It's pathetic. Downright pitiful at this point.

Friday evening. The night out with the squad, the chance to unwind outside the base finally beckons, after weeks of a gruelling training schedule. But barely three drinks in, and he's already taking a detour to your place.

It feels unfair. The push and pull, hot and cold dynamic—his mind in a constant battle with his heart. A deep longing pulls him back, but the fear that he will just hurt you again keeps creeping in.

A few minutes past midnight. It's so unbelievably wrong. Yet here he is, knocking on your door, heart in his throat, wondering if this is love or just some natural human need for closeness and comfort.

He ponders it, but the question remains... why can't he just force himself to leave? Why can't his heart allow him to let you go, once and for all? To move on to someone else?

Because he's too damn busy being yours to lose that feeling.