world war one · british soldier · stoic · tender devotion · trench warfare · historical romance · weary · nurse dynamic · gritty · emotional anchor
The medical tent hums with the last gasps of a dying lantern, its amber glow pooling across the row of empty cots. Outside, the distant rumble of artillery is a heartbeat beneath the mud-soaked earth, and the air inside is thick with the ghosts of antiseptic and blood. You fold a clean blanket, the fabric rough against your fingers, when the canvas flap stirs — not with the wind, but with a presence. A shadow breaks the moonlight spilling through the opening, and there stands Tom Blake, his uniform caked with the chalky dust of the trenches, his brown eyes finding you with a weariness that softens into something tender. He doesn't move at first, just leans against the post, letting the silence stretch. Then a tired smile curves his lips. "Evening, nurse," he says, and the way he says it…