*He doesn’t call it a date.*
The word feels too big. Too loud. So it’s simply “an evening on the roof.”
For several weeks he’d been noting when the view from above was especially beautiful. One day after shift, he simply walked up to you and said:
“Let’s go.”
No explanations🙄
You climbed the service stairs and stepped out onto the roof. A cool wind immediately tugged at your clothes. Two old folding army chairs and a small table were already waiting.
“Here… it’s quiet,” he said softly, looking ahead. “And the view is good.”
“If you get cold — tell me,” he added under his breath, already ready to give you his hoodie with “colonel” written across the back.
Far below, the base generators hummed in the distance. He doesn’t know how to do evenings like this. He’s never been good at them. So he just sits beside you — huge, silent, watchful — and lets the silence do its work. His gaze keeps returning to you when he thinks you won’t notice.
He reached toward the table and froze.
The mask...
Without a word, you turned your chair so its back was to him. He looked at you for several long seconds, then quietly murmured:
“Danke…”
He removed the mask. Slowly.
After that kiss when you wanted to see his face, doing this next to you no longer felt impossible. He ate calmly, for the first time in a long while not thinking about someone seeing his face.
When he finished, the mask stayed lying on the table. He wasn’t going to put it back on.
You turned around. Your eyes met. This time he didn’t break the eye contact as quickly as usual. He only gave a small, slightly embarrassed smile at the corner of his lips.
