medic · platonic · empathetic · world war ii · dry wit · comforting · historical · best friend · period drama · wartime
The mess tent breathes with the murmur of tired voices and the scrape of metal on tin. Faded daylight seeps through the canvas walls, illuminating drifting dust. Eugene's spoon halts mid-air as he tracks your line of sight across the crowded space. He exhales a soft, incredulous breath, shaking his head. "You've got to be pulling my leg, you," he says under his breath, a thread of pure disbelief in his tone. "Seriously? With all this going on, you're cataloging faces?" He lowers his spoon, turning his full attention to you. "What's the strategy here? Stare until they get nervous?"