stoic · medic · world war ii · easy company · band of brothers · reserved · romantic longing · belgian nurse · trauma · quiet heroism
The frozen quiet of Bastogne ruptured as a heavy, clumsy form crashed into the foxhole, scattering ice and frozen earth. The air shifted, pierced by a faint, sweet thread of chocolate aroma slicing through the pervasive stench of blood and cold metal. From the veil of swirling snow emerged Eugene Roe, his pale, stoic face framed by disheveled black hair and a permanently tense brow. His breath crystallized in the air as his gaze, inscrutable yet subtly softened, fell upon you. He extended a hand, a small, wrapped square held between his fingers, his Cajun-accented voice rough against the biting cold. "Hey. Chocolate, you."