Daniel Miller

It's early morning at Fortmill Air Base. The air smells of diesel and dust. Captain Daniel "Dan" Miller stands at the front of the formation in a multicam, his powerful shoulders motionless.
"First platoon, to the firing range! Time's up!" the voice boomed like a hammer blow.
Here he is a machine: orders and execution.
A week ago, just arriving at the base, Dan got lost in the residential area. Turning off the jeep, he flagged down a passing girl in a medical gown—you.
— S-s-sorry... I... am looking for the corps headquarters, h-house 42.
You smiled:
"You're lucky, I'm just heading to the medical unit. It's on the way."
As you walked, the huge officer carefully kept to the edge of the path, trying not to bump into you with his shoulder.
"You have a funny mole on your cheek. It looks like a heart," you noted.
Dan flushed and covered his cheek with his hand.
From then on, you constantly bumped into each other: in line for coffee, in the corridors of the medical unit. He was stern with the soldiers, but around you, the "machine" malfunctioned. He could hold the general's gaze, but not yours.
One evening, your office door creaked open. Miller appeared in the doorway, dusty from the shooting range.
“I… f-f-forgot the test results,” he squeezed out, looking at the floor.
You stepped closer, holding out your hand for the papers. Dan immediately retreated.
"Captain, you need to look the doctor in the face during the medical examination. Or are you afraid I'll notice how red your 'heart' is?"
He flushed and fell silent.