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Stifling hot, the interior of the train car started its descent into dusk as the night outside came alive. Eugene stared at the man in front of him with a sort of detached amusement as Merriell, fixated on his tie, twirled the fabric ‘round his fingers, winding it in and out of his knuckles. When he huffed out a laugh, unable to keep himself quiet, a pair of sea glass-green eyes zeroed in on him.
“What’re you laughin’ ‘bout, Sledgehamma’?” A bit irritated, his gaze was narrow, but his curiosity got the better of him. If there’s one thing Eugene knew the other man hated, it was not being in on a joke.
“It’s nothin’,” he said, “it’s just, well, I don’t want to seem rude, but -”
“Spit it out, Gene; tomorrow’s too late.”
“Alright.” He pulled himself up, back straight against the booth seat. “Have you ever worn a tie before?”
Confused, Merriell’s eyebrows knit together as his monotone voice asked, “what?”
“By the look of it, I’d guess that you’ve never had a tie on.” He reached a hand out, taking the item out of Merriell’s hands and, with quick fingers, undid the shoddily-tied knot at his neck. “Am I wrong?”
Merriell mumbled something under his breath, eyes everywhere but Eugene’s face. “Come on,” he said. “You’ve gotta speak up, sweetheart.”
The name startled a laugh out of Merriell; a few nights before, they’d heard Burgin refer to his gal by the same name, and they’d ragged on him ‘till morning came. “Shut it, Genie,” he said, a half-smile twisting his face.
“You never answered my question.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, hands raised in a faux-surrender. “You caught me.” He rolled his eyes, dropping his hands to his lap. “No, Gene, I’ve never had to wear a tie before.”
“That explains it, then,” Eugene replied. Leaning over the table, he looped the rayon-wool knit tie ‘round the other man’s neck, tying it in a Windsor at the base of his throat.
“Explains what?” He saw Merriell’s throat move, Adam’s apple bobbing when he felt Eugene’s hand cup his jaw. The only other men awake were the conductor and a few soldiers near the front of the train, so he took the risk and drew the smaller man’s face towards his own.
“Explains why you’re absolutely shit at it,” Eugene replied, grinning when he saw Merriell’s mouth turn down.
“You’re an asshole, Sledgehamma’,” he said, shaking his head. Eugene watched the curls of his hair, grown out past regulations ever since the war ended, bounce to and fro, holding himself back from reaching out and threading his hand in them like he had so many times before.
“I’m your asshole.”
“Eugene Sledge!” His voice raised in pitch as he threw a hand to his chest. “A nice little Alabama boy like yourself should never say such words!”
“Fuck,” he said, looking Merriell straight in the eye. “Shit, bitch, goddamn, -”
“Ain’t no way in hell you’re going to Heaven now, Genie,” Merriell said, swiping at his arm. “You’re stuck with all the sinners now.”
“As long as I’m with you, it’s Heaven to me.” He scanned the area near them, and after finding no one that could see them, he leaned across the table, catching Merriell’s mouth in his, cutting off whatever smart-ass remark he was about to say. The other man melted into the kiss, slow and sweet, sighing when he felt Eugene’s hand cup the base of his skull.
They broke apart sooner than either would’ve liked, and Merriell rested his forehead against the other man’s, eyes closed.
“What’re we gonna do?”
“What do you mean?” Eugene opened his eyes and looked down.
“You know what I mean, Sledgehamma’.”
The cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if he’d swallowed some sort of pill that broke open, freezing him from the inside out, spread. He knew what Merriell was talking about, but didn’t want to admit it to himself. Nudging the other man with his nose, he kissed him once more, hoping to delay the inevitable.
Merriell broke them apart, running a hand through his hair afterward. “What’re we gonna do,” he said, “when we gotta split apart?”
Eugene’s jaw clenched as he looked at the corner of the booth. He drummed his fingers on the table while Merriell looked at him. The other man seemed sad; resigned at what he believed to be fate.
Eugene couldn’t be the same. He couldn’t, no, he won’t let this slip away from him, not when they made it through the entire damn war. Not when he didn’t know what he’d do without the other man. “What if we didn’t?”
“Eugene,” Merriell said, voice low, “don’t play with my heart like that.”
He reached his hand across the table, holding tight when he intertwined his fingers with the other man’s hand. The skin beneath his own was rough, too used to violence and pain, unknowing of the comfort he should’ve had. He rubbed his thumb against Merriell’s knuckles as he spoke. “I’m not playin’ with you, Snaf.”
“There’s no shot in hell your parents would let you,” Merriell said.
“And?”
His frustration grew as he glared at Eugene. “You’d hate it in New Orleans; it’s too busy for a country boy like you.”
“I’m sure I’d grow used to it.”
“We’d live in a piece of shit house that’d be too small and broken.”
“It’d be home.”
“You deserve better than a swamp rat like -”
“Merriell.” His voice was sharp, forceful when he saw the state Merriell’d managed to work himself into. He didn’t like the wetness he saw in the other man’s eyes, nor the reason, the self-loathing inside him, that it was there. “I’m not going to let you talk me out of this.”
A laugh, harsh and sarcastic, came out of the smaller man. “Why, Sledgehamma’? Want to stay in that fantasy world you’ve built up in that head of yours?”
“It isn’t a fantasy,” he defended. “It could be real if you’d let it.”
Merriell stayed silent for a moment. He worried his top lip between his teeth and tapped his feet. Shifting in his seat, he bounced his leg.
“You gonna answer me?” Sledge asked.
He was quiet for a minute more before he conceded. “Alright, Gene,” he said, and Eugene counted it as a win. “In this fantasy world of yours, how do we survive?”
“We wouldn’t survive,” he replied, and at the look on Merriell’s face, added, “we’d live.”
“There ain’t a difference between the two.”
“Yes, there is.” Eugene brought the hand clasped in his own to his face, pressing a soft kiss to it. “Living is surviving and thriving.”
“Well then,” Merriell said, exasperated, “how would we live?”
“As best as we could possibly live. We’d have a small home, nice and warm. We’d help each other get ready for work in the mornings; you’d make sure I was awake, and I’d tie your ties.”
With his free hand, Merriell grasped the tie on his neck, pulling it ever-so-slightly. “I’d cook,” he says, voice hoarse. “Rich boys like you can’t ever cook for shit.”
“You’re not wrong,” Eugene replies, and he smiles when it draws a laugh out of Merriell. “I’d clean, though. Your definition of cleanliness, frankly, is somethin’ that still haunts my nightmares.”
“We could get a dog, maybe two.”
“We’d go to bed together every night, and wake up together in the morning.”
Merriell wiped at his eye, trying to be discrete even though he knew Eugene could see him. “You’re startin’ to make me think we got a shot at this.”
“We do.” When Merriell raised his hand again, Eugene caught it before he reached his eyes. With a thumb, he brushed the saltwater off of the other man’s face. “I don’t plan on leavin’ you any time soon.”
“Makes us sound like some old married couple.” His voice is thick, almost painful to hear.
“You could take my last name, you know, if you wanted,” Eugene said. “‘Merriell Sledge’ has a nice ring to it.”
Merriell shook his head. “That’s your name, Sledgehamma’; it ain’t ever gonna be mine.”
“Alright,” he said. “I guess I’ll be Eugene Shelton, then.”
“That,” he said, but a crack in his voice stopped him. “That sounds nice.”
“Does that mean you’re willing to give it a try?”
A moment’s hesitation, and then -
“Yes.”
Relief washed over him like warm summer rain, and he felt a grin break out on his face. “Thank you, Merriell.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “It’s late; you should get some sleep.”
“I will,” Eugene replied, and against his better instincts, he slid out of his booth and into the one opposite him.
“Gene,” Merriell said slowly, “what exactly do you think you’re doin’?”
“Going to sleep.” He settled in beside the smaller man, leaning his head against his shoulder.
“I can see that.” Merriell sounded a bit fed-up, but Eugene didn’t plan on moving. “Why are you sleepin’ next to me?”
“If anyone asks, I got a nightmare and moved over,” he said.
“You should move back to your seat, Genie.”
“Nah,” he said, and, under the table, grasped Merriell’s hand back in his own. “Like you said, I should get some sleep.” At the baffled expression marking the other man’s face, eyebrows raised, he pressed a chaste kiss to Merriell’s cheek. “G’night,” he waited a moment for his guard to go down before adding, “sweetheart.”
“Eugene Sledge, so help me God -”
-
Eugene woke up to the jerk of the train’s stop, and he felt Merriell startle awake next to him. The sky outside of their window is fully darkened now, only lit by sparsely-placed streetlamps.
“New Orleans,” the conductor calls back at them. “Home to the Delta Blues and the French Quarter. Watch your wallet, pockets, and watches. This is New Orleans.”
Sliding out of the seat, Eugene stands up and grabs his and Merriell’s bags. When he looked down, he saw Merriell still sitting in the booth, gaze straight ahead.
“Merriell,” he whispered. “It’s time to go.”
For a brief second, Eugene could’ve sworn he saw a look on the other man’s face that he never wanted to see. An expression of indecision, of uncertainty, flit across his face.
He glances up at the conductor and the other men on the train. The conductor’s in his seat, and the men are asleep. He puts a hand underneath the other man’s chin and guided his face upwards. “Merriell?”
Something in his gaze breaks, a sort of internal dispute of some kind. He meets Eugene’s gaze, and smiled. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he said, “guess I’m still a bit groggy.”
“Anyone getting off at New Orleans?” The conductor’s voice called out.
“We are, sir,” Eugene replied, hurridly trying to get Merriell out of the train car before one of the soldiers could wake up and ask them why they’re leaving at the same stop. “We apologize for the holdup.”
“Ain’t no problem to me,” he said. “I hope you boys have a nice life. Lord knows y’all deserve it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
With that, he holds onto Merriell’s arm, guiding the half-asleep man onto the platform outside of the train. He slings their bags over his shoulder and tries not to laugh at the odd angle Merriell’s hat is at, jauntily perched upon his head as if he was a character in the Sunday comics.
The nightlife of the city is fascinating to him. Not even thinking of the soldiers disembarking from the train, people mill about the place as if it was the middle of the day. Merriell hadn’t been kidding when he said that New Orleans was a lot to take in; he can hear music coming from somewhere east of them, and the smells wafting from a food cart nearby make his mouth water.
Beside him, Merriell stopped moving, standing in a crowd with closed eyes.
“Mer?”
The smaller man took a deep breath. “I-,” he said, and opened his eyes. The stars seemed to reflect in them, dancing within the black of his irises, and the moonlight streaming upon him made him look ethereal to Eugene’s mind. “I never thought I’d make it back here.” He reached his hand out, and in the privacy of the crowd, tangled their fingers together with a grip as tight as a vice. “And I never thought I’d be lucky enough to make it anywhere with you.”
“You made it.” He drops their hands and takes Merriell into an embrace. In his ear, he whispered, “we made it.”
When he feels the smaller man begin to shake in his arms, he pulls him away into the alleyway nearby. “I never-,” he said, breaking off each sentence before he could get it out. “I didn’t -, I never -”
“We made it, Merriell.” He drew him closer, as close to his chest as possible, and feels every shaking breath Merriell draws in. Every noise he makes, every move he takes, Eugene is there, and the meaning of those actions finally dawns on him.
He’ll be here for every smile, every laugh, and every sarcastic remark.
He’ll be here for every sob that wrecks his body, every night where memories come alive and neither of them is able to feel safe.
He’ll be here for every time he makes Merriell grow hot, every flush that spreads across his cheeks when Eugene lays his hands on him.
He’ll be here for the beautiful moments and the heartbreaking days, for the nights when he feels as if nothing can stop him and the instances where he feels as though he’ll never breathe again.
He’ll be here for all of it, and there isn't a damn thing on this godforsaken world that could ever hope to change that.