❝ i’m good at exhausted. ❞ you adapt, don’t you? if he can adapt to war — to mud and rain, to the presence of death at every turn, the hunger and the exhaustion and the inability to think of anything but survival, even when survival isn’t a great option — then donny figures he can adapt to this. he’s gotten through the tough period of returning, hasn’t he? to being a nobody when he’d once been a somebody, to being ignored and spat upon, no longer fitting in a world that used to be his home.
he can get through not being able to sleep, too. he’s made it this far on a few hours here and there, with the help of booze and coffee. and maybe it’s better. maybe it’s better to keep his dreams at bay, to try and put the war behind him when it still wants to be in front. maybe it’s better.
it doesn’t feel like it right now, but maybe it is.
maybe he doesn’t have a fucking clue, and is just making it up as he goes along.
it’s almost a whine that he lets out, turning his head to try and chase the rest of that kiss. but even that feels comforting, soothing some of those worries until their harsh edges no longer press into his skin. she’s so…good. so much better than he deserves, but he’s too selfish to do anything but hold onto julia, tight as he can.
❝ yeah. ❞ donny reaches out, snagging the bottle off the top of the piano and forgoing a glass. who needs one when you can drink straight from the bottle, huh? ❝ can you— ❞ his mouth twists, like he knows he’s asking a lot. but is there anything else he can think of that might make the passage into sleep a comforting one, and not hell played on a loop? ❝ —hold me, or something? ❞
HER EYES FALL TO THE FLOOR. unable to find a proper response. it’s not something he should have to be used to. donny shouldn’t have to live his life in fear of going to sleep, learning how to live his life on as little sleep as physically possible. if there was any way for julia to take that away from him, to fight it off somehow, she would do it in a heartbeat.
the things all of these boys have come home with, it’s not fair. writing welcome home was one of the hardest things she has ever had to write. to sit down and write about these terrible things that they’re experiencing put julia in a different state of mind.
if it hadn’t brought her the band, brought her five guys that are now like brothers to her; julia would give anything and everything to make sure this war never happened. that it never had the chance to get its hands on so many innocent lives like this.
her hand rests carefully against his cheek when he turns towards her again. julia’s eyes look at the bottle in his hand, but for now she leaves it be. she knows she can’t make things go away, can’t fight off the shadows that cling at his heels, but anything she can do to help, she’s going to do it in a heartbeat. ❝ ‘course. ❞
julia clears off the couch, moving pillows and blankets until it’s comfortable enough for them to lay there for a while. she slides her coat off her shoulders, hanging it, along with her sweater, on the back of the armchair. julia takes off her shoes before pulling her feet up, holding an arm out for him.
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