Chapter Text
If someone had told Nicholas Slovacek that he would fall in love with an ex ballerina during boot camp, he might’ve punched them in the face then spit on them after. But here he is.
Layla Hendrickson is one of the few female recruits here at Parris Island. The first time Nick saw her was at check in. She was standing with the other women, waiting to be taken back to get her phone call.
They locked eyes across the grass, and she winked at him. Cheeky thing. He just grunted and looked forward.
After he got his phone call, he got his head shaved. He wouldn’t ever admit it, but he didn’t recognize himself when he looked in the mirror. It was like a different person looking back at him.
The next time he sees Layla, it’s already been a few days of this hellhole. She’s sitting with some women during mealtime at the chow hall. Once again, they locked eyes. She winks again.
It isn’t for another week until they actually speak.
Nick is standing off to the side with Nash and Bowman, when they get called over by a few of the female recruits. Layla scoffs, “Oh lord, here comes the Backstreet Boys.”
Nick just grunts. It’s Nash who speaks first, “Don’t think there’s any black Backstreet Boys.” He laughs, very amused. Nash is a very snarky man, after all, everyone remembers notebookgate.
Layla shakes her head in amusement, “Being a Backstreet Boy is a state of mind. Skin color has nothing to do with it.”
“The Backstreet Boys are a bunch of prissy assholes that only teenage girls enjoy.” He chimes in, as gruff as ever. Layla only rolls her eyes,
“Oh yeah? What kind of music do you enjoy then?” She asks, crossing her arms. She isn’t intimidated, if anything, she’s intrigued.
“Hard rock. Things a little girl like you wouldn’t understand.” Nick sizes her up as he speaks, curious about the woman in front of him. The others are watching in amusement, laughing at the little back and forth between the ex convict and the ex ballerina.
“Oh, you like hard rock? Wow, could you be any more of a stereotypical man?” She teases, making fun of him.
Nick bristles at her words, “Careful, princess, I don’t take kindly to being made fun of.”
“What, you gonna rough me up?” She steps closer as she speaks, until they’re chest to chest, and leans up, putting her lips by his ear, “Jokes on you, I’m into that.” And with that, she walks off, headed back to where the rest of her platoon is at.
Nick watches her go in shock, his jaw on the floor. He gets back to training, his mind stuck on the ex ballerina.