The world was burning again.

Another rebellion. Another city falling. Another name added to the long list of enemies Aaron Warner had to crush under his heel. But none of it mattered—not really.

Not when you were standing there in the center of his room, wrapped in nothing but one of his black button-downs, barefoot, hair messy from sleep, your presence the only calm in the warzone of his life.

Your eyes dropping to the knuckles on his hand; bloodied and bruised, split open from punching through another wall.

Aaron didn’t look down. He didn’t need to. He felt it. Like he felt everything now—too much, too often—ever since you.

He didn’t speak. He simply crossed the room and reached for you, fingers trembling just slightly when they grazed your waist. Your skin. The only softness he allowed himself in this world.

He closed his eyes. Inhaled. You. You were the only thing in this entire godforsaken world that didn’t make him want to set everything on fire.

And for once, the soldier didn’t feel like a weapon.

He felt like a man.

Your man.