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Christmas, 1914
Charles stood on the edge of No Man's Land, surveying the scene before him. This was the longest he'd stayed this far out from the trenches in months. A light snow was falling, a remnant from the previous night's blizzard, and the low wind brought with it the clean, crisp scent of Winter. He let the cacophony of sound wash over him, the act not unusual in its execution, but today, gunfire had been exchanged for friendly conversation, and mortar bursts for occasional eruptions of cheers. The same voices once screaming in terror or pain were now mellowed in harmonious renditions of Christmas carols, in English and German alike. When he closed his eyes, he could almost believe he was back in Oxford, watching his friends celebrate the start of Christmas term break with a friendly football game.
"You're not playing?"
A rough, accented voice close to Charles' ear broke him out of his trance. He whirled round, finding himself looking straight into a pair of familiar steel grey eyes. Oh dear lord, he looks good up close, and that voice--Charles clamped down hard on that train of thought. Shaking his head, he shot a glance over to the impromptu game in an attempt to compose himself before turning back.
"Not really my thing."
A slight quirk of his companion's lips. German, Charles reminded himself, the enemy. "And you're not playing either."
The other soldier shrugged, but otherwise made no effort to reply. A hint of amusement played around his eyes. Months of fighting in close contact meant men on both sides had long grown used to each other's faces, even more so in the last few weeks, where holiday greetings were heard just as frequently as gunshots. He was one in a small handful who were almost friendly, trading smirks whenever they spotted him over the trenches, but that was about as far as any interaction went.
"Erik Lehnsherr."
The German's, Erik's, handshake was firm, Charles absently noted as he offered up his own name.
"Nice to finally meet you...Charles."
Charles flashed him a quick smile and looked away, suddenly bashful under the scrutiny of those piercing grey eyes, and the unexpected proximity. He was saved from having to come up with a coherent rejoinder though, when Erik reached into his coat pocket, and fished out a large rectangular block, carefully wrapped in a handkerchief. Gloved fingers peeled away at the cloth, and Charles laid eyes on one of the best things he had seen in a long while.
“Chocolate!” He huffed out a laugh at the sight. “God, I can’t remember the last time I saw one of these.”
Erik’s face broke into a wide grin, as he snapped off a generous corner and held it out to Charles. Charles stared up at him, wide eyed with surprise. With supplies running low on both sides, chocolate was a highly prized commodity in this war, and yet, here he was, an enemy, freely offering it. He must have hesitated too long, for Erik nodded at him impatiently.
He couldn’t stop the moan that escaped from his throat at the first tentative bite. The initial sweetness, spreading on his tongue as the rich underlying flavours of high quality cocoa and milk gradually emerged and mingled had his eyes sliding closed in appreciation.
“Ist gut?”
Charles opened his eyes to find Erik watching him, grin back in full force. He was nibbling on his own piece of chocolate.
“Mmhm this is amazing, Erik. How did you get this?” Charles asked.
Before Erik had a chance to reply, another German soldier called out his name, waving him over to join the football game, which was growing increasingly raucous. Charles couldn’t catch the long string of German Erik shouted in reply, but it earned him what sounded like a teasing insult, to which Erik simply snorted and shook his head.
“Let’s walk? Before they drag me away?”
Charles acquiesced. They wandered along the edges of the crowd in a companionable silence, occasionally pausing to greet friends or exchange Christmas greetings. Quiet spots were hard to find, with the number of men milling about now that the trenches have emptied. It was strange to see men in both German and British uniforms laughing with each other, sharing pictures of loved ones, enjoying a shared respite. But it also meant no one paid Charles and Erik any mind when they eventually settled under a tree on the edge of the woods, still within sight of the main crowd, but far away enough that they didn't have to strain to hear each other over the din. Around them, men were similarly gathered in pairs and small groups.
Charles looked over at Erik, who had leaned his back against the tree trunk with his long legs stretched out in front of him, unsure of how to proceed. What do you say to someone who might fire the shot that kills you tomorrow? Yet, Charles couldn't help but find himself drawn in by this enigmatic stranger.
"Where are you from, Erik?" He ventured eventually, slightly hesitant.
"Hmm? Dusseldorf." Erik turned to face him fully. A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes. "Tell me, how a kid like you managed to get here." The teasing note in Erik's voice and the accompanying smirk did nothing to stop Charles from reaching out and smacking Erik on the arm.
"I'll have you know I'm twenty, I'm not a kid." He huffed, mock offended.
That drew a chuckle out of Erik, as he raised his palms in a completely unapologetic shrug.
"And you?" Charles asked.
"Twenty-three."
Their conversation drifted easily into other topics. More than once, Erik had Charles doubled over in laughter over tales from his childhood. In exchange, Charles regaled Erik with stories of pranks he used to pull in boarding school. Charles very quickly found Erik to be an attentive listener. Even when Charles' pet topic of genetics eventually came up, he was content to let Charles ramble on, interrupting only to ask questions.
"Apologies if I'm boring you, my friend. I do tend to go on, as my sister loves to remind me."
"Nein, please, continue. It is quite...refreshing." Erik waved off the concern.
At some point, Charles ran off for a moment to fetch a couple of beers for them both. Erik's bar of chocolate also made its reappearance. The rest of the short daylight slipped by in easy companionship. Lulls in the conversation were met with a comfortable silence. They spoke of anything and everything, but by some unspoken agreement, neither man brought up issues of war or politics.
It was considerably quieter as dusk fell. The football game had broken up, and most men had either gone to hang out with their buddies or back to their posts, albeit more in familiarity rather than in any hostile vigilance. A chill was starting to set in with the diminishing sunlight. Fires and lamps were lit openly, for once without fear of the consequences. In the low flickering light, the artefacts of war littering the landscape looked almost beautiful.
"You know, you never did tell me where you managed to get this." Charles commented, as they broke the last of the chocolate between them.
"Mama sent it to me. it's my favourite."
"Christmas present?"
Erik shook his head. "I am Jewish." He hesitated for a moment, looking down at his hands. "She sent it some time ago. Told me to keep it for something special. I never found the occasion." He paused again, a little longer this time. Then, looking straight into Charles' eyes, he said quietly, "I think today counts."
Charles’ breath caught in his throat. He swallowed once, gaze still locked with Erik’s. All traces of levity had left those grey eyes, leaving them uncharacteristically serious and oddly vulnerable. There was no mistaking the weight in Erik’s words. He swallowed again.
“Erik...”
Keeping his movements slow and smooth, Erik reached over to rest a hand over Charles’. He leaned in, stopping mere centimetres from Charles. Their uneven breaths were warm on each other’s faces. Charles licked his lips reflexively, and Erik’s gaze flickered down. He couldn’t help the small sound in his throat, as he pressed in to close the rest of the distance.
Even though Charles knew what was coming, the first tentative touch of Erik's lips was almost a surprise. He stilled, heart pounding wildly in his chest. Just as Erik made a move to pull away, his brain kicked back into gear, and he pressed in more firmly against him, one hand coming up to fist in the lapel of Erik's heavy overcoat. He closed his eyes, savouring the exquisite drag of skin on skin of lips moving against each other, the caress of fingers carding through the shorts strands on the nape of his neck before curling round his jaw, and the distinct, clean scent of Erik overlaid with hints of gun oil. The slight scrape of stubble against his chin was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.
He let out a soft moan when the tip of Erik's tongue brushed lightly against his bottom lip. The hand on his jaw slid round to cradle the back of his head, pulling him closer, as Erik made use of the opportunity to repeat the gesture. Charles' lips parted easily, and his own tongue flicked out to meet Erik's, startling another moan out of both of them. The kiss deepened, bordering on the edge of desperate. Hands grappled for purchase on thick wool coats.
A sudden wild cheer erupted from the direction of the trenches. They jerked apart in a panic, wide-eyed, bodies tensing in shock. But no one else seemed to be paying them any attention. A flare shot up high into the night sky. And another. And another. Cheers were sounding all around.
“Verdammt.” Erik muttered, letting out a sharp breath. His head fell back against the tree with a thump as he closed his eyes, half in relief, half in exasperation. A makeshift celebratory fireworks display indeed.
He turned to look at Charles. He was sitting forwards, elbows around his knees, with his face buried in his hands. Erik’s blood ran cold for a moment. Was this the moment when he’d turn around and tell him this was all a mistake? But when Charles lifted his head after agonising seconds, his eyes were dancing with amusement at the outrageousness of their situation. Erik let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Catching Charles’ gaze, he couldn’t help the corners of his mouth curling upwards before they both collapsed in a fit of giggles.
“It’s almost like I was sixteen again.” Charles managed in between snickers.
“You kiss strangers in dark corners when you were sixteen?” Erik raised an eyebrow. the wicked glint back in his eyes.
“Only the good-looking ones.” Charles grinned.
Erik couldn’t remember when the last time he’d allowed himself to be this relaxed with anyone. The German army, with its order and rigidity, didn’t allow for much casual interaction. Sure, he was good friends with most of his platoon-mates, but he’d never felt like he could be as free with them as he could with Charles, neither had any conversation ever been as exhilarating as his company.
“I feel like I’ve known you forever.” Erik said quietly as the mood once again grew serious. He reached out to run a thumb over Charles’ kiss-swollen lips, made even redder by the cold. Charles lifted a hand to hold Erik’s more firmly against his cheek, turning his head to press a long kiss to the inside of his palm.
“I wish I’d met you under different circumstances, my friend.” Charles said just as quietly. “But we don’t always get what we wish for.”
Erik could only blink in response for the lump in his throat.
They settled back next to each other, pressed close from shoulder to thigh. It was the only contact they dared allow themselves now that the moment had passed. The ruckus from the flares had died down, and the silence cast a sombre mood about the place. The trees around them provided some cover from the wintry winds, but it was starting to become uncomfortably cold. Neither man acknowledged it, but the mutual awareness that their day was coming to an end hung heavily between them. They curled in closer to one another.
Soft strains of a familiar tune carried over, volume gradually picking up as more and more men on both sides joined in.
“Silent night, holy night; Alles schläft, einsam wacht...”
“...Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh” Charles lifted his head at the sound of Erik’s baritone, low and intimate. He slid a hand over to intertwine their fingers in a tight grip. Erik’s voice rose and fell with the melody, cracking at parts as he trembled with the effort to maintain his composure. He couldn’t finish the song, but Charles picked up perfectly where he faltered, sweet voice soft and steady, an anchor in their uncertain world.
They sat unmoving for long moments after the last notes had died away, unwilling to break the moment in a last ditch attempt to prolong the inevitable, as their breaths counted down the seconds.
"What will you do when this is all over?" Charles whispered.
"...I don't know. I didn't dare to think so far."
Charles' grip tightened painfully on his at the admission. Erik leaned over to briefly rest his cheek on the top of Charles' head.
"Go to university. Start again somewhere else. I don't know. Anything. I don't want to fight anymore." Erik's voice trailed off towards the end.
He felt Charles pull away, and frowned down in confusion. But Charles merely reached over to retrieve Erik's handkerchief lying forgotten by the side. He watched silently as Charles fumbled to extract a pen from the inside of his coat and in a moment of impulse, scrawled large loopy letters on the scrap of cloth. Charles looked down at his handiwork for a moment, took a deep breath, then pressed the balled up handkerchief into Erik's palm.
"Whatever happens, will you look for me?"
Erik smoothed out the silk, careful not to smudge the ink. He squinted down at the words in the low light. Graymalkin Lane, Westchester. New York.There was no name with the address. Probably for the best. You can never be too careful in times like these. Tears pricked at his eyes as he nodded.
"Ja...ja, Ich werde."
With one last lingering look and a squeeze to Erik's hands, Charles gave a sharp nod and stood up, brushing down his uniform.
"Warten!" Erik clambered up after him. "Wait." He repeated more gently.
With shaking hands, he reached for his pocket knife, and cut off the last button on his own uniform jacket. He held it out to Charles.
"Don't forget me."
"I couldn't even if I tried." But Charles took the button anyway, unclasping the chain around his neck to attach it onto his dog tags, where it hung safely, next to his heart.
A final crushing hug turned into a surprisingly tender kiss even as they poured their regret and loss and hope into it. But when they pulled back, they were once again every inch perfect soldiers of their respective armies. This time, when Charles made to leave, Erik let him.
"Stay safe, my friend."
And then he was walking away, back ramrod straight. He didn't look back.
Erik stayed in the shadows a moment longer, just watching. That night, huddled alone in his foxhole, he closed his eyes, thought of Charles, and whispered familiar words his mother taught him as a child, in a language he hadn't used for years, to a god he could only hope would hear.
Maybe that made him a traitor, but that night, he found, he didn't care.
Less passionate the long war throws
its burning thorn about all men,
caught in one grief, we share one wound,
and cry one dialect of pain.
We have forgot who fired the house
Whose easy mischief spilled first blood
Under one raging roof we lie
The fault no longer understood
But as our twisted arms embrace the desert where our cities stood
Death’s family likeness in each face must show, at last, our brotherhood.
-- The Long War, Laurie Lee