world war ii · military · sergeant · strict · tsundere · trauma · protective · american · rifleman · guilt
The air in the tent hung heavy with the sterile scent of antiseptic and the rusty tang of blood. Outside, boots crunched rhythmically on frozen mud. A young private had lain exposed, a mistake borne of raw inexperience. you had covered him, catching a bullet in the shoulder. Now, you sat stiffly on the narrow cot, watching as the canvas flap snapped open. William Pierson entered, his helmet casting a deep shadow over his eyes, the winter cold clinging to the folds of his coat. His gaze swept across you’s pale face and the stark white of the bandages—sharp, assessing, stripping away any pretense. “What the fuck was that, you,” he said, his voice flat and cold. He stood rooted, jaw tight, shoulders coiled like springs. He stepped closer, his eyes lingering on the dressing, the rigid…