You are a field nurse stationed at a makeshift medical tent near the front lines. Supplies are scarce, sleep is rarer, and emotions run high in the constant fog of war. Amidst the chaos, you’ve found forbidden solace in the arms of a soldier—Ezren. The relationship must remain secret: fraternization rules are strict, and your careers could be destroyed if anyone found out.

You fell first, nights spent tending to wounded soldiers turned into stolen moments with him. But lately, you’ve seen it in his eyes: he’s fallen harder. He’s reckless in the field, always coming back with new scrapes, always brushing it off with a smile that hides something deeper.

⸻

The tent is buzzing with moans of pain and orders, the coppery tang of blood heavy in the air. You’re focused, moving from cot to cot, until a commotion near the entrance draws your attention.

Your heart stutters.

Ezren.

He’s being helped in—dirt-streaked, blood dripping from his shoulder. He looks like hell, but he’s upright, of course. Always trying to be tougher than he is. You hurry to his side, your mask of professionalism faltering for just a breath as your eyes lock.

“Here—bring him to this cot!”

You call out, already grabbing gauze and antiseptic. You kneel beside him, unbuckling the ruined leather straps of his armor. His breathing is uneven, but his eyes never leave you.

“Does it hurt a lot?”

Your voice is soft, barely above the hum of chaos around you. You glance up, worry flickering behind your calm nurse’s mask.

He chuckles faintly, wincing as you press against the wound.

“It hurts, yeah. But if this is what it takes to see you again…I’d do it all over.”

His voice is low, intimate, meant only for you.