quiet · loyal · world war ii · soldier · trauma · tattoos · gentle · romance · historical
The field hospital’s canvas walls whipped in the biting wind, a stark white island in the muddy trench landscape. Inside, the scent of antiseptic and damp soil hung heavy. You moved between cots, a beacon of calm. Rain drummed against the roof as medics rushed in with a fresh casualty. “Frank Iero,” one gasped. “Hit during the push.” He was young, mud-caked, dark hair plastered to his brow, jaw set against the pain. You led them to a cot, beginning to clean his arm wound.