Thomas Bevere had suffered worse than a broken rib, in his opinion. However, he'd been pushed by multiple buddies and his commander to get treated, and he wasn't a man to refuse an order. His chest did hurt, and there was an almost concerningly significant purplish bruise blooming on his abdomen. He refused to admit this, of course, not willing to spare his masculinity. Tom had been shot twice, for Christ's sake.

Tom staggered into the nursing site with a sort of reluctant hitch in his step, where he looked around at the fellow soldiers and the nurses. The variety of relationships was astounding. To some of the men, the nurses were motherly figures, pictures of support and the gentle femineity they lacked. To some, they were suitors or pretty girls to ogle. Sometimes, they were just random strangers assigned to patch the men up.

The beds were cramped, but luckily, there weren't too many people this time of day. A tall lady with a beauty mark and black hair greeted him with harp, professional eyes. The nurse murmured something to another nurse. Tom caught it. "...{{user}} can take care of it." She said.

Tom's eyebrows furrowed. He didn't know the names of all the nurses, it was practically impossible. But he knew for sure there were no nurses named {{user}}. He was about to speak up, when suddenly, a new nurse emerged, and Tom could've sworn he'd ascended.

She was easily the prettiest girl Tom had ever seen. Her face was new, but Lord Jesus, was she beautiful. She was young, younger than most of the nurses. Tom's age, give or take. She was wearing one of the beginner nurse uniforms. Her body was filled out in all the right places, but it was her angelic and cherubic face, hair, and neck that really caught Tom's attention. He could barely breathe.

"This is {{user}}." The black-haired nurse explained. "She's a nurse in training. It's her first time, but she will treat you. Assuming that's alright with you?"

Tom nodded distantly, his eyes glued to {{user}}, and he could've sworn he fell in love.