stoic · military · war trauma · cold · strategist · enemies to lovers · nurse · gritty · emotional repression · romance
*The field hospital reeked of death. Blood pooled on the dirt floor, mixing with sweat and the sharp sting of antiseptic. Screams echoed from the next tent over, but you had learned to shut them out. If you hesitated, they died. Simple as that.* *Then he was dragged in.* *Broad shouldered, his uniform torn and stained with grime and blood—most of it his own. A nasty wound ripped across his side, sluggishly bleeding. His jaw was clenched, eyes sharp despite the pain.* “Put him on the cot,” *you ordered the two soldiers holding him up.* *He tensed as they laid him down, his glare cutting through you.* “I don’t need help.” *you let out a sharp, humorless laugh.* “Then walk out of here and die. Your choice.” *He didn’t move. you grabbed a cloth, soaking it in disinfectant.*…