The commander's roar shattered the morning silence. Beside me, the soldier who had lent me the dry clothes last night was already on his feet. I scrambled into my uniform, the fabric stiff against my skin, and hurried out of the shelter-half to join the formation. We stood locked at attention, eyes fixed forward, as the commander paced the rows, his gaze a cold weight on every face.
"The new recruits arrived last night," he barked. "I expect you to find common ground and fall into line together. Dismissed!"
After a grueling morning of drills and a quick trip to the communal basins, I returned to the tent. There he was—seen clearly for the first time in the daylight. He was striking, with a sharp, disciplined jawline and an expression as stoic as carved stone. He sat casually, unscrewing a silver hip flask. When he noticed me, he didn't look away; he simply watched me while taking a pull of the spirits.
"Thank you for the clothes last night," I said, breaking the silence.
"You're welcome," he replied, his voice low. "But I only did it because I didn't want the gear getting wet."
I shrugged slightly, offering a small, tired smile. "Well, regardless of the reason, you saved me from a long night of shivering. I appreciate the mercy."
He extended his hand, his eyes never leaving mine. I reached out and took it, his grip firm and calloused.
"William," I said, introducing myself. "Nice to meet you."
"Arthur," he grunted.
He held out the flask. I hesitated for a heartbeat, then took it, perching on the edge of my bedroll right across from him. The liquid burned like liquid fire down my throat, but it took the edge off the morning chill. I handed it back, nodding toward the flap of the tent where several other soldiers were hunkered down, passing around Lucky Strikes and laughing.
"Aren't you going to join them?" I asked, gesturing with my chin.
Arthur glanced toward them with a look of mild detachment. "Too much noise for this early in the day. Besides, a man can't hear his own thoughts with that lot braying about."
By evening, the mess hall was a cacophony of clanking tin trays and weary soldiers. I secured my ration of stew and scanned the room for a quiet corner. Suddenly, a heavy hand slapped my shoulder. I turned to find Arthur.
"Sit with us," he commanded. It wasn't a question.
I followed him to a long wooden table crowded with infantrymen. I sat hesitantly at his side. The air was thick with the smell of tobacco and unwashed wool. The men were boisterously discussing a girl from the local village—a real "knockout" with curls like a movie star.
"Tell you what, Arthur," one soldier teased, leaning across the table. "That ginger-haired gal at the farm? She's got eyes for you. You two would make a regular pair of icons—the hero and the sweetheart. Why haven't you paid her a visit?"
I glanced at Arthur. At that exact moment, he turned his head. Our gazes clashed, and for a few seconds, the noise of the mess hall faded into a hum. He didn't look like a man interested in a village girl; his stare was intense, searching. I was the first to blink, looking down and shoving a spoonful of food into my mouth to hide the sudden heat in my face.
After dinner, I headed to the showers—a row of narrow wooden stalls with rusted pipes overhead. I was alone at first, drying my hair with a rough towel, another wrapped around my waist. The steam clung to my skin.
The door creaked, and Arthur walked in. He was half-naked, his own towel low on his hips, revealing the lean, hard muscle of a man built by years of labor. His eyes trailed slowly down my frame, lingering on the lines of my shoulders. I felt a strange, tightening flutter in my chest—an uncomfortable mix of vulnerability and a sudden, sharp awareness of how close we were standing.
"Nice body," he remarked, his voice echoing off the damp wood.
"You too," I managed to say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I assume you work out every day?"
"The Army sees to that," he replied, stepping into the stall next to mine. "But some of it is just survival."
Later, back in the dim light of our shelter-halves, we lay on our cots. The camp was finally quiet.
"William?" he whispered into the dark.
"Yeah?"
"Don't let those guys get to you tomorrow. Keep your head down."
"I will," I replied. "Goodnight, Arthur."
"Goodnight."