Work Text:
Let me take you.
An excerpt from Eoin’s short story, which he had been reading aloud in disjointed paragraphs during their evening's pastime in Kabrit, was finally building to its dramatic peak. It was simple – naive, even – a little rough around the edges for Paddy’s taste. Yet, despite the lack of polish, it cut straight to the bone. The same could be said for all of Eoin’s stories recently: they were direct but carried the weight of unspoken questions.
Words spilled from Eoin's mouth like mountain water in spring. Paddy could predict it easily and brace himself for the inevitable flood of emotion that followed, but secretly, he wanted those waters to wash him, to take him with all his muddy, unclear thoughts about him – about them – and drain into the sea, where they could dissolve, forgotten.
Paddy recognized the pattern. Lately, Eoin’s tales had become more than idle entertainment, and he was starting to delve into places they both instinctively avoided. The more time passed from the familiarity of their training days, the more Paddy understood that Eoin’s stories had stopped being stories altogether. It was messages wrapped in fiction – fragile bridges connecting everything they didn't say in the harsh light of day.
When Eoin’s final sentence evaporated into the night air, leaving behind a lingering silence, Paddy could feel the weight of it pressing against his chest. There was no question at the story's end, no ambiguity. It was a statement, plain and straightforward. Paddy almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. There was no witty retort that would save him this time, no clever comment to ease the tension. All he had was silence, and even that felt insufficient. Somewhere along the way, they had crossed an invisible line – a point of no return, where retreat wasn’t possible.
The cold air didn't temper the heat rolling through Paddy’s body. He let the silence linger between them, offering Eoin nothing more than a bitter smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes and promised nothing but uncertainty. This conversation, whatever it was becoming, would have to wait. He couldn’t give Eoin the answer he sought – not yet.
Eoin didn't mind the wait. Except sometimes, he did.
Let me love you.
Seasons in Belfast came and went with a steady, predictable rhythm, but the seasons of their hearts moved at their own pace – both slower and faster at the same time – driven by forces neither of them could control. The winter outside had settled over their relationship as well, sudden and harsh, a stark contrast to the warmth of the Italian nights they had shared.
Paddy had fancied Eoin. But did he love him? It was a question that had haunted him for longer than he cared to admit. Paddy never got anyone close enough to actually allow love – it felt pointless and rarely took the edge off a real physical need. Books helped to sustain a less material part of his soul’s demand, or so he thought. Eoin was a revelation for him, an exception that proves the rule. And the answer, as much as he tried to resist it, was yes.
With the war drawing closer to its end – a frightening prospect in its anticipation – all those feelings went through refracting glass. What had once been uncomplicated was now drenched in doubt, in fear of what came next. Loving Eoin would mean opening himself up in ways he wasn’t ready for – letting someone see the mess of tangled emotions and anxiety lived just beneath the surface. It felt pointless. After the war, everything would be different. Why hold on to something that would only lead to more pain for both of them? Why risk it all?
It wasn't easy to push away the hand that helped, guided, and soothed your aches, but it was a necessity. The clenched jaw of Eoin's profile and stoic expression hid his initial reaction to a sudden rejection. Outstretched in a plea, Eoin’s hands touched and burned Paddy, and the hot puffs of air coming out of Eoin’s mouth reminded Paddy of dragons. After all they went through, he could fight a real dragon, but not this one. In that fight, he would risk only his life, not Eoin's. Never him.
Sometimes, in the dead of night, when the demons of his soul let thoughts to roam freely inside his heavy head, Paddy dreamed about love – poetic, physical and less pure – and considered that he ought to love Eoin but couldn’t keep him. Or maybe, deep down, he was too much of a coward to try. In the end, all qualms were temporary – and a bleak season passed like any other before it.
Let me keep you.
That was new. Paddy thought as he sat in a dimly lit room, chain-smoking his third cigarette, watching the smoke curl lazily through the air. He tried to catch sight of Eoin’s dark silhouette through the haze, the beloved face that had become both his solace and his torment, was covered in tears leaving behind salt tracks on his skin.
Eoin was patient to the degree of a good officer, but not enough not to snap at him from time to time. He didn’t bother with Paddy snapping back. He had weathered Paddy’s storms before – the sharp words spoken out of fear rather than anger – and yet, it was Paddy who returned to him with a tight-lipped apology. Sticking together after the horrors they had lived through, to support each other in the most pragmatic way possible.
They had always been careful, avoiding unnecessary risk where they could, but not too picky about the places they sought refuge. Small, drafty attic rooms had become their sanctuary. It felt foolish. Hopeful. The words that made Paddy pause every time he reached for a whiskey bottle in the evenings while being alone. Words that let a wild dog inside him curl quietly and obediently, not yet trusted but reassured by his keeper.
He found himself listening to a familiar tune of Eoin's soft breaths against him, mixing with street noises outside. He wanted to believe that everything would be alright, that they would find their way back to something resembling normality. Eoin would finish his education, Paddy would return to his solicitor tasks. Civilian life met them like distant relatives – lukewarm embraces, with neither knowing what to say to others. Vital time together had been lost – they were changed men.
Long-gone days of Eoin being presumed dead – they tried not to mention that period, but inevitably, words spilled between them in desperation and longing in their letters. There was something unfinished, something unresolved inside Eoin after they came back home. Eventually, the letters had been collected and burned, as if none of it had ever happened.
The nights when Eoin woke up screaming, his body shaking with sobs, hollow eyes full of tears bore into Paddy unseen, and no comforting words could ground him – those periods were the hardest. Paddy could have Eoin – parts of him – and at other times, all of him, no questions asked, but some pieces were left in mainland Europe scattered around fields, forests and marshes, buried in shallow graves. Paddy wanted to fix it, despite Eoin’s stubborn denial.
Paddy offered support, but for him, it never felt like enough. And so, when Eoin clung to him and asked for one thing – Paddy himself – he couldn't resist. He pulled Eoin into the kiss – searing and desperate – sealing the deal by licking the remaining salt from Eoin's lips. It was a promise – a promise Paddy would try, in his own flawed way, to keep.
***