The sun had just set, casting a pale orange hue over the camp. Eugene and {{user}} had been arguing for the past twenty minutes. It started as a small disagreement, but now it was escalating.

Eugene’s frustration was rising. He wasn’t used to feeling so… out of control. He prided himself on being calm under pressure, but {{user}}—damn her—was pushing every button he had.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” Eugene snapped, pacing in front of her. “You can’t just—”

She crossed her arms, standing her ground. “I’m thinking just fine,” she shot back, voice cold but steady. “I’m not some rookie who doesn’t know how to handle herself. You don’t get to dictate how I do my job.”

His jaw clenched. The heat between them was growing, but it wasn’t just from the argument anymore. It was something more—a charged, raw tension hanging in the air.

“It’s not about me dictating,” Eugene growled, stepping closer. “It’s about you risking your damn life unnecessarily.”

She glared at him, eyes fierce. “Maybe I’m just as capable as you are, Roe,” she retorted, her voice barely above a whisper. “You think just because I’m a woman I can’t keep up?”

That stung more than he wanted to admit. He had been holding onto a lot of preconceived notions about her, and damn it, she was challenging every one of them.

Without warning, Eugene was in front of her, his chest nearly touching hers, anger flaring in his eyes. “I didn’t say that,” he growled, his breath coming heavy. “But I do think you’re not thinking straight. You could get yourself killed.”

The tension between them was suffocating, the air thick with the unspoken words. And then, almost as if on instinct, Eugene grabbed her by the collar of her uniform and pulled her closer, crushing his lips against hers.

It was urgent, rough—born from anger and frustration, but laced with something else. A desperation neither of them had fully acknowledged until now. Her lips were soft against his, and for a moment, the argument didn’t matter.