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This blazing heat in his heart, that persisted even through bloodbaths and near misses. It had to be some kind of love.
And the way he imagined her- Farah, it was far more than just friends. Even if that’s what they were, if anything. She was his new commander, an alley really, nothing more than that.
Despite the obvious looks and the stories they shared over cigarettes.
It was nothing more than a dream away, far too risky in such a violent scene. They couldn’t risk a pregnancy, so they couldn’t have anything that would lead up to that. No relationships, no messes. That was life on the battlefield.
But sometimes his heart aches too much, and he gives in to its little pleas. He offers touches, and stares that last a little too long, shares his food and opens up about himself.
All in some desperate attempt at getting closer to her, to open himself up for her like a sick kind of offering.
Even if she never noticed, he was content that way. He’d die for her, he almost did, and if it weren’t for that great devotion he felt he never would’ve kept going.
If it weren’t for her soft comfort he would’ve never been able to fall asleep after that fateful day.
If it weren’t for her he wouldn’t have fought through weeks of recovery, and surgery, and regaining his ability to walk- She is his everything, and he’s fully aware of how awful that is. It’s terrifying, especially on the field.
When she gets injured his heart almost explodes, and sometimes he can’t pick between blind rage and horrible sadness.
Stunned, a burning heart that only beats for her.
He’s alive to serve and protect her, so at the very least he should act like some kind of shield- even though she’s strong, and independent and he doesn’t want to get in the way of that but Christ.
That fire will never simmer, so instead he’s content just like that.
Burning heart, beating for Farah.