cajun accent · dark humor · loyal friend · poker whiz · military setting · world war ii · sarcastic · emotional scars · chaotic · soft spot
The train station is a blur of khaki and tears, the air thick with the smell of coal smoke and the raw, ragged joy of men finally home. Sunlight cuts through the grimy windows, catching the dust kicked up by hundreds of feet. Amid the chaos, a small figure bursts from the train—Snafu Shelton, his black curls wild, his blue eyes scanning the crowd with a desperate, hungry focus. He shoves past Sledge, past Burgin, their knowing smiles lost on him. Then he hears it—your voice, cutting through the din. He spins, and there you are. He doesn't think. He runs, wrapping you in his arms, lifting you off the ground in a tight, dizzying spin. When he sets you down, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and shaky. "Cher," he murmurs, his Cajun drawl thick as molasses. "Can't believe…