Out Of Paradise

September 14th, 1962 - 4:30 AM - McCarran International Airport

Henry’s bloodshot eyes were struggling to stay open as he leaned against the smudged glass walls of the payphone booth. The dial tone was lulling him to sleep. The monotone drone nearly won; only his mother’s voice snapped the thread of his sleep. He glanced at his free hand as his mother repeatedly said ‘hello?’ a few times. He was holding a cigarette. He'd been meaning to go cold turkey several times to have a bit of money for the trip that was going to begin in a few hours, but he never really quit the habit successful—

“Henry Gideon Emily.” His mother said more firmly.

“I'm sorry, Mom!" Henry barked out a strangled shout through forced, gritted teeth in an attempt to keep his voice from echoing across the terminal. This promptly woke him up with alert eyes and a stiff posture. The mental picture of his mother having that look that read both affection and exasperation as she shook her head towards him with crossed arms only made him feel more embarrassed.

"What were you saying?" He asked with that sheepish smile. His mother scoffed lightly. "Bless it…." she chuckled.

William glanced through the glass pane at Henry before flicking his lighter open. He held the flame to his cigarette, then tucked the lighter into the pocket of his lily-pad green trousers. Shifting the cigarette to his left hand, he pulled out his wallet and flicked through a thick fan of twenties to either eyeball his roll or simply enjoy the weight of it.

He took a short moment to retrohale the smoke before he briefly licked his right index finger to separate the various $20 bills haphazardly folded in the cramped pocket of his wallet. He took a few seconds to look up at Henry. He was still recovering from his brief moment of discomfiture from being nagged by his mother. William would be more sympathetic if he didn't find Henry's situation so amusing.

"Okay… Mom, I'm fine. We're at the airport, okay? Alive and well… Yes, the light's are still on, what are you— I'm fine. I'll call you later at the hotel for your nerves, alright?" As his mother badgered on about how he should call her throughout the trip for the sake of her comfort, Henry smiled apologetically seeing William lean against the phone with crossed arms. The bastard was tapping his wristwatch playfully.

"Listen, I have to go. I'll tell you the hotel room number as soon as we get there. I love you. Goodbye." Henry said quickly as he somewhat shoved the phone back in its cradle.

"Sorry about that. My mother still finds a way to worry about me." Henry explained with a short shake of his head as he walked out of the booth. He took the offered cigarette from the crumpled pack William held out for him with a smile. Henry leaned towards his free hand that held the ignited flip lighter for him. Chivalry wasn't dead, at least not in this airport.

"Mothers, they really know how to get under your skin." William said with a slight titter as he played with his lighter for a moment before pocketing it again. He clapped his hands together to end the short moment of dead air. "So, where to first? Are we going straight to the hotel or are we going to sight see a bit?"

"Sightseeing sounds great, but I'd rather not give her a heart attack," Henry jerked his thumb towards the payphone booth. "Besides, I'm beat and we'll need our energy for those Warhol pieces you're so obsessed with." he said somewhat sarcastically.

William snorted as he straightened himself up. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her. Though, you are right. That was a pretty exhausting flight. Did you hear that baby in the back?" He cleared out his right ear with a finger. "My God, you'd think the mother was deaf."

"Come off it, Will," Henry's eyebrows furrowed as he began to walk towards the exit of the airport. He waved for a taxi with the free hand that wasn't carrying his suitcase. "You have to give people grace, you know. There's only so much you can do with a baby."

William trailed behind him, triple checking to make sure he had everything in his pockets by lightly slapping the sides of it. "Yeah, yeah, kinda thought it would've fallen asleep by then."

"It was a red eye flight. It's kinda hard for anyone to sleep through those..." Henry paused to lightly punch William in the arm with a mischievous smile as they stood outside the entrance of the airport. "Especially with your snoring."

“I was not! …was I?” He rubbed his arm, looking at Henry with a genuine questioning stare.

"Yes!" His eyebrows raised to emphasize his point.

"Jesus Christ. Please tell me I wasn't drooling,"

"No... You have enough decency for that, at least," Henry muttered.

A yellow taxi stopped in front of them. Henry climbed into the backseats first after putting his luggage in the trunk. William did the same, scooting next to Henry. Although an attempt was made to keep a little space between them, their knees did end up touching one another. Henry didn't mind the miniscule invasion of his personal space. These sort of things happened between them all the time.

"Are you paying?" He asked after William told him the name of the hotel that they would be staying at for the next three days to the driver. Henry thought he was joking.

The Flamingo was one of those hotels you didn't just randomly stay in one weekend with a marine's and… actually. He didn't even know what sort of job William had to be travelling around like this.

“On it, Mr. Emily,” William grabbed some cash from his wallet, handing it to the taxi driver with a wink.

Henry scoffed. "You're unbearable." he said with a hint of a smile.

“You love it.”

"I tolerate it."

September 14th, 1962 - 4:55 AM - The Flamingo

Pink neon lights from the hotel’s champagne tower, paired with a light nudge on his shoulder, jolted Henry from his nap. His eyes widened as his focus returned just in time to see the Flamingo sign. For a moment, the shock of their destination stayed etched on his face.

"Oh." he murmured.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" William leaned against Henry’s shoulder. The marine went rigid, unsure if William was admiring the landscape, the hotel, or the ghost of his reflection.

"Very." Henry rubbed his nose with his thumb. He was trying to mask his growing blush.

"You look surprised. Didn't you read the brochure I gave you?"

"I thought you were joking," his voice dropping to a low, guarded murmur as William stepped out of the car to open the door for him. "I mean... we were both stoned."

"Don't worry about it." William’s smile was as bright as the neon behind him, but his eyes stayed cool. He offered a hand that felt more like a command than an invitation. "I have it covered. You know this."

Henry stepped out of the taxi, his shoes hitting the pavement with a heavy rhythm that felt entirely too loud. He didn't look at the hotel, he looked at the people. He scanned the valet, the socialites in sequins, and the tourists. Henry's neck prickled with the heat of a thousand imagined judgments, even if there wasn't too many people around them. The pink neon was just another spotlight for him.

William simply squeezed his hand as he gave the taxi door a casual slam that made Henry's shoulders jump. As they approached the entrance, the massive glass doors swung open like a pair of golden wings, breathing a chill of perfume and cigarette scented air onto the hot pavement. Crossing that threshold, the marine had the familiar urge to trail behind William so that he'd draw all of the fire with his beatnik appearance.

William slowed his pace, however, staying right at Henry’s elbow to ensure they were seen as a pair. The plush carpet beneath them silenced the marine's militaristic rhythm in his unnatural gait.

"It should be under Afton," William said to the desk clerk. His English accent had sharpened into something posh and undeniable, a perfect fit for the gold-leafed surroundings.

"The suite for the weekend, Mr. Afton?" she asked, her eyes briefly flicking from the registry to Henry before returning to William. He offered a smile that was all teeth and charm, giving a polite nod. "Yes, dear. For the weekend."

Henry felt his heart squeeze. He stood perfectly still, his gaze anchored to the side of William's face. He was making his situation worse. He knew he should be looking at the pretty girl behind the desk, or how all of the mirrors and fixtures were gold plated, or doing literally anything a normal man would do. But he couldn't look away. It was a slow motion car crash of his own making, and he was terrified the woman behind the desk could see the devotion written in his eyes.

Henry was broken out of this spiral hearing the clerk slide a brass key across the mahogany into William's waiting hand. He hoped he hadn't stared at the man long enough to warrant a confession.

"Thank you, darling," William chirped as he snatched the keys away from her hand with a flourish. He had no time to wait for a bellhop to attend to them as he hooked his arm around Henry's. The gesture felt more like he was claiming a piece of lost luggage rather than any sort of affection.

As they turned toward the elevators, Henry caught a glimpse of them in one of those gold-plated mirrors. He looked small, a shadow in olive colored drab, while William, in his Technicolor greens and reckless confidence, looked like the only thing in the room that was real. The two men stepped into the compact space of the elevator, moving quickly to escape the lobby's gaze. Henry let out a sigh he hadn't realized he was holding as the blurred reflection of the gold doors slid shut, sealing them in.

William didn't even wait for the doors to close completely as he let out a short, sharp laugh that echoed off the metal walls to alleviate some of the tension. He didn't let go of Henry's arm as he tucked it tighter against his side, forcing their shoulders to grind together.

Henry was already anticipating William making a comment about his stiffness. He was already silently rehearsing his defense of blaming it on the cramped space. He hoped the dim lighting was enough to swallow the heat in his cheeks.

"Can you at least look like you're enjoying yourself?" William teased. His voice wasn't nearly as posh now. It was casual; something reserved only for when they were alone. "It's a hotel. You've been in one of those before, right?"

"Not in a luxury one. Not with you..." Henry’s voice trailed off as he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He kept his eyes fixated on the numbers lighting up above the door. They were going up far too high.

"Oh, is that why you're acting so strange?"

"It's the space. It's cramped, I'm claustrophobic." Henry said, the lie coming out even faster this time. He was desperate for any alibi.

"Is it?" William's smile didn't reach his eyes fully this time. He pulled back just an inch, his gaze sweeping over Henry’s rigid frame with that once over that always felt like an inspection. "Or are you just realizing that you’re finally trapped with me?"

The elevator gave a sudden, stomach-dropping lurch as it reached their floor. Before Henry could find a word to defend himself, William was already stepping out into the hallway, the brass key spinning around his finger with a celebratory clink.

"Don't dawdle, Henry. I paid for the suite and I intend to see every inch of it." William's long hair bounced as he practically dragged Henry down the long hallway. The peace and quiet of the other guests were briefly disregarded by the sound of their giggling and the frantic clicking of the brass key against William's palm.

Henry felt the militaristic rhythm of his gait break entirely as it was replaced by a clumsy stumble to keep up. Seeing William like this, unburdened and bright, was like a hit of the stuff they'd smoked several months ago. It made the spotlight of the lobby feel miles away.

They reached the end of the hall, and William didn't hesitate. He jammed the key into the lock with a lack of grace that bordered on violent, his grin widening as the mechanism clicked.

July 10th, 1955 - 11:43 PM - Big John’s Tavern

A young marine, still in uniform and fresh into his post-deployment phase, was effortlessly adjusting to the civilian lifestyle. His cheeks flushed feverishly as his head tilted into the passionate kiss he exchanged with another man who was possessively cornering him against the brick wall. The marine sniveled as he reinforced his grip on the other man's cheap purple jumper through hesitated, labored breaths. He leaned forward to kiss him again. Then again. And again. Eventually, they both pulled away to share a look that read nothing but shock and devotion. Before another kiss was shared between them, the marine panicked as he pushed the stranger away from him and ran out of the door, never to be seen inside the bar again.

The stranger stands alone in the empty bar. He stares at the wooden floor and begins to constantly lick at his dry lips as a look of realization passes in his eyes. It wasn't just the faint taste of rum and coke or the remnants of the cigarettes the marine smoked that he was missing. He dug into his right pocket, pulling out a crumpled cigarette pack to pull one of the cancerous sticks out with trembling hands. He took a sharp breath and held it between his slightly yellow teeth, tightly closing his eyes for a few seconds as it burned. It was plastic-wrapped with tears. As he strikes a match he found in his other pocket against the bar table, he swallows something rough in his throat and holds the flame to the end of the cigarette. He took a long drag from it.

He immediately had to sit down on one of the stools, coughing the inhaled smoke while clutching his chest. A new feeling of desperate longing weighed heavily against it, squeezing it to the point he felt suffocated and unable to function. The nicotine and tobacco running through his veins did nothing to soothe his nerves. He couldn't ignore it. Suddenly, he was seven again. He overheard the terrible news about his parents while eavesdropping on the conversation in the downstairs parlor. Similar to that night, he hugged himself tightly as he began to sob quietly. He was convinced that he was dying. His world was ending again.

July 10th, 1955 - 0936 - Charleston International Airport

In time, when tears didn't completely obscure his vision, the stranger's eyebrows furrowed deeply as he angrily grabbed the folded-up piece of paper in his pocket. He couldn't pinpoint the visceral emotion that he was feeling, but at least he had a name to blame on his vulnerable state, along with a wasted cigarette he barely smoked: Henry Emily.

The rows of polyester recliner chairs in the cramped space dedicated to the airport’s lounge were mostly unoccupied. Its visitors preferred to flock near the lounge’s dedicated bar that served watered-down cocktails and overpriced vending machine snacks to anyone willing to pay for them. Currently, a small group of marines slowly huddled around the bar to hurriedly order drinks whilst holding their military identification cards towards the bartender's face for the slight chance of redeeming a discount. The outlier from the group kept to himself in the corner of the lounge. He was covering the flame produced from his zippo while lighting his cigarette, glancing down at the two-inch television set that was attached to his chair's armrest.

The only thing playing at the moment was a broadcast of last night’s football game. He didn't care for football. He didn't even care for sports. However, the young private was willing to take any form of civilian entertainment considering he had just landed from an eighteen-hour flight from Korea. He rested his face on a propped fist as he watched the players dash across the small screen with lidded eyes. Cigarette ash landed on his ironed-out uniform, which mildly ruined his outward appearance of being the physical embodiment of those cardboard cutouts of a masculine, attractive marine outside of recruitment offices. If he had it his way, the young private would easily fade into obscurity while his peers went on about their lives. Being naturally quiet and reserved, this was such a common occurrence in his social life that he was convinced that his role as a wallflower was essential for the natural order of things.

However, things were going to be different this time, whether he liked it or not. A peculiar sight snapped him out of his dissociative state, causing him to turn his head to figure out where it came from. Its owner looked to be an eccentric character with his Technicolor clothing of nearly every color somehow finding a way to compliment his piercing brown eyes and dark brown mullet that barely fell past the collarbone. The highlight of his appearance was his smile. It seemed so practiced and approachable that it gave the impression that he'd go for the neck if one wasn't too careful. This is when the private realized that the stranger had been silently observing him while he had been absently watching television for a few minutes, which unnerved him. Both men were in an unintentional staring contest until the stranger began to talk.

“You must travel a lot," admired the stranger, whose natural English accent poked through certain syllables. “Lucky duck.”

"Lucky?” The private repeated incredulously.

“Of course! You know, I’ve always wanted to travel, never had the chance for it, but you must’ve gone everywhere.” The stranger explained with a slight chuckle as he leaned further in his chair. He crossed one leg over the other as he pulled out a cigarette to hold between his teeth.

"Yeah, well, it's not exactly a vacation,” The private scoffed politely. “You try being stuck in the trenches of some foreign country for 20 months. Lucky duck…” He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms to look at a random spot on the wall silently. The stranger looked understanding, allowing a brief moment of silence for the tension in the air to dissipate as he lit his cigarette with a lighter he pulled out of his left pocket from his yellow trousers.

A low, rumbling chuckle escaped the stranger’s throat. “Lucky or not, you must have done some good for your country, sir,” The stranger saluted the private, which was followed by a once-over. The private was unsure if the gesture was genuine or mocking. “I'm sure you'll be in the history books, Emily.” The private’s last name was read aloud slowly as the stranger’s eyes followed the yellow embroidered letters against the rectangular leather patch on the uniform’s right breast.

“Private Emily." The private corrected him by emphasizing his rank with a noticeable growl in his tone. The stranger paused for a few seconds as his face fell with eyes that studied the private’s now stiff posture. He didn't look intimidated, however. Just amused. Emily’s thick eyebrows furrowed as the stranger’s cackle cut through the commotion of the lounge for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry,” the stranger said through his laughter. When he noticed Emily’s furious expression, he suppressed his hysterics through a forced fit of coughing. He hit his chest a few times as he cleared his throat and straightened himself up in his chair. “I’m sorry, I do apologize. I should know better than to offend someone in uniform” Emily noticed the stranger trying to fight back a smile and simply turned his entire body away from him to look at the bar with crossed arms. It was getting increasingly busy with more marines huddling around the area to hound the poor bartender for another round of beers.

“Drink?" The stranger offered out of the blue.

“... Drink?" Emily echoed.

“Yes, drink. Would you like to have a drink with me?” The stranger clarified as he paused to take a moment to study Emily’s expression as he flicked the excess cigarette ash away from him. “Somewhere more intimate, of course."

Emily’s response was a pregnant pause. He looked exceptionally conflicted, silently loathing the idea of dedicating more time towards an individual he found to be mildly infuriating. The stranger’s subtle smile grew as he silently acknowledged the private’s hesitation. He could tell he couldn't explicitly tell him no out of being polite.

“I… I can't.” Emily mumbled.

“You can't?" The stranger tilted his head for a second.

“‘Fraid so."

"Why not?”

Emily internally began to choose his words carefully. “I…. I’d probably be a bore. I’m a lightweight, horrible at small talk…” Emily insisted, stumbling over his words, noticing the stranger smiled at him with eyes that showed that he was just getting more interested in him. He had to think of a quick alibi to get out of the situation.

“I have to be home soon, anyway. My mother and all…”

“Yes, your mother," the stranger nodded sagely, standing up with a sigh. “What a shame. It could've been my treat." Even in his brief disappointment, he was still smiling.

Emily stubbed out the cigarette he wasted on the ashtray with a guilty expression. “Let's make it a date. I'm going to a tavern with friends tonight. Perhaps we can set up a time to meet there.” The stranger looked towards nothing in particular before smiling. “I'd like that." He sat down next to the private, who pulled out a piece of paper. The stranger handed him a ballpoint pen to write his name and phone number on it. Once he finished, the stranger glanced over the note quietly.

“It's official then, Mr. Private Henry Emily."

“You don't have to call me that… at the tavern, I mean." Emily scratched behind his head.

“Of course. You’re off the clock, I get it." The stranger chuckled again. The private smiled for a few seconds as he simply stared at the stranger. He couldn't help being charmed by him.

“Thank you," Emily smiled. “Mr…"

“Afton.” The stranger completed his statement politely. “But you can call me William. Mr. Afton was my father."

"Thank you, William.” Emily corrected himself, silently wondering why his cheeks began to grow hot. William simply nodded.

"A pleasure.”

July 11th, 1955 - 2:35 AM - The Emily Household

For the past three hours, Henry could not sleep.

He had been silently studying the scattered, textured pattern of the popcorn ceiling. He noticed how it changed dramatically when the occasional passing car introduced a light traveling through his window’s blinds for only a few seconds. The clock ticked quietly in the background as Henry rolled over on his side, sinking into the cheap, twin-sized mattress of his bed to let out a sigh he had no idea that he'd been holding for a while. His eyes were plastic-wrapped with tears as prolonged rage was growing in his stomach. He hated how the entire night at the tavern unexpectedly ended after his feelings got the better of him. He longed for the attention of a man he didn't particularly like.

William was infuriating. He was the human embodiment of a mosquito bite that would only heal if you stopped scratching it, but you can't. Henry had never kissed another human being before, but he was convinced that William was an abysmal kisser. In fact, William was horrible at most things. He had no reason to crave his presence.

He rolled over to his other side.

Up to this point, he was comfortable sleeping in his empty room that was a part of his childhood home that had been frozen to time ever since he enlisted from the military. He was happy with eating with his parents at dinnertime, spending the rest of the night reading a book and going to sleep with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him. Henry was content with this life up until last night. He blinked furiously to try and keep the tears burning his eyes from rolling down his face. Henry sniffled. The young man whimpered as tears began to stain the fabric of his light blue pillow case. There was a pain that stung terribly in his chest. He wanted to curl up in a ball and die. It would've been a kinder fate compared to his current emotions. How pathetic.

The sound of the landline in the kitchen pulled him back into reality. He quickly climbed out of bed and ran towards the kitchen, as he didn't want to risk waking his parents up. The phone didn't have a chance to ring again as Henry picked up the receiver and held it to his ear, speaking in a strained whisper.

“Hello?"

“Oh, so now you answer." It was William.

“Now…? I was asleep. It's…” he let the air linger as he glanced at the cat-shaped clock in the kitchen. "... two in the morn—”

"I am aware.” His tone wasn't nearly as bright compared to a couple of hours ago. It was just ice cold. Henry paused, twirling the curling receiving cord nervously with his index finger.

“Listen. I know you're upset over what happened last night. I shouldn't have left you there like that. I'm sorry.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. The silence was deafening to the point Henry could only hear his heart rate accelerate and his throat close as he waited for a response. William finally broke the silence with a forced laugh.

“I’m sorry," He was always condescending, but now there was venom in his words. “You’re sorry? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Everything is just fine and dandy?”

"Well, no, but I figured—”

"I figured a man whose job is to be loyal to his country would know better than to treat a friend like that.”

"I was scared!" Henry raised his voice, before looking around the kitchen. “I was scared. I never felt that way before.” He repeated in a hushed tone.

"So you leave me high and dry because you were skittish.”

"William. Please.”

"No,” William took a short pause. Henry could hear him take a swig from a glass bottle. "You are pathetic, do you know that? I probably felt the same way that you did and you left me there. You left me there all alone.”

His voice was breaking. Henry stood there, holding the receiver to his ear with both of his hands as he breathed heavily. Both men were on the verge of tears. He blinked a few times, sniffling.

"I-I’m sorry, I don't know… I…I want this to work out. I want to be your friend," Henry wiped a few tears from his eyes. William didn't say anything. “I need to have a friend in my life. The other guys don't give a fuck about me. You made me feel special. I need you in my life…. I need you.”

William didn't speak. He sounded choked up on the phone. There was a long moment of silence, tension growing in the air as their relationship, undefined at the moment, was on the line.

"I…. It's fine. You can make it up to me, right?" William sniffled.

“Yes, absolutely." Henry's eyes widened for a few seconds out of slight desperation.

“Then it's settled. We can try again… you can try again,” William clarified after a brief pause. "I… tolerate your presence. It'd be a waste to let this friendship end after a simple mistake."

Henry could hear his smile through the phone. Although the air was still tense, the thought of pleasing his friend made him feel comforted.

“Thank you. Maybe we can discuss plans in the morning?"

“Sure, let's sleep on it. Good night, Henry."