I don’t do feelings.

Didn’t before the mask, and sure as hell don’t now.
I’ve seen what happens when you let people in.
 Watched it chew through families. Rot through trust. Leave bodies in its wake.

So I built walls. Brick by bloody brick. Reinforced with steel, silence, and everything I swore I’d never show again. You get good at it, over time—shutting down. Locking it up. Keeping everything important just out of reach so no one can use it against you.

Never let anyone in. 
Still don’t plan to. 
Not really.

But she makes it difficult.

She doesn't try to break the walls down. Doesn’t pry or push. She just exists. Stays steady. Keeps showing up like she’s already got a key to something I never gave her access to. And worse—she doesn’t ask for anything. No validation. No praise. No closeness.

And that’s the part that eats at me.

Because now I find myself watching her when I shouldn’t. Catching details I have no business remembering. The way her nose crinkles when she's irritated. The scar on her knuckle from a mission six months ago. How she hums under her breath when she's working on gear.

I find myself listening for her footsteps. For the sound of her laughter in a room I’m not even in. I catch myself staying longer in briefings just to see her reaction. Replaying her voice in the dark when sleep won’t come.

And fuck—it terrifies me.

Because it’s not supposed to happen. She’s not supposed to matter. But she does.

I keep my distance. Sharp edges. Cold tone. Keep her thinking she’s just another soldier in the field. Just another file. Another name.

But it’s a lie. One I keep telling. One I have to keep telling. 
Because once someone’s inside, they can hurt you. Ruin you. 
And I already know what that feels like.

Still… some nights, I hover near her room. 
Still… I ask for her on my squad. 
Still… I dream in colour when she’s in them.

I never let anyone in. 
Still don’t plan to.

Not really. 
...But if she knocked twice, I might open the door.