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You put all your faith in my dreams
You gave me the world that I wanted
What did I do to deserve you?
I follow your steps with my feet
I walk on the road that you started
I need you to know that I heard you, every word
Captain felt his rough exterior crack ever so slightly when it seemed as if those chocolate brown eyes were resting comfortably on his. It wasn’t real, Pat was looking off into the background while doing one of his scout leader speeches, a brilliant tactic. Captain found himself adapting to the same habits as this lively man. There was a fluidity in his walk when coming back inside from a day of knot-tying that caused Fanny to grimace in confusion. Captain was enamoured. He especially loved when Pat mumbled something under his breath, either out of respect or repressed anger, thinking nobody could hear it.
Captain hadn’t lived for someone like this for so long, probably never. He finally had structure he could count on, as Pat followed the time like it was a godsend. Finally there was someone who was just as bothered by being a minute off as he was. Wherever Pat would go, Captain would follow behind, ghosting a mark into the ground where Pat left footprints. He grass flattened under his feet made him feel like he was really there, if only for a moment. Perhaps it was a cruel twist of fate that Captain finally got to meet his hero, impaled by a poorly timed arrow.
Forty years later, when things were comfortable and almost pleasantly mundane, Captain found his gaze linger like always. They’d had their rough patches, both argumentative when it really came down to it, but none of it seemed to matter when they wound up almost domestic. Pat would stand in the kitchen with Alison while Captain was in the other room with Mike, probably instructing the air. He imagined they weren’t wearing their uniforms, their past lives, and instead warm sweaters of dark green and beige. Afterwards they’d camp just the way Pat used to, they’re set up the tent together, and Captain would just get to love.
I've waited way too long to say
Everything you mean to me
Julian, in his usual state of irritation and slight drunkenness, hated when he had to mull over the chessboard knowing that Robin was winning. The best part about playing chess in school was that nobody was half as experienced as he was, it was child’s play. Julian was never challenged in anyway, in any part of his life. Then those mates he hung around grew up, and they never fancied a game of chess. They had more important things to do, like drink and pretend to work. Julian wouldn’t pretend he wasn’t in the same boat, but the twitching in his fingers reminded him sometimes. He would’ve loved a game, even at his lowest.
Margot would indulge him, as she always did. Even so, that wasn’t as often as he would’ve liked. Julian needed everything to excess, his hedonism seeped into all aspects of his life. A worthy opponent never came around, he never really gave it time. But now he was dead, and he had so much time, and nothing had ever scared him like that. He was out of his depth and incorrigible, wanting nothing to change only for his existence to do a complete flip. So maybe he wasn’t mad that Robin was definitely beating him beyond his comprehension. When he looked up again at the ape he’d somehow befriended, a surge of gratitude expanded in his chest.
Maybe Julian would tell him later, when it could easily be brushed off as a distraction from his imminent failure.
In case you don't live forever, let me tell you now
I love you more than you'll ever wrap your head around
In case you don't live forever, let me tell you the truth
I'm everything that I am because of you
Thomas leaned on his arm nervously, reading over his careful calligraphy. He’d spared but a glance to Isabelle, how could he perfectly capture her beauty? What could he say that would make her heart swoon as much as his was pounding. He tugged his cravat, alleviating the heat trapped under his collar. Thomas knew he had the words and the means to craft them expertly, but she was so far beyond him. She was the sun, passing behind him in an instance and alighting him, casting a brightness that rendered him an ambitious moon. He’d never felt this way before. He, truthfully, had never even written love poetry before. Not like this.
He’d never written such a delicately crafted description. She was the best thing to have ever burdened his writing efforts in his entire life. It would become so addicting he wouldn’t ever stop from then onwards. Sitting upon a windowsill, two hundred years of reflection, Thomas realised that was the defining change in his life. It wasn’t one of those realisations he announced. If she had never happened at all, perhaps the whole course of his life would’ve been changed. Maybe he would’ve lived to see his mother, who insisted she visit him a week before his death. No, he would’ve turned out jaded and cold, a punishment for longevity. He preferred to have loved and lost. His life, that is.
I, I've carried this song in my mind
Listen, it's echoing in me
But I haven't helped you to hear it
We, we've only got so much time
I'm pretty sure it would kill me
If you didn't know the pieces of me are pieces of you
Captain tucked the envelope into his uniform once more, having reflected on it off far too long. He was sitting idly by the windowsill, waiting for his world to change just a little too much for his liking. He could hear Havers and some soldiers conversing below, completely unaware of his melancholy. He’d let it go eventually, he’d done it before. There were childhood sweethearts and teenage fantasies that had come just as fast as they had gone, and Captain knew he would keep calm and carry on. His heart still twinged with regret, all the ‘what could have been’s and ‘what I wished could be’s were so useless to him now.
He watched Havers leave with all the longing of a man left unknowingly heartbroken. He was glad he got to say his goodbyes before his resistance broke, in which he probably would’ve made up excuses as to why Havers couldn’t leave. He couldn’t even talk to himself without some level of restriction. He hated himself for such weakness, being unable to cope when so many thrived in his area. He quickly realised that nobody in his life had ever really knew him, even himself. Havers had made him comfortable enough to make comments, brief glimpses that he shouldn’t have shown in times of crisis. Captain loathed himself then, he regretted it more now. He could’ve been himself for so long.
I have a hero whenever I need one
I just look up to you and I see one
I'm a man 'cause you taught me to be one
Brown had always suited Daley. He had flashes of memory in which he stole his father’s clothes, that were far bigger than his own, but brought a certainty calmness that had no equal. He wore those same clothes when his dad died, crying into them in the hopes that his dad may come walking in to comfort him again. He kept some of the baggier jackets, just knowing he had a part of his father with him was enough. He distinctly remembered wearing one when he met his girlfriend. All the best moments seemed to have his dad in the background, the ghost of what felt like another life beside him.
Any struggles or problems that he came across were quickly solved by a tactic his father had taught him. It seemed that whenever something came around to knock him down, he had the man shielding him from the impact. There was just that one, terrible night, when he knew things would never be the same, and his dad wasn’t coming to tuck him in anymore. When the window was left open and the wind blew cold, Daley felt nothing at all. He stayed up the whole night, wrapped in a beige jacket. His father was dead, and nothing would ever be the same again. but maybe, someday, his life could be just as good ad it once was, in its own way.