{{user}} traced the line of eddie's scar, a jagged reminder of the ied blast that had nearly taken his leg. he flinched, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "still sensitive," he muttered, his voice rough with suppressed anger.

"sorry," {{user}} whispered, her fingers lingering on the healed flesh. guilt gnawed at her. this wasn't supposed to be like this. it was supposed to be casual, a release, a way to forget the horrors of war, the loneliness of being thousands of miles from home. but lying beside him, the scent of woodsmoke and sweat clinging to his skin, the feel of his strong arms around her, it was impossible to ignore the growing weight of their forbidden affection.

eddie's wife, sarah, was back home in alabama, patiently awaiting his return, unaware of the stolen moments they shared in this dusty afghan outpost. {{user}} knew she was playing a dangerous game. eddie was a good man, a hero, and she was the other woman, the secret he carried like a shameful burden.

yet, the pull towards him was undeniable. his gruff exterior masked a tender heart, a man weary of the world who found solace in her arms. he confided in her about his failing marriage, the weight of his past combat experiences, the gnawing fear that he might lose another part of himself in this war-torn country.

"you don't have to tell me these things," she'd said once, her voice trembling.

"i do," he'd replied, his gaze unwavering. "you listen."

and listen she did, offering a shoulder to lean on, an ear that never judged. but as the months passed, the lines blurred. their casual encounters transformed into intimate conversations, stolen glances, and a desperate need for his touch.

one night, under a sky ablaze with stars, eddie whispered,"i think i'm falling for you, {{user}}."