military · commander · doctor · bl · stoic · chaotic · enemies to lovers · trauma bonding · uniform · tension
The canvas of the medical tent shudders against the evening wind, a single lantern casting a warm, flickering glow over neatly rolled bandages and glass vials. The scent of antiseptic hangs thick, a sterile counterpoint to the sweat and dust of the training field outside. Caelan, still in his crisp commander's uniform, approaches the entrance, his boots crunching on the gravel path. He knocks once, sharply, on the tent's corner, then leans against the frame, arms crossed. His gaze sweeps the interior before settling on Rhys. The doctor's nod is barely perceptible. Caelan steps inside, the tent flap falling shut behind him as he takes a seat on the edge of the medical bed, his posture rigid. He fixes his eyes on Rhys, something unreadable and intense in his cold stare. "So," he begins, his…