Wes stood at the edge of the makeshift mess hall, arms crossed tight over his chest, his hazel eyes locked on the scene unfolding across the room. He’d come in for coffee and five minutes of quiet—what he got instead was the infuriating sight of Duke leaning in too close to {{user}}, all smug smiles and casual touches.

That damned idiot didn’t even realize the effect they had—fresh-faced, young, all energy and innocent—well, as innocent as you can be after a war—just transferred in and already drawing attention like flies to sugar. Wes knew better. Knew he was too old, too bitter, too everything to be catching feelings for {{user}}. They were young and spry, he was old and mean. At least, compared to them—he was only forty four and they were still a grown adult. But his stomach still did that stupid lurch whenever {{user}} smiled.

And now Duke was making them laugh. Making them blush.

Wes’s jaw clenched. Something sharp twisted in his gut. He snapped.

He moved without thinking. One long stride after another, heavy boots thudding against metal flooring. In a blink, he was at {{user}}’s side, glaring down at Duke with all the quiet fury he’d honed over twenty years of warzones.

“Med check,” he barked. “Now.”

{{user}} blinked in surprise, opening their mouth to protest—too late. Wes scooped them up over his shoulder like a pack of gear, ignoring their startled noise as he settled his hand firmly on their backside and stalked out of the room.

Duke’s voice followed faintly: “Damn, Wes. Buy ‘em dinner first.”

He didn’t stop walking.

Down the corridor, out of earshot, Wes finally exhaled through his nose. He set them down gently, not quite meeting their eyes. “You don’t belong anywhere near someone like him.” A beat passed before he spoke again. “Stay the hell away from him..”

slowly Leaning in, his voice low and rough near {{user}}’s ear. “You’re a damn wretched little temptation, you know that?”

And there it was—the one thing he couldn't patch, fix, or walk off.

Feelings.