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I.
Star crossed lovers.
Thats what he calls you both.
Eyes bright and teeth bared; wolflike, he likens you to Juliet and himself to Romeo.
"We," he says- he never talks about you separately anymore. (instead, as one. a unit, two souls intertwined.) he reaches out for your hand.
"We're gonna be different. We're gonna survive this." he says this as though it's fact. And he's so sure of it, so sincere that it breaks your heart.
You smile wearily, try not to think about how death creeps into every conversation you have like the acid fog of the mountain men- slow at first, just a sulphuric smell in the air. And then all at once, caught in your throat, your nose, your eyes- sharp and bitter like the kiss of a jilted ex lover.
II.
Your love is constant.
He reads to you. His voice is like the rolling ocean; calm, strong.
Shakespeare's archaic words, which sound so convoluted and clunky in your mouth, drip like honey past his lips, smooth and sweet.
He looks at you from under his eyelashes and you feel an ache in your chest. It's a good ache, even though it hurts. It reminds you that you are alive- for now at least.
III.
Perpetual. Like the ticking of a clock.
He clings to you in the early hours of the morning, buries his head in the crook of your shoulder. You sometimes forget how vulnerable he really is until he has the nightmares.
Once, you asked him what happened in them- what keeps him awake, away from the twisted version of reality that sleep would bring him.
"Death." he said; voice low, eyes to the ground.
You didn't ask again. Just kissed the top of his head and held him close.
IV.
Can you tell that your time is running out?
You walk with him to the radioactive forest, and your heart skips a beat when he grabs your hand. You're still not really used to affectionate touches.
Then he pulls you in close and kisses you with the utmost sincerity. And he's gentle and soft and beautiful. You allow yourself to lean in and kiss back. You never go any further than that, but neither of you mind.
Later he's propped up on his elbows, eyes closed as the leaves cast a blue and green glow over his dark skin and the constellations of freckles on his cheekbones.
You've never really been happy on Earth, but you suppose that being with him is as close as you'll get.
V.
How long do you really have?
You trace love letters into his callused palms and compare him to a summer's day- he blushes, and your heart swells.
He quietly tells you that you are more lovely and more temperate. And you laugh softly; thanking the stars that you exist at the same time as him, or whatever shift in the cosmos flung him into your arms.
VI.
Do you know that you're running out of time?
War ruins everything you loved. You want to scream that this is pointless, that death doesn't bring peace. But all you can do is don your faded guard's jacket and take the bullets out of your gun- opting to use the stock to defend yourself.
War ruins everyone you loved. Its touch is dark and heavy like the night sky without stars; turning kids into killers.
His nightmares get worse, and he blames himself for everything, and he unravels before your eyes.
When he tells you he's leaving with the chancellor your stomach twists uncomfortably, but you swallow your grief and wish him the best.
You kiss him goodbye with all you have, and ignore the way tears seep into it. (you can't tell if they're yours or his.)
VII.
You forget that even the brightest of stars burn out.
It's been a year, and you don't know if you'll ever see him again.
So you look up at the stars in the night sky, and hope that he's looking up too.