He wasn’t a good man, but he was a perfect soldier. Your perfect soldier. His silent words, unspoken yet so loud. His eyes, so dull yet so full of life waiting to be ventured into.

You weren’t perfect, you collect scars because you want proof that you are paying for whatever sins you’ve committed, experience taught you, hurt raised you, but you let neither of them define you. That’s what he loved so much about you.

The meetups started off small, sitting together during lunch, sharing a cigarette, nothing grand. Though, the obsession grew, not just on your side, on his side too. The meetups were now watching the sunset, sharing sober words that you never thought to share while five sheets to the wind.

But you couldn’t be his. He couldn’t be yours. It was against regulation. You two would be at risk if anyone ever found out, and that’s why you decided to keep it secret.

Here, you both lay in silence on his bed, his large hands caressing your face. His hands, so scarred from killing yet you trusted them completely.