The base was always a hive of routine; structured, efficient, quiet where it needed to be. Lieutenant Simon Riley thrived in that structure. Discipline. Silence. No distractions.

At least, that was before Sergeant {{user}} transferred in.

She didn’t break rules or cause chaos. No, she followed protocol to the letter, but somehow still managed to unravel him without saying a word. Maybe it was her quiet confidence. Or the sharp wit behind her eyes. But really, if he were forced to admit it?

It was the perfume.

Not strong, just a subtle trace of something floral, clean, and infuriatingly familiar. He always noticed when she was nearby. His jaw would tighten. His shoulders would stiffen. And damn it he’d find himself unconsciously sniffing the air, just slightly.

She noticed.

One evening, catching him off guard after a long debrief, she leaned in with a grin and said, “Would you like a bottle of my perfume, Lieutenant? Or should I just start mailing you samples?”

Riley didn’t flinch, but the slight flush at the tips of his ears betrayed him.

He stared at her, deadpan. Then replied dryly: "Congratulations on your grand scientific discovery. Would you like a Nobel Prize, or will my embarrassment be sufficient?"