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“Hey.” Gerald whispered. “I’ve been wondering something all day.”
Logan didn’t answer him. Truth be told he didn’t know if that was the smartest idea. They’d met almost a week ago and for some reason, Gerald was following him. He smiled a lot, was chatty, and Logan had yet to see him without a cigarette on his lips. He kept low to the ground, watching the rest of their squad dart between the trees. He hadn’t bothered to learn their names, but Gerald’s had stuck for some reason. It sounded special to him, and he didn’t know why. It fit snugly in his skull, like a kitten in its favorite nook. It felt like it belonged there.
“Logan-” Gerald snapped his fingers for attention. “I said I’ve been wondering something-”
Logan grunted, shifting to stare harder down the barrel of his rifle. The other men weren’t paying attention. The area was secure. This was barely a training exercise for them. He had stolen away from the group for a moment of peace and Gerald had followed him up the hill. He wished he hadn’t. His brain had been getting worse. It was full of nasty whispers that he couldn’t predict all that well. And now a very distracting new voice that was warm, low, and sweet was in his ear.
“If you were selling hotdogs, how would you hock them? Like what would be your signature yell?”
The question caught Logan so off guard that he jerked his head in Gerald’s direction before he could stop it. He stared incredulously. What the hell kind of question was that? Here? Now? Gerald grinned under Logan’s full attention, the cigarette cherry winking in delight.
“C’mon.” He nudged Logan’s shoulder. “Sell me a hot dog. Let me hear it.”
“.......Don’t bother me.” Logan settled on saying, then shifted back to watching the men.
“I think you’d be good at it.” Gerald continued, taking the cigarette and tapping some of the ash off. “I feel like you could probably sell a shell to a turtle.”
“I don’t want to.” Logan ground his teeth, wishing Gerald would leave him alone.
“Sell a shell to a turtle, or sell me a hot dog?”
“Stop.”
One of the men, the oldest of their group, stepped away to take a piss in the bushes. He was saying something to the others and laughing. Usually he had a temper. Logan allowed the irrational consideration that his absence might have improved the man’s mood.
“Okay, so I think the key to making a sale is to be aggressive.” Gerald said. He rolled onto his back in the grass, exhaling smoke. “That’s why I think volume is key. Check this out-”
Then he took a deep breath-impressive considering he most likely had the lung capacity of a two year old from all that smoke- and howled so loudly that Logan heard what sounded like a very startled monkey falling from a tree.
“HOT-DOOOOOGS” Gerald screamed. It was so guttural that Logan actually realized he would have bought a damn hot dog if it got Gerald the hell away from him.
At the bottom of the hill, their hot tempered squad mate left the ground with an alarmed and unbecoming shriek. He barely managed to stuff his dick back into his pants as he landed and stumbled, falling hard. Gerald’s yell tapered off into what was probably the most gleeful giggle Logan had ever heard in his life. His heart skipped a beat. The giggle rose quickly, turning into hysterical laughter as the chaos below spread.
Men jumped for their guns, tripping over each other as they went. Hot Temper had definitely pissed on his own boots and was cursing up a storm. Someone yelled Gerald’s name and a series of obscenities following it. Logan sank lower into the grass, hoping everyone would forget that he was up the hill as well. He also wished Gerald would stop laughing so hard. He was going to get them caught.
“Shut up!!” he whispered, but Gerald laughed harder, completely out of control.
“Your face-” he wheezed.
Logan threw himself on top of Gerald, wedging his hand over his mouth, hiding that perfect smile. Gerald’s face was warm, his lips were soft under Logan’s palm. He tried not to pay attention to that as he rolled them quickly under a bush. Gerald was shaking with laughter, muffled giggles still escaping him.
Smother him smother him choke him
Logan shook his head and the voice flew right out of his skull. There were heavy footsteps stomping up the hill.
“God damn faggot son of a bitch is gonna give me a heart attack! Where the hell is he? I saw him!”
“Probably went into the trees. We catch him I get first swing. He stole my sunglasses last week.”
“I have piss all over my fucking boots. Fuck your sunglasses, I’m gonna rip him apart.”
The two men took off into the trees. Hot Temper was cursing every step of the way. Logan waited until the raging faded off into the distance before releasing his hold. Gerald grinned at him Logan didn’t like the way it made his head buzz. He tried hard to keep his glare stern and cold. This wasn’t funny.
“Okay, now let’s hear yours.” Gerald snickered.
Logan took off his hat and smacked him with it.
--
The mess hall was crowded that night. Logan hated it. He hated the food. He hated the smells. He hated how there was an itching whisper in the back of his head that a simple shake wouldn’t get rid of. It was getting worse. His pencil scribbled sharply in his journal as he tried to block everything out.
Gerald was sitting with some of the others for once. Everyone liked him. It seemed he fit in well with anyone he decided he wanted the attentions of. Gerald wasn’t eating. He rarely ate, preferring those cigarettes. Logan watched the way the current one bounced on his lip when he spoke. So well balanced, Logan knew that not a single word would be slurred. He remembered how soft that mouth was.
Fag sick gross fucker stupid fucker disgusting
That one felt like it was right in his ear. Logan tensed, grinding his teeth and shaking his head again. His pencil broke. Gerald was laughing. He had a good laugh, rich and sweet. It carried above the din of the mess hall. His head tipped back when he laughed, exposing the column of his throat. Logan fought the urge to stare at it and hoped the voice asking what it would taste like was not actually his but one of the cruel ones.
“You.”
It was spoken loudly, blunt and angry. Hot Temper was storming across the hall, fists curled. He was finally back from the jungle. Gerald stood up quickly, putting his cigarette out on the table as he went. He smiled. He always smiled.
“Hey Millegan.” Gerald said, taking a slight step back. “You got leaves in your hair.”
“What the fuck are you doing shrieking like a banshee in the middle of the god damned fucking jungle?”
“Sellin’ hot dogs.” Gerald shrugged, kicking the ground a little. One of the men behind him snickered.
Millegan’s neck flexed, an angry vein popping. Gerald took another step back, legs bumping the bench behind him. He held up a placating hand.
“Okay man, let’s chill.” He said. “You got a little shaken up, that’s all. How about I apologize and we call it even?”
Logan watched as the corner of Gerald’s mouth tugged up a little, turning a charming smile into something perhaps a little more devious. In that moment, Logan knew that whatever Gerald chose to say next was going to get him killed.
“I’ll even get you some Chux from the commander’s tent or something-”
Millegan moved fast, lunging forwards and grabbing Gerald by the shirt. Gerald must have forgotten he was small for a marine. That smile faltered for a moment as he was lifted off his feet like he weighed less than a handful of grapes. Millegan slammed him down onto the table. Gerald struggled, kicking Millegan repeatedly in an attempt to free himself. Millegan pressed him harder onto the table, his bulk pinning Gerald in place. Logan saw the briefest flicker of terror in Gerald’s eyes, and something in his brain snapped.
Yes yes yes yes fuck yes hurt hurt hurt break him break something break bones find bones break them snap them yes
Logan cleared the distance across the mess hall in barely a few strides and grabbed a fistful of Millegan’s hair and pulled him off Gerald. He yanked back hard, grunting as he remembered that Millegan was a tank and weighed about the same. But Logan had wrestled wilder things in the swamps. Millegan was built like a live oak, stiff and unbending. Logan went for the roots, kicking him behind the knee. Millegan fell with a shout. Logan maneuvered the weight downwards and drove his face into the edge of the table.
“Christ, Logan!” Gerald blurted out. “Wait-!”
The spurt of blood from Millegan’s mouth and nose sent Logan’s mind into a riot. It was harsher than anything he’d heard last time. There were at least four different voices all shouting at once in his skull. At least one was wailing nonstop. The others were all offering suggestions on what he should do next. But Logan knew. To make an animal stay down, you had to hurt them. Bad.
He grabbed Millegan’s arm, ignoring the gurgled cry of confusion, and tugged it behind his back. He kept pulling too, even when resistance from the shoulder made the muscles creak and groan. He needed that arm straight and tight. Millegan was struggling and yelling. Gerald dove forwards, shouting at Logan to stop. Logan brought his knee up, striking the extended limb from underneath as hard as he could.
The sound of bone cracking wasn’t pleasant. It was always wetter than Logan expected. Millegan shrieked in agony, Gerald gave a cry of shock, hand flying up to cover his mouth. Logan shook his head, twitching irritably. His grip on the limb tightened. It felt slack and weird, but he could still feel the tension in the shoulder. The mess hall went silent.
“M-my-my arm…” Millegan wheezed through the blood dripping down his chin. “My fucking-? My fucking arm?? He broke my-”
Logan felt him go limp, and let him fall. He lay facedown on the mess floor. There was bone sticking through the skin, tinted pink from blood. Logan had never seen that before. He’d seen halos of blood, rivers of it. Blood from his father, blood from his own veins, blood from animals. Blood was normal to him. Bone wasn’t. He realized he didn’t like bones. His chest felt tight. This was bad. This was very very bad. Breathing felt strange. His head was so quiet suddenly. Where were the voices? Where were they now that he’d done what they wanted?
“Holy shit.” Someone said.
“Is he dead?”
“No he’s not fucking dead, idiot. It’s just his arm.”
“Stovall’s dead.”
“Oh, Stovall’s fuckin’ cooked.”
Logan shook his head again, screwing up his face as he tried to think. Gerald was coming towards him, hands raised.
“Hey…..” He said, gently. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Keyes, back up. Give him space.”
Gerald ignored the others. “Logan.”
“Stay back.” Logan whispered. He felt weird, like he was in a dream. None of this felt real. “Stay back, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it- I didn’t mean it- I didn’t mean it-”
“Is he fucking stupid?” someone asked
Logan would have liked to answer that yes, he was indeed very stupid. But Gerald’s hand was in his, fingers slender and smooth. He was pulling them out of the mess hall and into the night.
It was cold outside, or maybe it was just because Logan was sweating. He let Gerald drag them through the tents. He felt hundreds of eyes on them as they moved, which didn’t make sense because nobody else was out to see them. His hand felt thick and rough in Gerald’s, and he wished Gerald would just let go of him. He was painfully aware of how lithe those fingers were, and now he knew he could probably break them easier than Millegan’s arm. Logan shook his head with a small whimper. He didn’t want to hurt Gerald. Who would ever want to hurt Gerald?
Apart from the man face down in the mess hall with his arm fucked up beyond all reason?
Gerald was pulling them into their tent. It was thankfully empty. Everyone was still back in the hall, probably still looking at Logan’s handiwork. Logan tugged his hand free and clutched at his head, shakily walking over to his bed to collapse. He needed to be alone. He had been alone most of his life, and now that he was going to probably be discharged, he needed the space to process that. His life was over. He’d never had much of one to begin with. It had been small, and pathetic, but hadn’t it been his?
“Hey.” Gerald lit a cigarette and came to join him on the bed. “I need you to look at me, ok? Logan, can you please look at me?”
Logan sat hunched, fists grinding into his eyes. He didn’t want to look at Gerald. His eyeballs were starting to ache from the pressure of his knuckles. Breathing still felt awful. Even worse, now that they were alone, he could hear how shaky and raspy he sounded. Gerald’s arm was draped around his shoulders. He wished it wasn’t. It was so gentle.
“Okay, don’t look at me. Your loss.” Gerald said. His voice was shaky and uncertain. Logan didn’t know Gerald could be like that. “You should tell me what that was all about though.”
“You looked scared.” Logan muttered. “You looked really, really scared.”
He heard Gerald exhale and smelled smoke. “Yeah, I was scared. I don’t like getting my ass kicked.”
“And I didn’t want you to get your ass kicked.”
“It’s a good ass. Be a shame if something happened to it.” Gerald said. “But you didn’t have to do that. Hey, could you please breathe a little slower? You’re gonna make yourself sick.”
“I deserve it.”
Gerald shifted, turning a little to pull Logan to his chest. His shirt smelled like soap and something sweeter like candy. His heartbeat was slow and calm, and his fingers curled into Logan’s scalp like they’d always belonged there. Something in Logan ached longingly. He was pretty sure it was just his lungs giving out. He couldn’t remember the last time someone held him.
“I don’t think you deserve it.” Gerald said. “But I do think you should tell me what happened back there. I’m a hoot and a half, but I didn’t think you liked me enough to break a guy’s arm.”
There were words stirring in Logan’s throat. He could feel them clawing at his esophagus, eager to climb out. Whenever someone noticed there was something wrong with him, he could feel the tiny desperate claws. He’d always been afraid someone would see his sickness, but what he feared more was the urge he always got to tell someone in the hopes that it wouldn’t feel as heavy to carry.
Gerald’s hands were slender, but Logan knew somehow that they were strong. They could handle the secret, the sickness. Logan felt his heart rate start to settle. He didn’t think he was experienced enough in hugging to be any sort of judge, but Gerald was really, really good at it.
“C’mon.” Gerald said softly. “I wanna know you, Logan.”
Logan raised his head, hating the tears that slid down his nose. Gerald was being so damn nice and he didn’t need to be. It didn’t make sense, but it also did. The last seven days, Gerald had always seemed to pop up when things felt terrible, whenever Logan felt like he was going to break. Gerald and his pretty smile, perfect laugh, and neverending stream of thoughts always broke through the haze and the whispers and the awful sense of dread that hovered over him.
“I don’t think aggression is a good selling tactic.” Logan said.
“What?”
“If you screamed hot dogs at me in the street, I think I would buy one, but I don’t think I would enjoy it. And I also think I would never go down that block again.”
Gerald stared at him, those blue eyes unblinking. Logan didn’t know people could have eyes that blue. He heard Gerald give a confused little snicker.
“Okay. Sell me a hot dog.”
“I think you like burgers more.”
Gerald laughed, head tilting back a little. It was a big and genuine laugh. Logan could feel it in the embrace where their ribs touched.
“I actually do! Holy shit, I really do.”
“Gerald.” The claws in Logan's throat were on his tongue now. “I hear crazy shit.”
The tent felt so damn small suddenly. Ice filled Logan’s chest. No sooner had he allowed the words to come tumbling out, he snapped shut again. Lips pursed, he bit the inside of his cheek. There weren’t claws in his throat anymore though. The claws and teeth were now in the room, but they seemed so small now. Too small to really hurt anyone.
“Like voices?” Gerald asked. “You hear voices? That’s why you tossed Millegan?”
Logan nodded. Gerald’s hand was still in his hair. Their bodies were still pressed together. The confession hadn’t pried them apart. Logan wasn’t entirely sure what would happen now. He’d never been brave enough to think about what would happen if somebody found out.
“It’s not all the time.” He added quickly. “But sometimes when people fight, or when I get scared- it just happens. I don’t like what they say. But sometimes it’s like they know exactly what to do. Gerald, I promise I don’t like it when it happens, I hate what they say. Plesae, please don’t think it’s me-!”
“Hey, hey, hey, hey-” Gerald interrupted, cupping Logan’s face. “I know it’s not you. I know. You think because you hide under that dumb ass hat all the time, I can’t see you? You’re a good guy, Logan. You’re shy all the time, but I see you. You’re good. I wouldn’t try to be around you so much if you weren’t. Of course I know that wasn’t you.”
Logan dug his nails into his arms to stop himself from returning the embrace. Gerald thought he was good. That seemed so strange to him. He was gangly, with a nose too long and sleepy eyes, and a head full of cruelty. Gerald was kind, funny, and had the bluest eyes that reminded Logan so much of the ocean. How could Gerald possibly see anything good in him?
He blinked, trying to stop more tears. He was so sick of feeling like a child all the damn time.
“You really hear voices?”
“Sometimes….”
“That’s crazy.” Gerald said. Then he grimaced. “I mean-”
“No, it’s fucking crazy.” Logan snickered, surprised he had even a little humor left in him.
Gerald laughed again. Logan was really starting to wonder if his heart was going to feel weird every time he heard it. Gerald thought he was good.
“You boys done giggling like a couple of little fucking elves?”
Gerald sprang to his feet to attention. Logan mourned the loss of those arms around him for a second before following suit. Captain Reynolds wasn’t a patient man on a good day. He certainly didn’t seem very happy now. His teeth were barred in a way that suggested he also had claws in his throat just burst to come out. Logan knew he was freer with his demons though. He’d never been able to figure out if he envied that or not.
“I have a soldier with his entire god damned tibia out. You sons of bitches know anything about that?”
“Tibia is the leg bone, sir!” Gerald replied. “Stovall broke his humerus!”
Reynolds glared, jaw tensing. Logan kept his eyes low. It always felt safer to watch the ants and dirt.
“Then why, pray tell, is there a god damned humerus in my mess hall?”
Gerald slipped into character almost immediately. His perfect smile and bright eyes lit right up along with the cigarette he slipped between his lips. His head tilted charmingly, and in that moment, Logan knew for a fact that Gerald Keyes absolutely could have sold Captain Reynolds an entire cart of hot dogs if he wanted to. But that would have to wait, because in that moment, the nicest person Logan had ever met in his life, someone who thought he was good, someone who wanted to know him- began chatting up their captain with the sole intent of saving Logan’s life.