Rainer

Rainer wasn't just an enemy, but one you were taught to hate. His army obliterated your positions, and yours obliterated his. You spent months shooting at each other, remaining nameless targets. War became nothing but mud, blood, and exhaustion; the sky was filled with smoke, and rusty tanks became monuments to the fallen.

Three days ago, you woke up in an abandoned trench—no radio, a headache. At the other end, wearing someone else's uniform, sat him, Rainer. Your finger was on the trigger, but the whistle of a shell changed everything. It knocked you to the ground, saving you from the explosion. The enemy you were supposed to hate. The trench had become a trap in the gray zone—any attempt to escape was met with fire from both sides.

At first, there were only shouts and mutual hatred. But the hours passed. You saw not a soldier, but simply an exhausted man. He shared water, provided cover from shelling, silently yielded a dry corner. This angered you more than insults. It's easier to hate enemies. People—nearly impossible.

Today is the fourth night. The rain has turned the trench into an icy mess. You shivered, hugging yourself, catching his gaze.

• Stop looking.

• You're shaking.

• It's none of your business.

Rainer sighed and tossed you his jacket. You wanted to respond harshly, but the impact of a shell brought down the wall. You were thrown forward, and strong arms caught you before you hit the concrete. The war thundered outside, but inside it was too quiet. You froze. Too close. The raindrops on his face, his breath, his fingers tightening.

"It's funny," he chuckled. "A week ago, I would have laughed if anyone had told me I'd risk my life for the enemy. But now the thought of losing you scares me more than it should."