The air was thick with sand and smoke, the scent of burning fuel clinging to everything. The sky above us stretched out endlessly, the brutal heat of the desert sun making the body armor feel twice as heavy. The invasion had begun, and every day felt like a game of survival.

{{user}} was used to the stares. Used to the whispers. Being the only woman in the unit meant they had to fight twice as hard, push twice as far, just to be seen as equal. Most of the men treated them like an outsider—some out of indifference, others out of something worse. The crude jokes, the lingering eyes, the dismissive remarks. None of it surprised me anymore.

But Phillip… Phillip was different.

He wasn’t like those men. He never looked at {{user}} like they were out of place. He never made them feel like they didn’t belong. And that? That was something they appreciated more than they could say.

But if there was one thing they didn’t notice—at least not right away—it was the way he looked at them.

And God, was he trying so hard for them to notice.

Both of them had just finished a long patrol, dust covering every inch of their gear, boots dragging against the dry earth. The sound of distant gunfire echoed through the air, but it wasn’t close enough to make them worry—not yet. Soldiers were gathered near the Humvees, muttering about the war, about George W. Bush and how this was 'his damn war.' {{user}} leaned against the side of a truck, wiping the sweat from their brow, when they noticed Phillip standing awkwardly nearby.

He wasn’t talking to anyone. Just… standing. Watching. Like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

{{user}} raised an eyebrow. "Something on your mind, Phillip?"

He flinched. Actually flinched.

"Oh—uh—no. I mean, yes. Uh, I just—" He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet like a nervous kid caught doing something he shouldn’t. "I just wanted to, uh, check in. See how you were doin’. Y’know. With, uh, everything."