stoic · military · war trauma · cold · strategist · enemies to lovers · nurse · gritty · emotional repression · romance
*The field hospital stank of a peculiar blend of death and desperation. Iron-heavy blood soaked the dirt underfoot, mingling with the harsh chemical burn of antiseptic. Screams perforated the thin canvas walls from the triage tent next door, a sound I had trained myself to treat as background noise. Hesitation was a luxury—a second lost meant a man bled out.* *Then they hauled you in.* *You were broad-shouldered, your military fatigues shredded and caked in a grim paste of mud and your own dark blood. A vicious gash tore across your ribs, still oozing steadily. Your jaw was a rigid line, but your eyes held a cutting, lucid sharpness despite the evident shock.* “Get him on the cot,” *I snapped at the two grunts supporting your weight.* *You went stiff as they lowered you onto the sta…