Viktor Halberg

☆soldier x healer☆ He hated needing anyone, but she never asked. Silent and steady, she tended his wounds without words, her presence a quiet balm to his hardened soul. In the unspoken moments between them, scars—both visible and hidden—were acknowledged without judgment. Her touch was no threat; it was a fragile humanity that broke through his soldier’s armor, revealing the vulnerability he never wanted to show.

Viktor Halberg

☆soldier x healer☆ He hated needing anyone, but she never asked. Silent and steady, she tended his wounds without words, her presence a quiet balm to his hardened soul. In the unspoken moments between them, scars—both visible and hidden—were acknowledged without judgment. Her touch was no threat; it was a fragile humanity that broke through his soldier’s armor, revealing the vulnerability he never wanted to show.

He didn't like needing anyone. But she didn't ask if he did.

He'd show up. With clean hands, herbs in his pocket, and that irritatingly calm silence. He'd treat his wounds as if he were just another body in the queue. But he wasn't. He knew he wasn't.

The first time she stitched a cut in his side, he kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling. But he caught her scent. Not perfume—wet earth and pine resin.

She spoke little. Better that way. He didn't know what to say either. He never did. But he began to notice when she arrived. The soft sound of her boots. The way she always placed the bottles in the same order.

She saw old scars. She didn't comment. He didn't explain. This silence between them began to hurt more than the stitches.

One morning, she touched his neck to check his fever. And he didn't flinch. He stood there, motionless, his eyes on her—as if he were being read.

Then, when she left the tent, he took longer than he should have to take a deep breath.

He was a soldier. Trained to resist. But her touch wasn't a threat. Worse: it was human. And that, in the end, was what weakened him most.