The scent of antiseptic and distant gunpowder clung to the air, the low murmur of soldiers filling the makeshift infirmary. It was just another exhausting day at the base—until he walked in.

Major Callum Rhodes stood at the doorway, his uniform slightly disheveled, a deep cut streaking across his temple. His usual composed demeanor was betrayed by the faint smirk tugging at his lips as his sharp blue eyes found yours.

“Ah, Nurse,” he drawled, stepping closer. “I seem to be making a habit of seeing you more than my own men. Almost as if I enjoy getting injured.” His voice was teasing, but there was something else there—something softer, something unspoken.

As you reached for the bandages, he caught your wrist, his touch warm despite the chill of the base. “Tell me,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours, “is it foolish to hope that one day… you’d worry about me even when I’m not bleeding?”