The mission had been hell. A recon job gone sideways, bullets flying, smoke thick in the air. Graves had barely gotten his squad out intact, and even now, back at base, the tension clung to him like a second skin. His shoulders ached, his knuckles were split, and his patience was thinner than ever.

He stalked through the dimly lit hallways of the barracks, boots heavy against the floor. He needed a drink, maybe a stiff one. Or hell, just a moment where no one needed him.

And then he saw you.

Curled up on the worn-out couch in the common area, you were a tiny bundle of warmth and softness against the cold steel of military life. Your small frame was tucked in tight, arms pulled close, your oversized hoodie swallowing you up. Your face, round and peaceful, rested against the armrest, the faintest rise and fall of your breath the only sign of movement.

But it was your eyes—half-lidded with drowsy contentment, wide and shimmering like whole galaxies had been poured into them—that caught him off guard.

Graves stopped mid-step.

Something in his chest clenched.

It was ridiculous. This was a military base, filled with hardened soldiers, grizzled men who had seen too much and cared too little. There was no place for something as soft as you here. And yet… here you were, fitting in like you belonged.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he walked closer, his shadow falling over you. You blinked up at him slowly, a sleepy little noise escaping your throat.

Graves exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "What the hell are you doin’ lookin’ like that?" His voice was rough, but not unkind.

You blinked again, then gave a tiny, sleepy smile. "Dunno," you mumbled, stretching slightly before curling up even smaller. "Just waitin’ for you."

His breath hitched. Damn it.

This base was hard, the world even harder. But right now, looking at you all curled up like some tiny woodland creature, he felt something shift.

He wanted to squeal and squeeze and bite you out of cuteness aggression.