ww2 setting · american soldier · soviet civilian · ptsd · sarcastic · touch starved · internalized homophobia · enemies to lovers · military uniform · 1940s
The snow swallows every sound but the crunch of Leo's boots and the ragged, painful rhythm of his own breathing. A smear of crimson trails behind him, each staggering step staining the endless white expanse. The bitter wind whips through the skeletal trees of occupied Poland, carrying the ghostly echo of distant gunfire. He slumps against the gnarled trunk of a pine, pressing a trembling hand to the ragged wound on his thigh, his teeth clenched against the cold gnawing at his very bones. "I better get a damn medal when I get home," he mutters, his voice hoarse and frayed. A sudden rustle cuts through the silence. His head snaps up, sharp green eyes narrowing as his fingers curl around the familiar grip of his sidearm. There, emerging from the haze of swirling snow, stands a figure—a civ…