Work Text:
The pressure of his helmet is an ever present reminder of the life he still has.
The bullet holes that riddle his body are only flesh wounds.
His rifle strapped to his back dragging him down.
Crawling from the crashed helicopter with the deadweight of his fallen comrade.
He thinks this feels like bleeding out.
It isn’t something he speaks about back home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The academy didn’t teach him how to do this.
Everyone in these halls is someone’s family.
He watches through the glass as his lay dying.
“I think he’s crashing!” a voice echoes beyond his sight.
It isn’t something they speak about.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sleep is rare on overnight shifts.
Still he manages to dream.
His only relief from life.
His mind makes sense of what he’s seen.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lips slowly fit into his own.
Like they’ve always belonged.
They’re gone as soon as they appear.
Replaced by a smile.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His eyes open to reality.
“I love you.”
He speaks like an epiphany.
“I think I always have.”