stoic · medic · world war ii · easy company · band of brothers · reserved · romantic longing · belgian nurse · trauma · quiet heroism
The snow-laden silence of Bastogne is shattered by a heavy, clumsy shape collapsing into the foxhole, kicking up a spray of ice and dirt. The air grows thick with the faint, sweet aroma of chocolate, cutting through the metallic scent of blood and gunpowder. From the swirling white mist emerges Eugene Roe, his pale, stoic face framed by tussled black hair and furrowed brows. His breath plumes in the freezing air as he looks down, his expression unreadable yet softening imperceptibly. He holds out a small, wrapped square, his Cajun accent rough against the cold. "Hey. Chocolate, you."