with a woman he saw at the bar. So you resorted to shaking your head with a sympathetic smile. “Sorry,” you said and walked around him to go to your apartment.
You were the first person who left Iceman seriously frustrated and who didn't engage in his flirting at all. Sure, there had been people who already had a boyfriend or were not into men, but they had at least responded properly and it didn't affect him much. However, there was something intriguing about you that wouldn't let you get out of his head.
He couldn't need any distractions right now while working to get that certificate and have his photo hung up on the wall. The training was tough, everyone knew that by now, and there was no time or reason for him to come up with a new tactic to get a date when he wasn't sure if you would ever give in. Yet he often found himself sitting behind you during instruction and trying to figure you to no avail.
Normally, he didn't chase after people over an extended period of time. For one night maybe, but never over days or weeks like it was the case with you. It was always vice versa, so there was no need for him to come begging on his knees.
There's always a first time.
He was embarrassed to stoop so low as to visit someone at their place without knowing if they even wanted something from him. It made him feel like a desperate ex-boyfriend in a Doris Day movie. Still, he was on his way to your apartment. He only hoped nobody he knew would see him, especially if the walk of shame came after a couple of minutes when he would be turned down rather than an hour later, which would obviously be better for his reputation.
Standing in front of your door, he repeated in his head what he wanted to say. It would be extra humiliating if you rejected him now when it wasn't spontaneous flirting out of boredom in between classes but a planned evening walk to your apartment just to talk to you and hopefully ask you out.
When he was completely sure what he wanted to tell you, he raised his hand to knock on the door. As cool and nonchalant as he usually was, he was a little nervous now. He was leaning against the doorframe because standing still felt too much like a sales representative to him. He waited for a few minutes and just when he almost lost hope that you would come out at all, the door opened. Almost as if he was more surprised to see you than you were to see him, he turned to look at you with wide eyes before grinning.
A smile formed on your face and you crossed your arms, curious to know why he was here. “Hello, I’m sorry to bother you, but I really wanted to talk to you and I figured this would be a place where you couldn’t run away from me,” he explained with a light chuckle. “And I like your accent, if that’s why you never reply when I try to chat you up.”
This addition turned your skeptical frown into a relieved smile. “Y’know I could slam the door even if I can’t run away from you?” you joked.
Iceman’s eyes lit up at this longer answer than he was used to from you. It felt like he found a bucket of water in the desert. “That is true, but I was hoping you wouldn’t.”
You tilted your head, taking a small step forward. “Shouldn’t you be at the club?”
“I told you I prefer going with someone to parties over going alone,” he reminded you. “But if you’ve changed your mind, we can gladly go to the club.”
“Yeah?” You were surprised that he hadn’t gone with somebody else instead and that he still offered to let you come with him if you did want to now.
He nodded excitedly and your smile mirrored his. “Just let me change into something else, I’ll be right back.”
Before he could leave a cocky remark, you closed the door as he stood with his hands in his pockets, patiently waiting for you to return. It had taken a while, but now he was finally about to go out with you and he felt like a schoolboy before seeing his prom date.