Chapter Text
Dear Till,
When I sleep I long for your touch. Your gentle hands on mine as you tell me a story of battles won without war and tides overturned without violence.
I write by the light of a lantern nearly spent, its flame fighting the draft that slips through every seam of this place. My fingers ache from the cold, though they have grown so numb I wonder how much longer I’ll even feel them. Still, I press on, because words to you are the only warmth I can conjure.
The men talk less now. There are fewer jokes, fewer songs carried low around the fires. Silence has become our companion, heavier than any pack we drag across the mud. I think of the sound of your laughter—how it filled every room we ever walked through. It comes to me at odd moments, cutting through the rattle of gunfire like a hymn, and I nearly forget where I am. Nearly.
Food grows scarce. We trade stories for crumbs, tales of harvests back home, of families gathered at tables rich with bread and wine. I have no feast to picture, only the memory of you across from me, head bent as you tried to hide your smile, as if it wasn’t the brightest thing in the world. That memory alone feeds me better than anything they ladle into our bowls here.
I have no certainty of when this will end. Some say weeks, others years. Time is a cruel companion—it stretches like eternity when we march, then collapses into a heartbeat when shells fall. But somewhere beyond this storm, I believe you are waiting. And that is the single thread I will not let go of.
How is work in the textiles? I remember when you tried to teach me to sew. I still wear the shirt with the missing button. It is all I have left of a better time, but I do not mourn for a future that is not there.
I do mourn for you though. Is it as cold without my presence as it is for me without you? Sometimes I reach over my shoulder for a head that’s not there, I’ll scarf up my meals like there is someone to compete with, and in those moments the silence hits harder than any bullet ever did.
Did I tell you I got shot? Yes, just last week a bullet nicked me over the shoulder, and I swear to god, I think I saw Him before I woke up in the infirmary. In all honesty, it’s a bit embarrassing having fainted from such a small wound, it has already scabbed over, blood black and rusty and hard to the touch. It did make me think though, about how much I am willing to live for, even if I told you I was not afraid of death.
The injury to my arm reminded me of your own actually, and if I am being quite honest, I am quite glad you fell off that horse. If you had been allowed to join the army, I fear what I would do to keep you safe.
That being said, I am glad we are apart now, if only so that I may close the distance eventually. You will wait for me, your brother, to return, before you go off to college, will you not? I sure hope so, or else I will be forced to pummel you again like when we were kids.
In other news.
I met a soldier a couple days ago, Luka, his name is. He tells me about his girl back home, and how when he returns he plans to marry her. I must be honest Till, but I do not think he will make it through the war. However, I indulged him and his bleak fantasies and even told him some of mine. I even found myself talking about you of all people, even though I do not plan to wed you when I return or anything of the sort. Instead, I talked of our shared apartment, of how you are like a brother to me, and that there is no one I fight for more, not even my own family.
You will not tell Sua this, right?
They took my coat for warmth last night—one of our men died screaming from frostbite and fever. I gave him mine before they dragged him out into the snow like a sack of bones. I keep his boots now; smaller than mine, but dry.
I dream of your hands on my face.
Of tea that isn’t lukewarm and bitter.
Of silence without gunfire beneath it.
Come spring…
I will return, or make them bury me facing home so my rotting eyes stare toward you even in death.
Yours, now and forever,
Ivan
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Ivan,
I received your letter three days ago, and have toiled over what to say in return.
God you are so dramatic, talking about eyes that roll to the back of your head in ways that will give me nightmares for countless days.
There was a fire in the factories, did you hear? Luckily, I was on lunch break with Sua and Mizi when it happened, but I heard some woman lost her leg.
I feel terribly sorry for her.
I think though, if she were a man like me, then maybe she might look on the bright side, at least no one will conscript her now, but since she is not, I hope she is already wed and happily in love or else I fear she does not have much of a future.
Alas, I am sure you would rather not hear me ramble over the injustices of the world.
You call me your brother, then neglect to tell me you’ve been shot until halfway in? I am appalled at your indecency and the way you seem to think I have no care for you.
I think of you every night, I dream of you next to me, and I wake up feeling more empty than if you were never there. Your absence feels worse than loss.
You did not ask of my hand, although you did mention it, and I am happy to mention that my physical therapy is working. Although I still pretend to be iller than I am, do not worry.
I don’t want to go to war anymore than you want me to.
Anyway.
About the being shot thing you mentioned. You did not happen to keep the bullet? I would know the perfect spot above the mantle for it, and all of your other battle scars. I imagine you rugged and handsome (or as handsome as someone like you can be) and covered in white marks that speak of countless stories.
You will tell me all of them when you get home.
I miss you more than words could say.
There will be no more sappy nonsense from me, I swear it.
Sincerely,
Till