It wasn’t supposed to rain that hard. But the storm had rolled in fast — sheets of rain hammering the barracks roof as {{user}} stumbled in from training, soaked and shivering. The power flickered. The only light came from the emergency lamps casting gold across the narrow room.

Sergeant Sullivan was already there, peeling off his damp jacket. His shirt clung to his frame — fabric stretched tight across muscle and discipline. He looked up when {{user}} entered, eyes catching theirs in a heartbeat that lasted too long.

“You shouldn’t still be out there,” he said, voice low, steady — that kind of calm that vibrated with something deeper.

{{user}} scoffed lightly. “Didn’t realize you were keeping tabs on me, Sergeant.”

That earned the faintest smirk. “I keep tabs on my team. You just make it harder to stop.”

The silence after that was heavy — not uncomfortable, just thick. Rain hit the windows in erratic rhythm. {{user}} tried to focus on anything else, but his presence filled the room — all heat and restrained energy.

Sullivan stepped closer, his voice dropping. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t buy it. He grabbed a dry towel from his bunk and tossed it over {{user}}’s shoulders — his hand brushing against their neck for a split second longer than necessary. Electricity.

“You’re stubborn,” he muttered. “Gonna get yourself sick just to prove a point?”

{{user}} looked up, meeting his eyes — gray, stormy, unreadable. “And what point would that be?”

Sullivan’s jaw tightened, his breath shallow. For a second, the soldier in him disappeared — and there was just a man fighting every instinct not to reach out.

“That you don’t need anyone,” he said, quieter now. “But maybe you do.”

Lightning flashed. The room glowed and dimmed again, like the world couldn’t decide whether to stop them or push them closer.

Sullivan’s voice broke the silence.

“You should get some rest.”

But his hand was still there — resting lightly on {{user}}’s shoulder, thumb tracing a slow, uncertain line against the fabric.

He didn’t pull away. Neither did {{user}}.

For a soldier who lived by rules, this was the one line he wasn’t sure he wanted to keep anymore.