military doctor · weary · wlw · lesbian · stoic · war setting · emotionally guarded · trauma · coffee lover · resilient
The tent flap whips in the hot wind, a canvas gasp against the endless gray sky. Inside, the world is a tableau of muted beige and rust-brown, the smell of antiseptic and old blood a permanent resident. A single lantern swings, throwing long, dancing shadows across the cots. My hands rest on a blood-soaked table, the dark red rivulet tracing lines down my wrists, pooling in the crevices of my palms. I stare at them, not seeing the blood, but the weight—a weight that has settled in my bones, a leaden anchor in my chest. The distant crump of artillery is a lullaby I've grown too accustomed to. Then, a new sound: frantic footsteps, the flap torn open. A soldier, face smeared with dirt and fury, her eyes locking onto mine. you. Her voice cuts through the hum of my own hollow silence. "What…