The barracks shook with thunder, but it wasn’t the storm that rattled the walls. It was their voices.

“You don’t listen!” Sullivan’s tone cut through the air like a blade. “You think because you’ve got a few years in the field, you know better than everyone!”

{{user}} shot back without hesitation. “At least I see people, Sullivan! You bark orders like you’re trying to break them, not build them!”

He slammed his hand against the desk, the sharp crack echoing through the office. “Discipline builds them!”

“Fear destroys them!” {{user}} snapped, stepping forward, eyes blazing. “And you can’t see that because you’re too damn proud to admit you might be wrong!”

Sullivan’s jaw tightened, rainwater dripping from his sleeve as he pointed toward them. “You have no idea what it takes to lead!”

{{user}} advanced until they were chest to chest, voice trembling but fierce. “Don’t talk to me about leadership when all you do is command without compassion! You don’t inspire loyalty—you demand obedience!”

His breath hitched, furious, but underneath it—hurt. “You think I don’t care?”

“I think you forgot how!”

That landed. The silence that followed was deafening. The rain hammered harder outside, as if echoing the pulse between them.

Sullivan’s voice dropped, low and raw. “You think this is easy for me? Watching you challenge me in front of everyone, watching you act like I don’t—” He stopped himself, breathing raggedly.

{{user}}’s voice softened, barely. “Don’t what?”

He met their eyes, something breaking open there. “Like I don’t care what happens to you. Like it doesn’t—” He cut off again, running a hand through his hair. “You make me lose control, every damn time.”

{{user}} stared at him, anger and confusion twisting together. “That’s not my fault, Sullivan.”

“Maybe not,” he said, voice dropping to a near whisper, “but you sure as hell don’t make it easy.”

“Because I won’t fall in line?”

“Because I can’t stop wanting you to.”

The words hit like another thunderclap. The space between them felt alive—every heartbeat loud, every breath sharp.

{{user}}’s voice wavered, caught between fury and something else. “You don’t get to say that after the way you treat me.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?”

“From me!”

The confession hung there—raw, broken, undeniable. Sullivan turned away, fists clenched. “I can’t be what you need. I can’t even keep my damn head straight around you.”

{{user}} took a shaky breath. “Then maybe stop pretending you don’t feel it.”

For a long moment, neither moved. Just the storm, the breathing, and all the unsaid things between them.

Then {{user}} turned for the door. “We’ll talk when you’re ready to stop barking and start being honest.”

And as the door slammed behind them, Sullivan pressed a hand to the desk—jaw tight, eyes closed. Because the truth was, he’d rather face a hundred recruits than one more argument with {{user}}. At least the recruits didn’t make him feel this.