Chapter Text

Darling

He was tall, but not taller than I was, he was smart and funny. He was handsome, he held me up and he was not ashamed of himself, ever. He was proud and colourful, but somehow still controlled and calm. He was warm and wonderful and honest and kind. 

He was everything I wanted.

Except mine. 

But he couldn’t be, could he? Not then… cruelty has proven that he couldn't be, not even now. Back then, he and I were too giddy to see clearly, he was let off with a warning, a reprimand. He got tactically transferred away. Away from here, from me. But me? They tore me apart, and they knew it. 

They knew I wouldn't live without him.

They counted on it.

The summer before the war, so serene yet foreboding, now that I look back. I felt invincible. I had been too young to fight in the great war, having been only eighteen when it ended. I hadn’t experienced what my father had during that time, and sadly I never got the chance to ask him about it before I was sent to fight myself. So, in that regard I do not know whether my ignorance was truthful or out of giddy hope. Probably more of the latter, given the position I had found myself in.

He was younger than I was, more naive. Not younger by much, but by enough to make him more trusting. The world hadn’t hit him yet, and I wish it never had. He wasn’t jaded like I was. Or at least, not as jaded, he had his moments. It was part of what I loved about him, his tendency to be vivacious and full of hope one moment, and cynical the next. 

At the time, I thought he and I were so clever, so sneaky and hid our feelings well. Looking back, I know now that that wasn’t the case. For one, my sister certainly had her suspicions, but she would never have aired out my secrets, even if she had had proof. Besides, I was never good at being secretive; although at the time it was imperative, I believed, and I still do, that it was my inability to hide it that doomed us. 

He believed in fate, and I think, after him, I did too. So, if it was me that doomed us, at least he believed it was meant to be. We were meant to be together, and my stupidity was meant to tear us apart. Oh my dearest, i so hope you didn’t die in Africa, how I hope you lived to see the sixties, the seventies, the eighties. How I hope you lived to see part of modern day, how I beg each evening that you found another and lived long enough to tell everyone how you loved him. How I hope you never forgot me, how I hope that you managed to live the life we promised each other we’d lead. If we couldn’t do it together, I hope that you achieved it. I hope that when I move on, you are there waiting for me, and I promise, if I can, I will find you, my dearest, and I will love you like I promised I would. 

The sun always shone, or at least in memory, however many years it has been since, it felt so. I always loved him in the sunlight, buttoned white shirts, clean shorts, clean cut, shining eyes. It wasn’t often that we took walks together in daylight, but they were my favourite. The feeling of sunlight on my shoulders, on our hands. His laugh mingled with the sound of far off waves crashing onto stony beaches. Our conversations were always sweet and loving, soft words of endearment whispered through leafy walks, or adoring looks exchanged over ice creams. Always away from the public, we didn’t have the liberty to be frank. The way we acted - we were like two lovesick teenagers, at least for that summer, but he made my head spin, it was like someone had set my heart on fire. The slight kick I got out of the feeling of risk outweighed the terror of being caught, and he always agreed. 

More often, though, our walks took place in the evenings or at night. Often they were more like rendezvous, secret meetings with my secret lover. My favourite walks in the evenings always took place under moonlight, never in places people looked. Night was when I could truly talk to him, and he to me. Our first evening walk was serenely beautiful. There was a full moon that evening, and even though I couldn’t quite make out his expression, I could hear in his voice that he was smiling. We walked for a while, together, not holding hands, although our fingers occasionally brushed against each other. Each time his fingers brushed against mine, I felt a small burst of energy. He was silhouetted in the moonlight, and it was a strange thing to notice, but I remember thinking his profile was beautiful. Eventually, we reached a clearing in the forest, where there was a small bench, just big enough for us both to fit. We sat, he smiled, I coughed slightly. I thank the lord each day that he couldn’t see how red my face had gone. 

“So, William.” I cleared my throat. I remember feeling terrified about what might happen next.

“Yes, Theodore?” this time i could tell he was smiling, his eyes twinkled with mirth under the cold light. 

“Why here? I’m sure you don’t mind me saying that this isn’t where I normally spend my time with my friends” I bit back a stronger word, I hadn’t earned the use of that word yet, not then. He nodded softly, and leant back on the bench. I remember him looking up at the slowly appearing constellations, as if to wish upon them.

“Well, it isn’t often I meet…” he trailed off, frowning slightly. He looked at me, tilted his head slightly to the left, and then continued. “...someone like you” 

I swallowed hard and blinked a few times. I remember thinking how awful yet amazing it was, that I felt like a lovesick teenager at 39. I remember thinking how he couldn’t possibly have meant it how I wanted him to mean it. I remember thinking that he hadn’t known me until three weeks ago. I remember thinking that I shouldn't have come. 

“Oh? And what do you mean by that?” Finally, after an agonising few seconds, I forced myself to reply. He looked slightly uncertain at that point, his frown returned. 

“Well, I-I’m… I'm one of them.”

He had said it so softly, but I had heard him. I remember being relieved that I hadn't gotten him wrong, but somehow scared as well. I remember those few moments, before, when I watched his eyes. That's where he laid all his emotions bare, and I could see in his eyes he was scared. I hadn’t replied, and he had revealed himself. If I had been anyone else, he would’ve been dead before sunrise. 

But I wasn't anyone else, and neither was he. 

When I look back on that time, it’s so easy to see only the moments that hurt, and sink and sink until I cannot sink further, because what happened destroyed me. But there were so many moments that I am so thankful for, that make up for the hurt. That's the funny thing about being in love; you put up with so much pain, for those few moments of bliss, those gaps in the darkness. Back then, he was his own gap, my gap, the little sliver of sunshine I could always rely on. 

“As am I”

I saw the tension leave him. I remember hoping that meant he felt the same. Back then, being too careful wasn’t a thing, not for men like me. He smiled, he glanced back up at the constellations, he looked at me.

“In which case, i hope you’ll forgive the choice of time and location” 

“I’ll forgive you this time” I smiled, and he grinned in response. “On one condition”

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow “and what might that be?”

“That you call me Teddy. Theodore was always too formal for my liking”

He smiled softly, his eyes glowed softly, and I think that was the moment I truly fell in love with him. “Ok then, Teddy”

That night was amazing. Nothing particularly interesting to an outsider happened, but to me? It meant everything. At the time, I had never met someone quite so like me. I had never had the opportunity to fall in love before, at the time, i didn’t predict love, but i’m so glad it happened. He and I were both military men, although I was higher up the chain than he. We could relate to the training we had gone through, the comments our mothers had made when we made the decision to join. We could relate to the feeling of intense loneliness, the feeling of being dirty, somehow, the feeling that you’d never be accepted. As i told him many times, i was heartbroken he had ever felt that way, he was too perfect, too pure to have to have felt that way. He didn’t deserve the world he was born in. I would put up with what I endured a thousand times, simply to give him a chance to love freely. 

After that, the hardest part, conversation seemed so simple. We talked for hours, into the early hours. We walked together, through leafy trees and over small streams. It wasn’t so much the conversation as the comfort that felt so right. Occasionally our hands would brush against each other, fingertips touch, it sent shivers down my spine every time. 

Finally, at two in the morning, we snuck back to our respective homes. I left him at his door to creep back in silently, and practically skipped back to my house. Never have I felt so free, before or since. And so it was that we continued whatever it was that it was. At that time, I suppose I still considered us friends, nothing… risque had happened yet, and i wasn’t waiting around for it, i was enjoying my time with him, which i am so thankful i had the presence of mind to do. 

Each day, I strove to spend time with him. If i wasn’t spending time with him, i was writing to him, or thinking of him, or dying to talk about how perfect he was to someone. I wasn’t blind enough to do that, but so many times, I came so close, because telling people about him, about us, was the one thing that I dreamt of, because it would mean we would be free. 

His letters were so beautifully written, far better than I could have ever written. He was the wordsmith, his words spun me worlds where we could imagine the impossible. He knew it, the jammy bastard knew that I already loved him, he just wanted to flex his writing prowess. Whether that be because he wanted to impress me, or because he wanted to make certain that i had fallen for him, i’m sure i shall never be certain, although the way i remember him, it will almost certainly have been more of the former. I used to complain that his letters were too long, that they may get us into trouble if they fell into the wrong hands. I wish I never had, for there was no such issue, I was just embarrassed that someone could ever be so upfront about their feelings, especially feelings for me. He knew that though, he knew even when I didn't. That stupid, delightful, funny, witty, intelligent man knew me better than i knew myself. He never complained, the man had the patience of a saint and I constantly tested it. 

I think I may have also been slightly jealous, back then, of his ability to make me fall for him over and over and over again, with only his words. There was a part of me that felt inadequate, how could he possibly want someone like me? Someone who couldn’t spin silence into sonnets, someone who wasn’t half the man he was. Jealousy is a funny thing though, I don’t feel that way now. I only feel stupid, for ever thinking he would love me less because i wasn’t exactly as he was. He loved me because I wasn't him, and I loved him, because he wasn’t me. 

He wrote me the most beautiful letter, and I received it the day after he… Well, I'll save that for later, but just know, even when he knew there was no hope for us, he was still spinning me beautiful pictures, to make the hurt vanish like dust. 

I still remember his face, on our third walk. It was another midnight walk, the sticky august air from the day had subsided, and left behind a cool summer night. The moonbeams flickered between the tops of the trees and our hands were intertwined. We found the bench, again, from our first walk, the path we traced to get there was the same. We sat down, hands still held, knees touching. 

“So, dear Teddy” he smiled “here again? Why?” 

“Well, my dear William” I smiled softly back, stroking the back of his hand with my thumb. “I thought you might like the familiar surroundings”

He smiled a thoughtful smile and turned to me, leaning in closer until our foreheads were touching. “I do”

I smiled as I watched his eyes. They were so gorgeous, so much life in those eyes, or there was then. I reached up with one of my hands and tentatively stroked his cheek. 

He slid his arms around my neck. 

I held his face with both hands. 

I could feel his breath on my lips, I could hear my heart beating out of my chest.

And that was when he kissed me.