#dunkirk blurb

so i wrote a dunkirk one-shot! please give credit if you reblog and let me know what you think, if you’d like to read more, or if you would like to request your own imagines, drabbles, etc. 

Pairing: TommyxReader

Word Count:  2004 words

Prequel to Tommy Gets Hurt & Tommy Healing

It's been weeks of nothing. Not one letter for ages. You’d been following the news, every morning rising with the sun and being one of the first to buy the day’s paper. Every day your eyes frantically scoured the registry of fallen soldiers, praying that you wouldn’t see his name written in the paper, his name amongst the hundreds listed. Tommy, your Tommy.

You’d heard about Dunkirk. Everyone in England and around the world had heard about Dunkirk. You’d listened to Churchill’s speech, read how civilians had come together to get their boys off the beach. A staggering 338,226 had been saved, lived to fight another day. You were glad for the lives saved. Really you were. But you’d done the math, worked out that there were at least 10,000 soldiers who hadn’t gotten off the beaches. Ten thousand soldiers who had died or been captured by the Germans. You know, you know the majority made it, but you still can’t stamp out that horrible voice deep inside your mind whispering what if? What if he’s one of those 10,000?

The paper didn’t have his name on it after all, thank God, so part of you can breathe now. You can now go spend the rest of the day focusing on your nursing training, pretending that you don’t know that there’s still at least a week’s worth of soldiers the papers haven’t received yet.

Your family and friends had been confused when you’d announced that you were moving to London to study nursing. It had never been your goal to be a nurse. You’d always wanted to be a teacher. But then the war happened and everything changed.

It was a difficult job. You were expected to be at the hospital little after dawn and you didn’t usually get back to the flat you share with two other nurses-in-training until well after the sun has set. The country needed all the trained and knowledgeable nurses and doctors they could spare, and that meant trying to cram what was typically a three year training program into just one year.

But it was rewarding, and you enjoy the sense of satisfaction you get from feeling like you’re doing your part to help with the war, this horrible war. It was difficult work and you felt like you hadn’t gotten any sleep in over six months, but that was alright. It helped distract you from the fear, all the wondering.

You finally get to the flat. Lily is already there and she’s holding up an envelope, her red lips painting a smirk, and you know. You don’t even think about where you drop your bags and snatch the envelope from Lily before going to lock yourself in the bathroom, for privacy and also because you’re not keen on sobbing in front of your flatmates.

It’s a miracle you don’t tear the letter as you rip open the envelope you’ve been waiting weeks for, finally in your hands and your eyes start to well with tears because a quick glance at the date written in the top-right hand corner tells you that Tommy made it out of Dunkirk and he’s alive. You wait until you’ve relaxed enough to stop shaking and you force yourself to take a breath as you see clearly the familiar scrawl of Tommy’s writing and read.

My darling,

I hope you can forgive me for the silence, I know it’s been weeks, but I’ve finally found a moment to sit and write. I’m currently at some camp I can’t be bothered to remember the name of. It’s all been a blur since Dunkirk. I’m sure the papers have given all the details and you’ve probably read Churchill’s speech. I don’t have much more to add other than how hard it is to connect Churchill’s words with what we went through. I wish this war would end.

We’re just waiting now. A few days rest before we get deployed again to God knows where. A bloke I met at the beaches, Alex, reckons we’ll have at least a week, but it’s difficult to say.

But I don’t want to talk about the war any more. How are you? I hope you’re not overworking yourself too much with the program. I’m happy to hear that you enjoy it at least. I knew you would pass the preliminary exams with top scores. You should give yourself a little more credit. Do you like your new flatmate? In the last letter I got from you, you’d said you and Lily were still looking for a third girl to help with the rent. If you go back home some weekend again, will you tell my parents you’ve heard from me?

Home. It’s strange to think of it now sometimes. There are days I think I can still see the meadows and taste the raspberries from my parents’ garden. But there are other days, the harder days, I can hardly remember the faces of our school mates, or the name of the reverend who’s been at our church since before I was born. I get scared sometimes that I’ll forget everything.

Everything feels like such a blur half the time, like none of my memories are even real. The only thing that makes any sense sometimes is you. You are always in my thoughts. I can still feel your hair running through the gaps between my fingers, your smile, the sound of your voice. Sometimes I swear I can almost hear you.

I wish I could write more, but the paper here is scarce and so is time. So, I’ll just end with the only thing that matters: I love you. I miss you so much I can feel it in my bones, an ache that just won’t go away, not until I see you again. All I want is to come back home, come back home to you. I haven’t forgotten our promise.

All my love,

Tommy

You close your eyes, your mind spinning with the words you have just read, words written by Tommy, safe and alive. All the anxiety you’ve been carrying for the past few weeks, trying not to worry that the worst had happened, just melts away.

A part of you wishes the letter had been longer, that you have hours worth of writing to help you get through the coming weeks that will surely be filled with more silence, but you’re grateful.

You try to imagine Tommy wherever he is now. You hope he doesn’t feel too alone, that this Alex bloke he mentioned is a good man and helps watch over him. But you try not to think too hard on it. You’ve learned from experience that thinking about Tommy in his soldier’s uniform for too long makes you start imagining other things: the whoosh of bullets flying past, the pained sounds of injured men, unseeing eyes, hazel eyes.

So you shake your head and instead think of other memories, memories that sometimes feel now like they’re from another lifetime.

You think of the first time you’d seen Tommy, how he was the most beautiful boy you had ever seen and how warm your cheeks had felt when he’d turned around and you’d quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t caught you staring. You think of how his hand had brushed against yours sometimes those evenings he’d walked you home, and you’d spent all night wondering if it had been intentional. You remember the Williams wedding and how he’d blushed when he’d asked you for a dance.

You think of the first time he’d kissed you, your first kiss. How his fingers had grazed the skin of your cheek, how his lips had moved so seamlessly with yours. How closely he’d held your body against his, like he never wanted to let you go. You had been in that moment that you’d been waiting for after the countless glances exchanged, the shy and awkward but wonderful stolen moments, the accidental touches. Weeks of waiting and wondering if he felt the same or if you were just going mad.

He’d left before they could start a real life together, the life they had talked together about those evenings they’d stolen away together in the meadows near the cliffs. All their plans. The promises.

You think of the last promise you’d both made to each other, the day Tommy had left with all the other young men of their village.

He’d held your hands in his larger ones, forehead pressed against yours as you breathed together, hoping and wishing you could just stay in this moment forever, still together. They’d had to part eventually though. He’d started bringing up The Possibility, the one he’d vaguely brought up before you’d quickly shot it down, a possibility you refused to think about even now. You remember how tentatively he’d brought it up then.

“But...if I shouldn’t come back-”

“Tommy, stop. Don’t.”

“We have to talk about it-”

“No-”

“I don’t want you to be waiting forever if something happens to me-”

You’d put your hands over his and stood straighter, your entire body vibrating with conviction. “I won’t, because you’re coming back. You’re coming back to me Tommy. You do whatever you have to do to come back to me because I don’t intend on starting a life with anyone else but you, you hear me? So promise me,” your voice had cracked at this point, and you’d had to wrap your hands around his coat for a moment to gather yourself, “promise you’ll come back.”

Tommy’s lips had curved into a smile then, and he’d brushed the wetness from your cheek as he’d whispered, “I promise, I’ll come back to you and when I do, we’ll start our lives together.”

A part sob, part laugh had torn from your throat and Tommy had kissed your eyes and the tears off from your cheeks before crashing his lips to yours one last time. There was one last exchange of ‘I love you’s’ and then you were watching him walk away to war, a war neither one of you knew how long would last.

That felt like so long ago, but you can still remember the taste of him, the rough pad of his fingers and the smell of his cologne.

You bring the letter to your chest and in that movement accidentally drop the envelope it had come in. You kneel down to pick it up and that’s when you see there still something peeking out from inside the envelope. He’d sent something else with his letter.

You pull it out and gasp, bubbling with joy. Tommy had sent a picture, a picture of himself.

You smile at the black and white photo, your eyes greedily taking in every detail of his face. Your fingers trace over his eyes, staring in awe at how the photograph managed to capture the characteristic intensity in his gaze that you’d fallen in love with.

It’s a long time before you think that others might want to use the bathroom eventually, so you gather your letter and photograph to your tiny room. You decide you’ll write back tomorrow and see if you can find some time during lunch to find somewhere to get a photograph of yourself to send to Tommy. For tonight, you’ll reread his letter, proof that he’s alive and well and thinking of you, and keep his photograph close to your heart and pray that soon you’ll see him in person again.

Being away from Tommy while he’s at war has been the most difficult thing you’ve ever had to do, walking through life as though you aren’t worried every moment of every day for the safety of the one you’ve fallen in love with. But you’ve kept his promise close to your heart and you know that it will all be real one day.

He will come back to you, you’ll start your lives together. It will happen, because he’d promised and you believe in him.

Surprise

AN: No more anniversary prompts now! I’m finishing up the rest, thank you for requesting.

- Farrier had leave that week but he didn’t tell you. It was meant to be a surprise. 

- However, the journey had been quite the disaster. It was already dark by the time he got off the train. His cab had already left without him due to the train being delayed. So it was through the rainfall he’d been watching for the last few hours that Farrier walked to your house. 

- His luck took a turn for the worse as a car sped past and through a puddle. Farrier held up his case too late for protection and wiped away the dirty water from his face. He was already soaked to the bone from the rain. 

- He prayed that you would at least have a towel for him as he knocked feebly at your door. Seeing you standing in the doorway warmed him inside. Even more when your face dropped in shock then brightened with a tearful smile.

- “You would not believe the trip I’ve had.”

- Regardless of his state, you leapt to hug him close before you kissed him. A kiss in the rain. It would’ve been more romantic if Farrier wasn’t shivering and you weren’t crying so much. So you dragged him indoors to hug him again. His jacket, the one you stole on your first date, was sodden and he shed it fairly quickly, breathing in the familiarity of your home whilst you grabbed him a towel. 

- “You look amazing tonight.”

- He grunted at your compliment and accepted the towel, rubbing his hair until it was mostly dry and standing up on ends. You were speaking honestly; after months without him, a sopping wet Farrier dripping onto your carpet was the best you could’ve hoped for. 

- Once dry, he changed into the pyjamas of his that were already hanging before the fire. Toasty warm, Farrier tucked his feet into his slippers before he lifted his head in noticable confusion.

- “Wait, why did you have my pyjamas out already?”

- You suddenly found your lap to be very interesting. Farrier buttoned up the rest of his shirt and stepped over to you, hands taking your waist and rubbing to coax you into answering. He hummed with a little pout, pleading like a puppy with you. Too cute to deny an answer.

- “I was gonna wear them to bed.”

- Farrier smirked as though he were about to tease you but his heart softened at the thought of you in his extra large pyjama shirt, sleeves flopping over your hands, baggy over your torso, and the trousers tied tight at the toggles.

- “I love you.”

- “I love you too.”

- And, as he kissed you, Farrier did his usual act of lifting you up, his hands cupping your thighs this time as opposed to squeezing your bottom. You couldn’t help but giggle into the kiss. His pyjamas were still warm, his body warmth radiating underneath. It was a delicious juxtaposition to his damp hair that you were playing with. You couldn’t wait for the rest of the week with him.

Okay I got way too into this blurb.

Also there is light cussing in this so you have been warned.

Enjoy!_______________________

Sitting with your knees bent, feet resting near Jack’s leg on the hotel room couch, you clutched the chilled beer bottle in your small grasp. Taking another smooth swig, you glanced at him over the rim of the brown bottle. The evening had started out as nothing more than a few drinks between friends after a long day of filming, but somehow it had morphed into a drinking game of never have I ever - strip addition.

The longer the two of you stared at each other, and the more alcohol you each consumed, the harder it became to resist the temptation you both had had for so long. Every ounce of concentration you were able to muster was spent on fighting the urge to kiss his smooth lips. It became increasingly difficult to concentrate, while he sat beside you, wearing nothing but his tight boxer shorts. You watched the muscles in his arms flex, as he raised his own drink to his lips.

“Never have I ever, kissed a guy,” he chuckled, throwing you a wink and swallowing the amber liquid, his accent low and sultry. You pressed your lips into a tight line, trying not to laugh.

“That’s not even fair,” you whined, shaking your head at him. You took another drink, standing to remove another article of clothing. Reaching a hand under your shirt, you released the hook on your bra, expertly slipping your arms from the satin straps. Jack’s eyes went wide in their sockets, as he watched in awe. Keeping your gaze trained on him, slowly you pulled the black lace bra out from under your shirt, and tossed on the couch beside him. He drew in a breath, his jaw tightening as he tried to control his desires. “Okay, my turn. Never have I–” you hummed, “Never have I ever wanted to kiss a costar.” Your voice almost a whisper, you moved closer to him. He chewed on his lower lip, desperately longing to get his hands on your body. He ached to have his way with you, and he didn’t know how much more of this game he could handle.

He took a sip of his beer as you moved closer, finally placing one leg at a time over his lap, straddling him. His lips curled into a smirk, as you removed the beer bottle from his hands and placed them on your hips. Seductively you rotated your hips, lowering yourself onto his lap. You felt him grow hard against you, as you ground your body into him.

“Never have I ever wanted to fuck a costar.” He moaned. You slowly put his beer to your lips and took a swig then placing the bottle on the table beside you. He tightened his grip on your hips, clenching his jaw in desperation.

“Jack,” you whispered, letting his name drip from your lips.

Feel free to use for your own writing (and reblog or comment with a link to your story so I can read it!) ;)

(Sorry in advance for any grammar mistake, English isn’t my first language) 

Alex has realized way too soon that survival isn’t always fair. He’s decided that, if he wants to make it back home alive, he’ll have to care for himself only and leave everyone else behind if necessary. But then there’s that girl, the one whose eyes connected with his when offering some bread and jam. The only one who seemed to notice the fear behind his frown, and offered a soft smile that, for a second, warmed up his heart. When the ship is attacked and starts sinking, and she’s trapped under water next to him, can he really leave without her? Maybe his survival instinct isn’t more powerful than his heartstrings after all.

Tired of Alex’s selfish attitude, Tommy confronts him. Everyone wants to go back home, not just him, but that doesn’t mean being willing to do anything to survive. Alex isn’t proud, but he’ll do absolutely whatever it takes, and so he tells Tommy. Cause Tommy just doesn’t understand. He hasn’t left a pregnant wife behind when he was sent to war like Alex has. And he certainly hasn’t gotten a letter from the love of his life a few days ago telling him his baby boy has been born healthy, and is excited for his dad to come home so he can meet him. Tommy can call him selfish if he wants, but Alex is determined to survive at all costs. He’s just not leaving this world before getting a chance to hold his little son in his arms.

Alex has made it home, but not without quite a few injuries. It may not be life threatening, but he’ll still have to spend a couple of weeks in a hospital bed while he recovers. Now, the restless Alex could be annoyed by that idea. And he would, if it wasn’t for the lovely young nurse who’s patiently taking care of him. She doesn’t just clean his wounds and help him feed. She fixes his pillow and reads the news to him when he’s wondering what’s going on out of that hospital room. She giggles and successfully makes him feel better when he starts shifting around and complaining about being bored and the sheets being too itchy. And she sleeps in a chair near him, ready to hand him a glass of water or even hold his hand for a little while if he wakes up from a bad dream. Without even noticing, she has made her way into his heart, to the point the young soldier is now hoping his recovery will take as long as possible.

Alex is back home to his wife, but he can’t leave behind the horrors of the war completely. During the day, he’s old, brave, protective Alex. But in the night, memories of the past events haunt him. When nightmares of drowning plague his dreams and he wakes up screaming, the shadow of fear behind his green eyes and desperation pouring through his forehead in cold sweat, only the arms of his lover can calm him down. It’s going to take time for him to fix his heart and his mind after what he’s been through, they both know it. But they also know that, with tender kisses and reassuring smiles, he’ll soon feel better.

Mr Dawson didn’t expect George to join him and Peter in such a dangerous mission. But things get even worse when his daughter decides to join them too. He wants to say no, but she refuses to stay behind, and Mr Dawson can understand why. Her boyfriend Alex is one of the young soldiers trapped in Dunkirk, and she can’t bear the thought of staying home waiting for a miracle. She knows the chances of finding him and bringing him home with her are minimal, but whatever help she can offer him and the others with him, she’ll do it. It turns out, miracles do happen. She can’t even tell it’s him when she sees him swimming in the distance among other men, exhausted and covered in oil. But then he sees her, and his voice sounds like home when he pronounces her name. She wonders if she’s just hearing things in her mind, but when she takes the hand that he extends to her and looks into his eyes, all the emptiness she’s felt in his absence vanishes, and she knows she’s found her Alex.

Attempted It

AN: Belated birthday wishes! Have this gif on me: confusion feat. slightly crossed eyes and That Hair.

Until tumblr sorts out the bug that won’t let anyone read other’s blogs, I’m moving the “read more” option just above the tags. Only a temporary thing, don’t worry.

Prompt: “You’re more than that.”

- After saving up his coupons for a month, Collins bought all his ingredients, nabbed the cook book from the library. The following morning, he dressed and prepared to bake for the first time since he was seven. Hopefully a cake wasn’t hard to do, at least as much work as a gingerbread star.

- Cracking the eggs wasn’t his greatest achievement but he managed to avoid too much shell getting into the bowl along with the other ingredients.

- He paced about the kitchen as he whisked up the ingredients, bobbing his head to the tune playing on the wireless. He didn’t realise he was flicking flour up his front until a cloud formed in front of his face.

- “Ah shit.”

- Then Collins made the error of wetting his pullover in an attempt to get rid of it. It clumped like porridge on the wool and refused to leave him alone. 

- Once in the preheated oven - yes, he managed to get that right - Collins took a pew at the dinner table and prepared the whipped cream in a clean bowl. Then he sliced the strawberries to circle the cake on top. 

- He was going well until that moment. Then he forgot about the cake in favour of wrapping your presents last minute.

- You woke to him cuddling you from behind and kissing you cheek repeatedly. For a moment, you pretended to stay asleep; you didn’t want the affection to stop. But your reward was Collins’ tongue across your cheek, causing you to squirm and get away.

- “Happy Birthday!”

- Your presents littered your lap, shelled and delightfully appreciated with a kiss on Collins’ lips for each one. A frown formed on your face when you spotted the stains on his front. Then your nose wrinkled.

- “Do you smell burning?”

- “... Fuck.”

- A blink later, Collins fled the bedroom. You followed the coughing and the smoke to where he slammed a cake tin on the table, slumping in the chair beside it. Inside rested a charred lump that emitted more smoke than their fireplace.

- “I wasted all my ration coupons. I nearly burnt our house down. I’m just an idiot who can’t make you a proper cake.”

- “No, you’re more than that.”

- Collins looked up at you with hopeless exhaustion clinging to him, sliding down in shame into his chair. 

- “You’re myidiot who can’t make me a proper cake.”

- While that wasn’t the most reassuring for Collins, he appreciated the hug from behind. He leant back with a sigh and closed his eyes. His fingers came to pinch the bridge of his nose in some attempt to restrain his disappointment.

- You plucked a segment from below the burnt surface and tried it. After some evaluation, you concluded that some icing would make it the perfect cake. You fed Collins a piece too before you went to the fridge to collect the whipped cream. You knew he made some; there were drops of it across the floor. 

- As you prepared to spread cut off the burnt parts, Collins tried to salvage the cream. You stole a dollop and dabbed it on the end of his nose. He cracked a smile at that.

- “Now pass me the strawberries.”

- “Whatever you say.”

- And he kissed you again, deliberately smearing the cream across your nose too. 

Walk?

AN: Was there any other way this could go? Nah, not really.

Prompt: Please don’t walk out of that door.

- You both woke up early, eve after a long night before. To seize every last moment you had together, a rise at seven in the morning was necessary. Plus you got to see Collins’ morning hair as he stood in the kitchen.

- “Morning.”

- “Hello, love.”

- Domesticity never appealed to you so much. Suddenly washing up with him was the most enjoyable experience of your life. Making the bed and folding his pyjamas to wash later in the day, his spare set already packed, was just lovely. Ignoring the post and the paper in favour of helping Collins finish his final checks however was not so thrilling.

- Collins made your lunch. Rations were lower than ever so he had to make do with what was available in the cupboards. Together, you ate in the living room. Breaking the rules just this once. 

- “No crumbs on the couch.”

- “I’ll wipe them off in a bit.”

- “Don’t you dare; you’ll get them on the rug!”

- Something so ridiculous that made you and Collins laugh over your sandwiches. 

- You couldn’t bear to see him at the station and he insisted on going alone so that both of your time together were positive. However, when lunch passed and it was time for him to go, you couldn’t help but ruin it with a whisper into his neck during your farewell hug.

- “Please don’t walk out of that door.” 

- Nothing you could say would change that he was leaving. Yet you still spoke. 

- Cupping your face, Collins kissed you without a word. His lips were slightly chapped; he’d been biting them a lot recently. Your Collins, with nerves of steel, fearless in the air, but the man had a tell. 

- When he pulled back, he held you for a few seconds more, studying your face. There was no need for him to remember you. How could he forget? And, just in case, he had two photos of you with him and at least one of those was always on his person. 

- It seemed as if he was trying to say goodbye with no speaking. You assumed it was becuase you were already crying and any response to your request would make you cry more. Watching Collins bend down to pick up his bag, you continued to follow his movements as he moved and turned away. Then he heartily skipped out the front door and spun on his heel to face you. 

- “There! I didn’t walk out of that door.”

- You burst into tearful laughter as he stood on the pavement, smiling up at you on the front steps. Ignoring another requirement in your arrangement, you met him again with a hug. 

- “I bloody love you.” 

- “I love you too.”

- A kis on the head and Collins pulled away, adjusting his uniform so there were no wrinkles. But there was a wrinkle on his brow, and his nose too, as he touched your face once more to wipe a stray tear, his own held back. His hand dropped and switched with the other to carry his bag. 

- “See you.”

- And he walked away, only looking back when your delayed “see you” was heard. He waved with a smile over his shoulder. He didn’t look as if he was about to go to war.

Familiar Face

AN: I thought I’d take on a different approach with this one with Collins.

Prompt: I won’t let you.

Your name: submit What is this?

- The British aircraft being shot down was already too close for home for the crew of the Moonstone. But the patriarchal figure had been determined to see if the pilot survvived. Saved from drowning at the last moment, Collins was now rubbing his features dry with a towel whilst racking his brain for something to do about the boy with the head injury in the belly of the ship. Nothing came to mind and he apologised that there wasn’t anything he could do to help out. 

- It could hardly be considered down time as he spoke aloud to himself, Peter’s input occasional. Mr Dawson listened to fragments of the conversation with the rest of his attention on the horizon. 

- “Y/N. They’re gonna kill me for nearly dying, and I know how that sounds... We’re meant to be getting married today… Well, with the evacuation, most leave got cancelled.”

- Few minutes later, Collins appeared in the companionway and it really struck Mr Dawson how much the pilot looked like his son. Thank goodness, he came with the wrong accent. 

- A few hundred metres before them was a sinking ship and her crew, alongside passengers, were 

- “First we have to survive ourselves!”

- “We could could be hit!”

- “I won’t let you.”

- Collins looked to Mr Dawson, his words like a hand clamped down on his arm as opposed to a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He said it to both his son and the pilot as if both equally mattered. As Mr Dawson took the wheel and Collins informed him of the oil, the elder made known his reason:

- “I heard you talking to Peter, about your partner. I can’t have them coming after me if you drown on my watch.” 

- He didn’t quite understand why Mr Dawson was so intent on him staying alive. Even with all the soldiers that he helped pile into the well of the boat, he couldn’t figure out why the man was so invested in his continued existence aside from not wanting any more death.

- Only when Mr Dawson’s instructions allowed them to avoid bullet fire from a fighter, when he mentioned his elder son, did Collins somewhat understand. His elder son, killed in action, leaving behind a family and a sweetheart waiting to wed.

- He tried not to think on it too much as he made tea for the soldiers. Instead he thought about Y/N, waiting to hear news about the evacuation and whether he would be coming home. God, he missed them so much. They were all that was going through his head as he fought against his jammed canopy only hours ago. The tea helped soothe his hammering heart a little, just a little, the warmth of the enamel cup radiating against his palms. 

- When he shook his hand in farewell, Mr Dawson patted the back of his.

- “Find your partner and make sure you marry them.”

- Collins' mouth twitched as if to smile at this remark. It certainly was top of his priorities. He then walked in the opposite direction from his saviours towards the blankets, the pastries, the train carriages. 

- On the train, he didn’t sleep for a few hours. The darkened countryside soothed him greatly. Patting his left breast pocket, he felt the ruined photograph of his beloved wrinkled and stained to his shirt. Y/N’s face would be murky and smudged beyond belief. No matter. He would be seeing them again soon.  

Figure Out

AN: This one is a bit shorter than usual, had a bit of a shit time of it. But I hope this will suffice.

- Tommy was tired from everything.

- Contacting his family had taken a while. He’d bade farewell to Alex hours earlier when the train was scheduled to take him closer to his home. When he finally got back, the first thing he did was scrub away the oil, replacing the stench of his sweaty salty uniform with a gentler sandalwood soap. Then he actinvely inhaled two plates worth of his mum’s cooking. 

- There were celebrations of the Dunkirk evacuations but he wasn’t there. He couldn’t figure out how he was feeling amongst all these parties being held, still coming to terms with everything. 

- He lay on his bed in his room. Clean pyjamas dressed his body. It was rather soft, all around him. No wonder he couldn’t get comfortable. Yet he continued to pretend, for no one’s benefit but his own, to be asleep. Maybe then he’d finally get some. 

- A quiet knock at the door caught his attention and he sat up before calling for whoever it was to come in. To his exhausted delight, it was his neighbour and sweetheart Y/N.

- “Hey, Tom.”

- He greeted Y/N with a hug, no words. Naturally, they hugged him back tightly and Tommy took his time to rest his head and soak in their warmth their their shirt. Neither had to say how much they missed each other. It was so very obvious as they both cried softly. 

- After releasing Tommy from the hug, Y/N took a moment to breathe and wipe away any remaining tears. Then they asked: 

- “Is there anything I can do?”

- Tommy thought about this; he had done for the entire time he was home. He wasn’t sure what they could do. Until, outside his window, he heard a group of people walking past, giggling and heading into town. 

- “Dance with me.”

- A slow dance in the quiet bedroom, not an upbeat busy hall. That was what he needed.

- In an awkward gesture, Y/N took his hand in theirs with the other on his shoulder. But Tommy shook his head and hugged them again. It was confusing for a little bit . Slowly Y/N caught on. 

- For a good ten minutes, they swayed together without song to guide their rhythm. Tommy had never felt more love. He almost trembled with his senses overwhelmed and his heart bursting as Y/N rubbed his back with deliberate care. He loved them so much, he despaired at the thought of leaving again. But even his mind couldn’t keep running after so long. With weary exhaustion, he drifted between consciousness and sleep on Y/N’s shoulder and all he could feel anymore was them.