#angst lads

the only times he can remember feeling true happiness bubbling under his skin was when he found you after the explosion and reconnected. relief turned into overwhelming joy and overwhelming joy turned into a desperation to hold onto one another, refusing to be ripped from each other's grasps again.

caleb wonders if that’s all your relationship had been: desperation. he’d felt unwavering love and devotion towards you, but maybe you had just been so caught up in the overwhelming news that he was alive that you jumped right into his waiting arms.

sometimes, in his darkest nights, caleb thinks he imagined your relationship. like it was an elaborate delusion his brain conjured up to soothe the ache your absence cause him. small things remind him that it existed, though: a shirt in his dresser drawers, a hair tie under a desk, and a whiff of your signature scent in the shower. some days these things bring relief, but some days they bring an unbearable buzzing to his chest.

you’d told him you’d love him your entire life- said it while tangled in bedsheets, in the low light of the kitchen fridge, even casually when he remembered to grab you extra sauce for your fast food. your life with him was short, he guessed, compared to your new life with zayne.

zayne li. his best friend from childhood, alongside you, was the one who stole your heart from its rightful temporary place beside his.

caleb wasn’t sure how it happened, it felt like one week you were dating him and the next you were dating zayne, and then the next year you were engaged to zayne.

he didn’t hate you for it. of course not, how could he hate you when you were clearly so happy with zayne?

does caleb cry in the shower when he imagines zayne’s hands on the skin that used to be his to touch? yes. is he still productive in his day to day life? also yes.

he hand built the arch for your wedding, hemmed your dress (it killed him to see it before the wedding), helped decorate your wedding venue, and even baked your wedding cake. he’d always known he would be heavily involved in your wedding planning, just… not like this. not as a groomsman instead of the groom.

it absolutely killed him to see you with zayne, happier than he ever made you, but he was your strong caleb afterall. he never broke down in front of you, always smiling (albiet fake) and putting you first.

so, if standing by zayne’s side and watching you walk towards him down a rose lined aisle was what it took to make you happy, then of course caleb would do it with a smile.

even if you weren’t walking towards him.

even if your vows weren’t said to him.

even if he wasn’t the one to put a massive, gaudy ring on your finger.

even if he wasn’t the one kissing you when the officiant announced ‘you may now kiss the bride’.

since you left him, caleb has done everything with a broken heart, and attending your wedding was no exception.

a/n2: if anyone wants to request something else, click here!

dividers from @saradika-graphics

Gene was being dragged through the thick fog of sleep to wakefulness by the sound of his own name. He opened his eyes, but the room was enveloped in darkness. The moon had just begun its new cycle, shrugging out of its full body like a discarded silk robe. No shadows danced on the walls. No indication of time could be collected. He looked over at Merriell, but his eyes wouldn’t adjust.

Then he heard it again. Desperate, “Gene.”

Gene sat up, threw the covers off his legs, then adjusted so he could sit on his knees facing Merriell. He had to be careful. Many were killed for waking a sleeping soldier too suddenly. A soldier who fought in his sleep, only to bring the ghosts to life as he awakened. Gene touched Shelton’s shoulder. Easily falling into the routine they’d established when Gene would wake Shelton for his watch.

“Merriell-“ He gently massaged Shelton’s shoulder. Fingertips increasing pressure with each squeeze. “Merriell. Hey.” A feather light touch of Gene’s lips to the shell of Shelton’s ear. His words a whisper as they floated in the air. Gene tightened his grip on Shelton’s shoulder. Shelton hurled an elbow, which immediately collided with Gene’s nose. Gene supposed his nose was rather hard to miss. “Fuck!” Gene catapulted off the bed. Tried to keep the blood dripping out of his nose off the sheets.

Shelton bolted upright, on his feet before he was even conscious. Gene knew Shelton hadn’t come to reality yet when Shelton demanded to know where Gene had been hit. Asking repeatedly, frantically. It was too dark for Shelton to realize they were at home. In New Orleans. No longer fighting the enemy. Gene fumbled for the lamp, then turned the nob with his left hand. His right was still preoccupied with catching blood.

As soon as the light was on, Shelton’s face froze. “Eugene, shit, did I hit you?”

“I sure as hell didn’t punch myself.” Gene headed to the bathroom as he spoke. Shelton was hot on his heels.

“I’m sorry, Gene. I’m so—Let me help. Sit down.” Shelton pointed to the edge of the tub, so Gene sat. Blood leaked over Gene’s palm. Down his arm. Gene hoped his nose wasn’t broken. He breathed through his mouth. With each inhale, he tasted blood. Metallic. Unforgiving. Shelton grabbed a washcloth, wet it, then stood in front of Gene. “God, I’m sorry. Mon coeur, I’m so sorry. J’suis désolé. J’suis un esti d’cave! Fuck, j’ai perdu la tête--” As Shelton wiped the damp cloth under Gene’s nose, he continued reiterating the last phrase. “J’ai perdu la tête.” Like a mantra. Shelton ultimately had to abandon his ministrations to grab toilet paper. He inserted the pieces into Gene’s nostrils, trying to stop the bleeding, then began to wipe the blood off Gene’s hand and arm instead. Shortly thereafter, Shelton threw the blood soiled rag on the floor. He grabbed another, wet it, then returned in front of Gene to gently mop under his nose again. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” Shelton whispered.

Gene took Shelton’s cue. If they spoke vociferously about what happened, it would echo off the walls. An accusatory verbal finger pointed at Shelton for hitting Gene. Crushing Shelton under the weight of his guilt. Gene didn’t want Shelton to feel badly. It was just an accident. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” Gene whispered back. “What were you dreaming about? You did this yesterday morning too.” Shelton went neutral, face a blank canvas. Gene had seen that face so many times in Japan. But not here. Not in the safety of their home. “Don’t close yourself off to me.” Gene reached out and put a reassuring hand on Shelton’s shoulder, but it seemed an unbearable weight. Gene hesitated, then removed his hand when the pressure seemed too much for Merriell.

“It’s nothing.” Shelton responded.

“It’s not fuckin’ nothing. You almost broke my nose.” Gene might as well have taken his blood-soaked tongue and spat the proof on Shelton’s face. Might as well have yelled, “Look at what you did to me. You did this!” Shelton’s neutral mask slipped into despair, then back again in the time it took Gene to blink.

Gene forgot his promise to hold it together for Shelton. If Snafu came out to play, then Gene would square up. Gene never backed down from a challenge. Even when he should. Even when it would destroy him. “So, rather than tell me what’s going on, you want this to be our new morning routine? Sit here and wipe the blood off my face while we pretend you're fine?” Gene pressed, like proverbial salt in the wound. Selfishly, unforgivably. There was no gentle touch, soft whisper. Snafu didn’t need those things. He needed structure. He needed orders. He pretended he was independent. That he listened to no man. But Snafu was a lost soul, searching for purpose. Afraid. Always extending his neck only to find himself ensnared in a guillotine. Wanting so badly to be a shield for the innocent. Giving every ounce of his humanity away. Destroying himself in the process. Until there was nothing left. Because he’d been born and would die as nobody. He was nothing. Against his will, he’d disappear from this earth. As if he’d never been here at all. Like a bound and gagged body thrown into the depths of the sea. To be eaten alive by the creatures that surrounded him. And no one would miss him. He never mattered to begin with. He was put on this earth to be fuel for the starving. The world took from him without asking. Without thanking. And he let it. It’s what he deserved.

Gene wasn’t sure when his impression of Snafu shifted in his mind. From a man guarded, to a man who needed guarding. A man who forgot to bring a weapon to a gun fight. Gene wasn’t intimidated by Snafu like the others were. Maybe it was because Gene had his own personal version of ‘Snafu’ inside his soul. Every time Gene was naïve, too innocent, he was punished. He imagined the same happened to Snafu. It was no wonder they created personas to cope. The only difference was, Snafu dragged Gene away from his demons. While Gene kicked and screamed, demanded to start a fight, one he could never possibly win. Snafu never had that. No knight in shining armor ever stepped forward. No one was ever brave enough. And Snafu was too proud to beg for it.

Shelton’s breath accelerated. The puffs bouncing off Gene’s face as Shelton continued to clean him up. Gene recalled Shelton’s words to Gene when Gene had been bordering on frantic the other day. “Trust me, Merriell. I’m your partner, not your enemy. Tell me.”

Shelton’s gaze snapped up to meet Gene’s. Breath still heavy, eyes wild. He looked terrified. “I can’t,” his voice cracked. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. He frenetically swiped them away. As if the images of his nightmares lived inside each teardrop. As if he couldn’t dare to let one fall, or the memories would pour out of him like a movie theater display. As if it were the only shred of control he had left. “I fuckin’ can’t,” he said.

“If this were me, what would you ask me to do?” Gene encouraged. He knew from personal experience it wasn’t valuable to bottle up your hurt. It only ate away at you like acid. He wanted to help. He wanted to be a good partner. Snafu was still looking at Gene. The unshed tears again pooled at the bottom of his eyelids, accentuating the dramatic shape of his eyes. His brows were raised at the ridge, creasing his forehead. He looked so breakable. Gene feared if he touched Shelton he’d shatter.

Snafu took a shuddering breath. When he spoke, Gene could hear the knot in his throat from the tears he restrained. “I dream about Hamm sometimes.” He began, quietly. So delicately, that Gene missed every word but ‘Hamm.’ Gene didn’t want to ask Shelton to repeat it, knowing it was painful enough to admit the first time. “And you,” he added. Louder this time. A tear finally dropped and ventured down Shelton’s face. Gene didn’t dare move to capture it. “I dream about Hamm going down-- but sometimes, I dream it’s you. That I can’t get to you in time to pull you back, and you get hit. Bleed out in front of me while I scream your name.”

Another tear fell. Gene could hear the agony in Shelton’s voice. His throat constricting around every word. As if he were forcing each statement through the cracks in the barriers he’d built. The wet sound of Shelton’s voice shook Gene. After everything they’d been through, Gene had never seen Shelton emotionally unhinged. Gene was relieved his mouth already hung open from the struggle to breathe. Otherwise, it would’ve fallen open from the shock of Shelton’s confessions. Gene wanted to make the hurt stop so badly it burned in his chest. A ferocious flame around his heart.

“Other times, it’s you rather than Peck that’s gone.” Shelton rubbed at the collar of his shirt. His hands shook so harshly the movement appeared severe rather than slight. “And I try to bring you back--“ Shelton paused to choke out a sob. Gene’s eyes flooded at the sound of it. “Only to become Hamm myself. Shot right through the chest as I push you to safety. That could’ve been us, Eugene. Just one misstep during any of the days we spent on that goddamn island, and we’re the ones that are lost.” Shelton abandoned rubbing at his collar to absentmindedly wipe at Gene’s face with the cloth. Gene knew it was a fruitless effort, his face was already clean.

Shelton’s words struck Gene like a slap to the face. They were Gene’s worst fears lived out in Shelton’s head. Gene could’ve very easily been gone, like Peck. He could’ve been careless. Given into his kindness, like Hamm. Only for Gene to become the lifeless body left rotting in a shallow muddy hole. Where his corpse would decay, but his soul would forever wander the island. A forgotten ghost. He could’ve ended up in a hospital bed, screaming at enemies that weren’t there. Gene never considered he and Shelton shared these fears. These regrets. They’d both grown cracks in their minds like the tallies Gene marked in his bible. Each day, a fresh one appeared. It wasn’t difficult to imagine all those cracks could’ve splintered wide open. It was possible they were to blame for Peck going mad. And if that were true, they might as well have killed Hamm with their own hands. Snafu had been hard on Hamm, but Hamm could handle his own. Fighting back as hard as Gene did. Meanwhile, Snafu and Bill had been downright cruel to Peck. They made it their personal obligation to destroy him. Gene, thoughtlessly, never imagined the guilt Snafu carried from it.

Gene had been so angry at Peck. At Hamm. Gene resented how Hamm fought for goodness in a war where no good could be found. While Gene dumped his to survive. “Get used to it. Grow up.” Gene had told Hamm. If Gene struggled with his choice to be cruel, while Hamm had been kind, his decision was solidified by Hamm’s death. Kindness got you killed. And it got Hamm killed. So, Gene felt justified in stuffing all his gentleness in a box and leaving it behind. Gene couldn’t think further about it. Wouldn’t. Or he feared Hamm would invade his dreams too. Now Gene realized Shelton carried Gene’s, Hamm’s, and Peck’s boxes around with him. Always. And the only box Shelton was able to return to its owner was Gene’s. How Shelton must’ve felt solely responsible for those he couldn’t return. The weight of them crippling, yet he carried them without complaint. It was again, what he deserved. Shelton was Sisyphus. He knew the punishment fit the crimes.

Gene didn’t know what to say or do other than to reach out and cup Shelton’s face. Shelton was openly sobbing. Unashamed. Gene grieved for him, shamelessly crying as well. Shelton’s jaw clenched, and Gene traced his fingertips along the edges. Trying to help Shelton relax.

Gene had childishly imagined Shelton’s nightmares were about civilians being shot, babies screaming, mothers begging soldiers to help them moments before they were blown up. Body parts strewn everywhere. Like they’d never been standing there at all. Gene could also envision Shelton having nightmares about situations that never came to be. Being kidnapped, becoming a POW. Gene had never, not even for a second, imagined something so personal haunted Shelton. Gene was frustrated with his own immaturity. Angry at himself for pushing Shelton so hard to speak about something so painful. So personal.

“It’s not your fault,” was all Gene could think to offer. It was a fucking stupid thing to say. “Don’t even respond to that. I’d be livid if you said it to me.” Gene’s fingertips continued tracing Shelton’s face as he spoke. “I have nothing helpful to add, but I know how you feel. And I love you. And I will always love you. Easily through the good, but especially and deeply through the bad. You kept me sane when I didn’t think it was possible. You saved my life, Merriell Shelton. So, don’t think, even for a second, that you’re not redeemable because of any of the shit we said or did during the war.”

Shelton hiccupped out another sob. Gene moved his fingertips from Shelton’s jaw to wipe the tears away. Gene tried to press a kiss to Shelton’s wet cheek, but when his nose bumped Shelton’s jaw, he sucked in a breath and withdrew. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he was sore. Merriell reached his fingers up, cupped his hand over the bridge of Gene’s nose. Thumb and index fingers resting on the sides. “I went and messed up my favourite part of your face. Again, I’m sorry.” Shelton rubbed the bridge of Gene’s nose tenderly.

“It’s okay, Merriell. It’s all gonna be okay.” Gene soothed.

Shelton took in a shuddering breath then released it in a deep exhale. “I love you too, by the way.” Merriell removed his hand from Gene’s face, then tilted his head sharply until he could kiss Gene without bumping his nose. “I love you a whole lot.” He kissed him again.

Gene gave a few answering pecks to Merriell’s lips, but then pulled away. He still couldn’t breathe through his nose and was out of breath from crying. So, it rapidly became a struggle to hold his breath through each kiss. “We’ll get through this together.” Gene offered to Merriell. Gene pulled the pieces of toilet paper out of his nose. Merriell stood up, grabbed yet another cloth, wet it, then carefully mopped the remaining blood the toilet paper had masked. Gene stole the washcloth, rinsed it, then returned to wipe Merriell’s face where the tears had dried. “We’ll take care of each other. We always have.” Gene let the corner of his mouth lift upwards. To his relief, Merriell answered it. “I should be the one apologizing, by the way.” Gene added. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. It was messed up.”

Shelton sniffled, “S’okay. I—I think I needed it.” Shelton let out another shaky breath.

Gene nodded in understanding. He was too familiar with how cathartic it could be to relieve pain through crying.  “Is my nose straight?” Gene asked.

“It’s the straightest thing about you, boy.” Shelton assured him, laughing. “It’s swollen though. We’ll have to ice it.”

Gene glared at Shelton, fighting off a smile. “Go fuck yourself, Shelton.” Gene broke and smiled. Merriell laughed again, and Gene was so relieved. It crushed him to see Merriell sitting in so much hurt. Knees drawn up, hands over his ears. Trying to shut out the grief as it beat at the door. They would always carry each other through the darkness. Over to the other side of suffering, to serenity. To freedom. It had been what brought them together, and it would be what kept them together.

------

The rest of their day, and several others, had passed without much incident. They’d iced Gene’s nose, and the swelling had dissipated. Luckily, it wasn’t broken, but Gene’s nose was bruised. Shelton looked guilt-ridden every time he glanced at Gene. Furthermore, discussing Hamm and Peck had brought restless sleep to both men. So, they’d laid awake in silence, holding each other. Sometimes pressing kisses to shoulders, necks, lips. Sometimes chatting softly about their dreams. Occasionally, either Shelton or Gene cried while the other man embraced them. Wishing the other would be freed from the chokehold suffering held on them.

One morning, Gene sat at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee. He was feeling sick to his stomach with exhaustion but needed the caffeine to function properly. Shelton came inside and dropped an envelope onto the table. Gene glanced at the name on the envelope, then set his cup down so hard coffee sloshed over the sides of the cup.

Sledge.

He stared down at the letter, frozen.

“You suddenly got x-ray vision?” Shelton asked.

Gene didn’t answer him. He did, however, shove the letter towards Shelton. “You read it first.” He said. Gene’s voice sounded distant. As if he were underwater listening to someone on land call out to him. Shelton fleetingly eyed him, then tore the envelope open and began reading. Gene watched. Hoping he could reveal the letter’s contents through Shelton’s facial expressions, but he’d selected the worst person to analyze. Shelton had the best poker-face in town. Potentially in the world.

“When’s your birthday?” Shelton asked.

“What?” Gene asked irritably. His patience was already worn thin just from being awake.

“When is your birthday?” Shelton asked leisurely. As if repeating the query at a snail’s pace clarified the ridiculousness of the question.

“November 4th. Why?” Gene knew he still sounded annoyed. He was just so tired.

“Your mama talks about it.” Shelton extended his index finger then rubbed the bridge of Gene’s nose, which was still sensitive. “So cranky,” he added, smiling.

Gene grumbled, snatched the letter out of Shelton’s hand, then began reading.

“Dear Eugene,

We were quite shocked when Sidney arrived to tell us you’d gone. He didn’t have much more information than we did, but he assured us you were safe. I’m grateful you have such a good friend in him, Eugene. Don’t continue to take advantage of it.”

Eugene rolled his eyes. He could tell his mother had written the letter. Guilt was laced in every word, spreading into Gene’s bloodstream like poison.

“I’m quite disappointed you won’t be home for your birthday. You know we always host a celebration for you. It’s a shame we won’t be able to share it with this lovely woman you’re going steady with.”

Gene scoffed. Shelton raised an eyebrow in question, but Gene continued reading. He’d completely forgotten about his birthday. Gene tried not to feel culpable for ruining whatever his mother had probably planned the moment he’d returned home. She always had to best whatever her friend—more like competitor—Ida had done for her son.

“But I’m glad to hear you’re safe. That you’re not remaining idle. I look forward to meeting this girl. I wished you’d provided her name, so this letter wasn’t so formal. Please, tell her we say hello.

Gene deposited the letter on the table with a smack. His hand remained on top of it. “You think I should write back and give her your name?” Gene asked bitterly.

“I dunno. Merriell could be a girl’s name. Maybe I could be decked out in a dress when I meet the family. We could play this whole thing off, and they’d never know.” Shelton was smiling.

Gene laughed, then gradually looked Shelton up and down. “That might just be a humdinger of an idea, Mer’.” Gene teased.

Shelton stood up so fast the chair he’d been sitting in screeched as it slid across the floor. He walked over, deposited himself in Gene’s lap, then wrapped his arms around Gene’s neck. Gene placed his hands on Shelton’s hips to steady him. Gene hoped the chair would hold them both. Gene had been expecting a kiss to his lips but gasped when Merriell pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the space below Gene’s earlobe.

“Yeah?” Shelton breathed out. Gene’s eyelids fluttered closed. “Didn’t think you were the type to yearn for me to play a little dress up, Eugene.” Shelton bit down on Gene’s neck, then sucked. As if Gene didn’t have enough bruises to worry about.

Gene blushed but instantly mustered his courage. Again, he was never one to back down from a challenge. “I already told you, I’m capable of all sorts of things. Don’t know why you keep doubting me.”

“Mhhmm,” Shelton meant for the noise to communicate his understanding that Gene wasn’t to be doubted. Instead, it was a moan against Gene’s neck. “I like actions, baby. You gotta show me, not tell me.” More wet kisses were pressed to Gene’s neck.

Gene tilted his head back to give Shelton more access, still blushing. He wasn’t used to being with a guy as bold as Shelton. Or a guy at all. It was challenging for Gene to vocalize his sexual interests, especially since he barely knew what they were. He’d only truly accepted himself when he’d arrived in Louisiana. It wasn’t logical to continue rejecting or questioning his sexuality when he traveled this far for another man. Regardless, he was certain Merriell could do almost anything and Gene would be unfathomably turned on. Gene ran his hands down Shelton’s back, then leaned forward so Shelton was forced to release Gene’s neck. Gene reached, hand still on Shelton’s back so he wouldn’t upend him and picked the letter up.

“Let me finish this,” Gene laughed.

“Of course, we’d love to have the both of you present for Thanksgiving. In fact, I am telling you to be present. It will be a great opportunity for the whole family to be together.”

Jesus christ, Gene had forgotten about his brother Ed. He tried to imagine Shelton and Ed interacting.  There was no believable version of the story that ended well.  

“Please let us know if we can do anything for you. We want to see you happy Eugene. We love you. Could you write back with a phone number, so we can properly chat about all this?

“Love, mom and dad.”

Gene chewed on his bottom lip. He hadn’t even considered calling home, or whether his parents would ask to call Merriell’s. It was almost funny. If his secrecy wasn’t already causing suspicion, he’d be shocked. He knew it was unthinkable to tell his parents he was dating a man over the phone. And forget Sid. There was no way he was telling his best friend he liked men over the phone. When he couldn’t watch Sid’s reaction. Couldn’t calculate whether their friendship was forever tarnished. He was banking on the fact that his parents and Sid were different. That the south hadn’t gripped their bones and made them bigots. He thought of Shelton’s words. When Shelton hoped Gene’s parents and Sid were the most understanding people in all of Alabama. Gene didn’t only have his family and friend’s reactions to worry about, they could be targeted by the police, stripped of their service, their good names. They could lose everything. And Gene was risking it all on a daydream. He sighed.

Shelton cupped his face. “Qu’est-ce qui te tracasse? What troubles you?“

“I’m being an idiot, aren’t I?“ Gene queried.

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific, ma boule d’angoisse.” Shelton grinned.

Gene would’ve laughed, but he felt an unbearable weight on his chest. He’d wanted this to be easy. He’d struggled through so much already. He hadn’t pictured returning home and facing repeated heartache. Not when he’d finally discovered who he was. Isn’t that all anyone wanted from their life? But for Gene, it was punishment. If Gene had never went to war, if he’d never met Merriell Shelton, if he’d never figured out who he was, would it have been a relief? It seemed impossible. Gene supposed in every scenario he would’ve suffered. He wasn’t sure which sin he’d committed to deserve enough wrath from God to follow him through several lifetimes. God had brought him into this world, made him this way, and then tortured him for it. Gene was a flaw in God’s grand scheme. An embarrassment.

Shelton touched Gene’s jaw and startled him out of his thoughts. “I see your mind working, and I don’t like it. Come on, spit it out. What’s going on?” Shelton removed himself from Gene’s lap then went over to the radio. He turned it on, then grabbed Gene’s pipe and tobacco. He brought it to Gene. Shelton took his own smokes out of his back pocket and lit one. Gene appreciated the gesture. It would give him something else to focus on while he worked through his thoughts. He went to work packing it. Feeling calmed immediately from the distraction.

“I shouldn’t have sent the letter. I’m putting us at risk. You tried to tell me.” Gene didn’t look up.

“Maybe, but also, I know you well enough to know you do need an answer to all this. If not now, eventually. You’re determined as hell, and you know it. So, it’s done. We’ll see how it goes. And I’ll protect you. Protect us,” Shelton determined.

Gene mulled over Shelton’s words as he finished packing his pipe. Shelton really was unveiling himself for Gene. Every day, maybe even every hour, Shelton dropped another layer. He and Shelton were beginning to fit together like a puzzle. Understanding each other’s inner workings with more detail than they understood themselves. Shelton was the calm to Gene’s storm, and Gene was the rain to Shelton’s drought. Gene was unsure he deserved such a beautiful thing, but he knew Shelton shared the fear of being undeserving.

Gene lit his pipe and took several puffs from it. Once he was finished, he grabbed Shelton’s hand. “I never considered I could merely call Sid and my parents on the telephone,” Gene laughed. “It’s funny. You wear a mask for so long you forget it’s on. Repress how easy things could’ve been because it was never an option for you.”

“Have you always liked men?” Shelton asked, rubbing his thumb along Gene’s knuckles. Gene once again thought back to when Betty Cannon, Sid, and he were be best friends when they were six years old. He thought about what had caused their friendship to split. Until it was only Sid and Gene.

It’d been a particularly warm day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The three of them had just returned from playing in the creek. The playful energy had followed them all the way home. It buzzed in the air. Sid and Betty were running circles around Gene. Playing a lazy game of tag. Never straying more than an arm’s length away from Gene as they ran. Sid encouraged Gene to join, but Gene declined. Gene was amused watching his best friend’s, but Betty wouldn’t listen. She ran up to Gene, kissed him on the cheek, then cried out, “Tag! You’re it, Gene!”

Gene had been so stunned he didn’t move. He then unexpectedly devolved into tears. Reprimanded Betty for not asking for permission. “Why wouldn’t you ask? Do you think you can just do whatever you want to people? I said I didn’t want to play!” Gene had choked out through embarrassingly loud sobs. Sid had immediately sided with Gene, shrugged Gene’s reaction off as a ‘respect’ issue. Soothed him. Not with words, but with loyalty. Like Sid always did. Gene hadn’t reflected on how other boys would’ve reacted if they’d been in Sid’s shoes. Not until this very moment. Perhaps Sid understood more about Gene than he let on. Other boys would’ve called Gene a chicken. A queer. Sid never forced Gene to discuss it, and Gene never brought it up. Gene had always been grateful Betty had either been too respectful, or too embarrassed, to tell everyone at school about what had happened. She’d stopped playing with them though. Gene always felt guilty about it. In true Sid fashion, Sid protected Gene from his parent’s questions concerning Betty. Asking why she never came around anymore.

As Gene got older, he realized he didn’t feel anything for the girls Sid pointed out to him. His heart didn’t speed up. Not until a particularly handsome boy walked by. Or when Richard Hoffman dropped his book in the hallway. He and Gene bent at the same time to retrieve it. Fingers brushing. Richard had the greenest eyes Gene had ever seen. If given the chance, Gene would’ve stared into them forever. Gene would take girls out for show, of course. Talk about them with Sid. But respect had become Gene’s saving grace. Everyone knew Gene was sensitive. That he reacted intensely, fiercely. More emotional than the other boys. Girls knew Gene was too respectful to ever try anything, and so he became a conquest. And he fell back on ‘respect’ when they asked too many questions. Pushed a little too hard to gain his affection. Sid kindheartedly ragged on Gene for ‘saving himself,’ when girls threw themselves at Gene’s feet. Gene would explain he wanted to wait for the right one. Sid always told him it was noble. It made Gene feel dirty for lying.

Had Gene always liked men? Well, it had been crafted into his DNA before he’d ever been offered a choice. It wasn’t a choice. It was his identity. Gene simply nodded in affirmation as he continued puffing on his pipe. Merriell was still rubbing Gene’s knuckles, and he nodded in return. “You?” Gene asked. “You ever like a guy before me?” Gene added.

Merriell’s lips screwed up in thought, quirking to one side. “I appreciated a lot of good-looking men, but I ain’t never courted a guy. Never slept with one. I knew I was fucked when I saw you though.”

Gene laughed, blowing smoke out of his nostrils. “You were an asshole to me from the moment I said hello to you. If that’s your version of flirting, then I’m glad I’ve been spared it thus far.”

Merriell smiled, “You didn’t seem to mind it none. You fell for me anyway. My charm. Wit.”

Gene was laughing. He had fallen for Merriell despite his sour attitude. In fact, Gene had effortlessly matched it. He took what Merriell threw at him and hurled it right back, twice as hard. Gene thought back to when Oswalt, Bill, and he had scrubbed oil drums while Shelton looked on in amusement. Belittling them. Telling them all how they’d miss the suffering he’d subjected them to. However, from the moment Shelton first laid eyes on Gene, his gaze had been penetrating. Hanging heavily on Gene. Making him feel exposed, naked. Gene assumed it was hatred for new boots that made Shelton cruel to him, but maybe it had been attraction. Why nurture a crush for someone who was likely to die the second the gunfire started? If Gene looked back at his time with Shelton through this new lens, re-analyzed each moment, everything was different. The colours shifted. He understood words and actions he hadn’t before. It was not a choice. Their love had been written before they’d ever been offered a choice. Anyone who thought otherwise was a fool.

“I did. I really did. And now, as a thank you, I’m bringing you into this mess I call my life. It’s what you get for making me fall in love. And for making me scrub oil drums.” Gene smiled around his pipe.

Shelton showed his rare, beautiful, pearly white smile he never shared with anyone else but Gene. Gene’s favourite exhibition. “It’s well deserved punishment. I’ve used those images of you sweatin’, in that white t-shirt, breathin’ heavy, to guide me through an absurd amount of orgasms. They had to be quick one’s too, as you know. Worked out great in my favour.” Shelton’s grin turned smug.

Gene laughed, “You son of a bitch. Did you really?” Shelton smiled and nodded. Gene reached out to place his fingers on Shelton’s face, lightly pinching his cheek and tugging. “I better have been the only one you were admiring and thinking about.”

“You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, baby. I only ever looked at you. Couldn’t see anyone else anyway, with the way the sun glinted off your hair and skin most days.”