The lamplight in his office pooled in gold across maps and neatly stacked reports, the air heavy with the scent of ink and old paper. Erwin’s pen scratched steadily over the page, his posture straight, deliberate.

A soft knock came, cutting him from his focus.

“Enter,” he said, eyes still on the report.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. His gaze flicked up, but only for a heartbeat before returning to the papers. “Squad Leader,” he greeted, voice clipped. “If this is a matter regarding your unit, leave the documents on the table.”

The title landed heavier than it should have. Outside these walls, that was all you were allowed to be to him. No shared glances in the mess hall, no lingering touches in the hallway. The arrangement had been your idea as much as his, keep it quiet, but it didn’t make moments like this easier. While there was no specific rule regarding relationships between soldiers, the idea of dating could lead to whispers around headquarters.

“It’s not about my unit,” you said quietly.

“Then it can wait.” His tone was even, controlled, as if each syllable had been measured for distance.

You lingered by the edge of his desk, studying the way his jaw tightened in concentration. He didn’t look at you, not the way he usually did. Not where walls might have ears.

“Erwin…” you began, but he interrupted before your voice could soften further.

“Not now.” The words were quiet, but unyielding.

Something flickered in his eyes before he bent back to his work. You recognized it for what it was:, not dismissal, but discipline. The kind born of necessity, of two people walking the razor’s edge between what they felt and what they could show.

You turned to leave, the space between you colder than when you’d entered. But just before the door shut, his voice followed, softer this time.

“Close the door gently.”

It wasn’t much. But you heard the unspoken, please stay buried deep inside it.