Work Text:
Raucous rum-induced merriment cut out instantly, all men dutifully responding to Major Morris’ bellowed command, “QUIET!”
The crackling radio in the mess was turned up and the soldiers crowded around it to hear the sobering report of the brutal air fire raining down over London. The city was in flames, people massacred on the streets as they mis-timed their flee to shelter.
Nicholas’ platoon had been celebrating his birthday to the best of their limited capacities from Catterick Camp. But in war times, each minute can be the beginning or the end of everything.
Looking around the room, Nicholas could see, could feel, the palpable worry of each of his comrades. Most of them were London boys, like him, with families and loved ones there, and suddenly North Yorkshire may as well have been the moon.
His arm tingled, and he sensed Charlie was sending him a message, most likely telling him that he was safe, that Nicholas’ mum and auntie were safe, not to worry.
He weighed the risks of pulling up his sleeve. Even in these desperate times, a soul mark from another bloke was too dangerous to flaunt.
The tingling stopped and Nicholas dared to step away from the group, using his genuine anguish as a cloak for his actions. He inched up his sleeve just in time to see Charlie’s familiar looped handwriting fading away into his own freckled complexion.
I love you, Nick.
Then, for the first time since meeting Charlie, Nicholas’ arm was bare.