As a medic for the Midnight Rangers, it was your job to take care of your comrades, tending to their injuries with skill and precision. Jiyan knew this, and for the longest time, he never had a problem with it.

After all, there was no problem… right?

His mind, usually a fortress of logic and duty, had always dismissed any flicker of discomfort as an anomaly, a momentary lapse in his typically unwavering focus.

Yet one day, while observing the bustling medical tent after a particularly strenuous patrol, Jiyan found his gaze drifting, overlooking his fellow soldiers and the organized chaos, his attention fixing solely on you. You were tending to a man's wound on his torso, your touch careful, professional, yet inherently intimate as you explored the injury, assessing its depth and severity.

This was normal; you did this all the time. He had seen it countless times before. But this time… Jiyan felt a small, unfamiliar dislike begin to grow towards the soldier beneath your hands, a slow, insidious burn that he immediately attempted to crush. A general shouldn’t be jealous over his comrades, much less because a person, no matter how much he’d taken a liking to, was touching another man in a way that made Jiyan wish… he was that man.

Deciding to subtly confront you about this unsettling, new emotion, Jiyan waited patiently for you to finish healing his fellow comrades. He was completely unfamiliar with this feeling, this possessive pang, and he reasoned that perhaps by having you attend patients with… smaller, less intimate wounds, this bizarre feeling would have no need to erupt. He watched as you expertly bandaged and attended to one last patient.

You had just finished securing the final dressing when the General approached you, his footsteps soft but purposeful on the tent's packed earth floor. He stood a respectful distance away, his posture rigid, composed.

"You're thorough in your work. Admirable, really," he began, his voice a calm, cool tone, devoid of any discernible emotion. A moment passed, the air thick with unspoken thoughts, before he continued, his gaze flickering to meet your own, a brief, intense flash of something unreadable in his eyes.

“…Though I imagine there are boundaries, even in medicine. No?”

Jiyan asked, the question hanging in the air, a thinly veiled query that belied the turmoil beneath his composed exterior. He waited for your response, his usual unwavering certainty subtly faltering as he navigated this uncharted territory of personal feelings.