Damaged Love

"No, no - I'm just being selfish," he urged, deciding to return to his side. "If you want to stay, we... we'll give it a month. If you're still hesitant in a month, we won't leave, okay? I mean, I get it, your mom is great. If I had a mom like you did I would probably be a little more hesitant, too. I'll head into town and refund the money - if you want to come with me, we can grab a snack? Not today, of course. You need time to adjust but maybe tomorrow? I dunno - I'm sorry, I don't want to rush anything," he insisted, smiling as he watched a cow casually trot towards the two.

The 'porch' wasn't much of a traditional 'porch'. It was mostly concrete with some wooden boards resting on it to make it at least a little more comfortable to sit on. It was a little awkward for Bobby in particular but his younger siblings loved to sit and let their legs sway as the cow approached, much like now. Rolling a bit closer, he let the cow affectionately.

"A few new cows had been born recently, but the babies are off in the barn. This is one of the lucky mothers. I know you've always loved the animals, right?" He confirmed as the cow moo'd, leaning over to sniff George curiously.
 
"...The animals were the only part of farming I enjoyed, you know that. My father wasn't too hard on me about it, I think my mother told him to leave me alone. I... don't think I could have helped out with the crops that much, I wasn't the strongest lad back in my younger days, was I? I think I was laughably weak," he murmured as he set the cigarette down and reached to pet the approaching cow, his smile widening at the pang of nostalgia that suddenly hit him. He had always dreamt about leaving the farm, but absence did make the heart grow fonder because now he couldn't envision himself being elsewhere. Being somewhere a tad more progressive would be perfect, admittedly, but he couldn't envision himself in the lifestyle out in California. At least here he felt somewhat like himself.

"I can't go into town, I told you. I... don't want to. I'll help out on the farm tomorrow, get the animals fed and whatnot. I won't have any time to go into town anyway, so... so no, that's fine. You refund the money, I'll stay behind-- I'm really trying, I just-- I'm not ready to have people crowding around me, asking me about all of the war stuff, I... don't want to face that. Don't force me, I... I'll go when I'm ready."
 
"... yeah," he replied quietly, offering a nod as he watched the cow accept the affection, her eyes closed. It wasn't that the cows were neglected emotionally, rather that everyone was too busy to give them the attention they craved. Now that Bobby realized his hard work was for nothing, he had no intentions of working as hard as he did over the half a decade.

Despite his notoriously tough persona he often showed others, his body wasn't as strong as he pretended it to be. He got tired easily lately, working longer than two hours straight often leaving him sore and exhausted. For working up to four hours straight on most days, he wanted nothing more to sleep.

"Well, I'm probably not going to be doing much stuff," he decided with a tired sigh, though smiled. "I've been pushing myself a bit too much, I figure. We both could use some proper rest, so... I get it, yeah. You've never been one for crowds so I can only imagine how tiring the war was, huh?"
 
"...Please don't make me feel guilty for this, Bobby. Please. I... I told you we could go; you said it yourself, we'll go at the end of the month. Your hard work i-isn't wasted, please don't make me f-feel bad for this," he pleaded nervously, his voice hoarse as he held back the urge to break down into tears at the feeling of more and more guilt piling up on him by the second. Nobody intentionally made him feel bad and, really, he didn't have any reason to feel that way either, but he had always blamed himself for anything bad that occurred. However tough he had gotten; however genuinely manly he could now be described as, he was still the same nervous character who chose to bottle his emotions (specifically his guilt) up inside.

"I told you, we could go in a week," he reminded as he pressed closer to the animal to continue petting her, smiling quietly at how contented the cow appeared to be at the affection. The cows had always been his favourite animals to be around and to sketch, perhaps second only to the sheep. They were peaceful and quiet and he had always appreciated that; now he would appreciate those qualities more than ever before. "Let's go in a-a week, Bobby. I... I want to go, I do. The sun, the sea, th-the... the ability to be with you without too much fierce judgement. I want that as much as you do. I... I'm demanding, actually. I demand that you buy those tickets for a week's time. No, uh... no arguments."
 
"Its really not a huge deal, George. I mean, we both can relax now, yeah? Im not trying to guilt you - I mean, fuck, I have no idea what you're going through right now. I've got the money saved if you want to go, in case of... I don't know, whatever we need it for. I worked my hardest and now I can relax for awhile, yeah? We both can. My momll understand at the least," he reassured, speaking quietly.

"I want you to recover. I... I'm glad I got it done while you were gone, I felt mighty gross working in the heat. You know I detest sweating and I was sweating up a storm, it was very gross. I looked ridiculous, I imagine. Lucky for you, you've come back at the perfect time, eh?" He offered as he watched the cow decide to lay down.
 
"...Just don't spend the money, then. Not all of it. I want to go, eventually, I really do. It'll just take a little time," he nodded, glancing behind the other to daringly press for another kiss, finding that the action, while still a little awkward, was gradually becoming more easier and natural to complete. That said, the complexities he was having to come to terms with weren't going away anytime soon. He wanted to divulge all the information about war to get support for the horrors he had witness, whilst also wanting to shield his boyfriend from hearing about it in case he got too worried about the effect on George's mental health. He also wanted to admit the dark thoughts he had been plagued with for years, involving one incident when he first lost his arm where he had, quite seriously, contemplated blowing out his own brains with a pistol, getting too close to pulling the trigger than he would admit to. Having support from the person he loved most was something he craved... though the fear about admitting it all was preventing him from doing so. Bottling it all up, however unwise it was, was the only path of action he was willing to take.

"We could stay together tonight. I could tell my parents that you're staying over, that I feel alone without someone sharing a room with me. I'm used to sharing a small space with soldiers; they'll understand if I said I wanted that feeling tonight, of not being alone. I... I think I can't get to sleep tonight if I didn't have you beside me. I want my first night home to be with you, is... that corny?"
 
"Very," he replied, unable to hold back a bashful giggle. No matter how tough he acted, he simply couldn't keep that facade in front of George, especially when he said such cute things. Resting a hand on the other man's cheek affectionately, he nodded. "Of course. I mean, like you said, it'll be a bit difficult to readjust to sleeping alone, huh?" He replied with a wink, though did quickly let go when he heard his father step into the porch, waving over the two boys.

"Oi, you two hungry? Your father put some hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill. My wife made some good potato salad and my wife made some tomato-banana tarts. We got a cake, too! Don't that sound delicious?" Robert suggested, clearly getting a bit woozy.
 
"Sure sounds good, sir. Food wasn't so good overseas, I won't lie to you. Portions were minuscule, best we were fed was some gruel. Some proper meat and a cold beer sounds like heaven, sir," smiled George, seemingly able to drop right into the polite conversation without thinking too much about how to act. It came naturally to him because he had always been fearful of the man as a child and worked out from that young age the right thing to say to Robert to avoid his sharp remarks. Admittedly, going away to war boosted the other's interest in him, which was both good and bad. It meant that he had a little leeway when it came to conversation, anything he said that Robert might disagree with now likely to be ignored because they were both former soldiers and that apparently meant they were bonded because of it. On the other hand, it just meant he had to deal with Robert more than he ordinarily would have done, and given how much he hated the man, that was far from a good thing.

"I sure know I could do with that. Then I think I need a good sleep, the ride over here was hectic. Maybe Bobby can come and stay the night here, though? I'm sure you know, sir, that soldiers slept near one another. I'd feel weird being all alone tonight," he nodded with a glance back over at the other, smiling quietly. He wasn't sure if he was put together enough to passionately make out with him, let alone go as far as sex, but there was always the possibility that it might occur. It was at least a good sign that he was smiling about it when the thought came in his head, rather than panic about the other seeing him (and his now scarred) body.
 
"I suppose that's alright, yeah," Robert replied, remembering just how close he had to be with his fellow soldiers in the trenches. He was too drunk to really focus on how strange the request was in theory and instead just went back in amongst the casual chatter. Giving George a hopeful smile, Bobby followed suit.

"Like I said, I've been working on my cooking," Bobby reminded. "I mean, at the very least I'm sure that I can cook something better than whatever you ate while gone. I can make pretty alright grits and I cooked a good ham at your parents' place last week. I know I'm not some five star chef but I bet I can make you something real delicious when your stomach is back on track. I mean, I think your parents just said it was good to make me feel better but I know you're honest."
 
"I'm not honest when it comes to you. I'd never want to hurt your feelings. You could burn everything until it's black and I'd eat it and tell you it was great. I... I'm sure your skills are amazing, though. I'm certain you can cook up a meal like any professional," he complimented with ease, the smoothness of his compliments at least being an improvement on the awkward stammers he had murmured as a teenager. Being smooth and charming was never his forte -even now, he wasn't as adept at it as his boyfriend was- but he had clearly made an improvement, part of that being a result of befriending soldiers he thought were almost effortlessly cool.

"...That sounds nice, though. A... nice meal out on the porch tomorrow would be ideal, actually. Some grits, some salted ham - it'd be delicious. Maybe I could help you, in the kitchen? I... still have one arm, I'm not entirely useless just yet."
 
"You can if you want, sure!" Bobby encouraged before pouting, his mood clearly brightening. "Listen, you can be honest with me. In fact, I would prefer you be honest with me. If my food tastes like ass, I want you to tell me it does. Just like how I'll be honest when you make bad food. That being said, you've always been a better cook than me," he reassured, his smiling only growing when the plate of (somewhat) burnt hot dogs and hamburgers were set out to the eager squeals of his siblings who grabbed what they could to scurry off into the field.

"Yeah, I can grab my things. It'll be like when we were younger, eh? A nice, proper sleepover," he continued in hushed tones, knowing everyone was focusing on the food as he wheeled towards the buffet of food. He cut him a slice of everything and held out the knife, offering to do the same for George. "Do you want me to help you, or...?"
 
For many reasons he felt he didn't need to explain in detail, George didn't want people to help him. He wanted to do things by himself like he had done when he had the use of both arms. Having been a soldier, however injured he was because of it, he felt like he would only be judged if he couldn't even manage to plate some food together for himself. He had shot people dead, yet something this simple was now a task. As much as he wanted to smile off the offer and struggle, he was hungry and wasting time trying to save the feeling of failure that hit him wasn't particularly the best thing to do.

"...Yes, please. I, uh... I'll have a bit of everything, 'specially the burgers. My Dad makes really good burgers, from what I remember, so... I'll have plenty of them," he nodded as he proceeded to sip at the beer as he waited, smiling over at his sisters when noticing the five of them glance over at him in concern. "...You all really didn't need to do this for me, Bobby. It's lovely an' all, but it's... a lot of effort and... I don't know, I hate being the centre of attention."
 
"I know," he replied quietly, making the plate with a little bit of everything, handing it over with a smile. Making himself a plate, he neatly set it on his lap and wheeled out of the crowd anxiously. He needed the space, The now giddy energy proving to be a bit too much even for him. He watched as his three year old sister ran past, giggling.

"Oh, god. I totally forgot you missed my sister being born," he blurted in horror, the little girl being a ball of energy, it gets grating. You're lucky your parents stopped at you, it's... loud all the time and that isn't pleasant," he explained. "I know it's bad but it's just another reason I want to leave. Not like they'll miss me, anyway."
 
George, surprisingly, had always like children. They were loud and demanding, sure, but before the war, loud noises hadn't bothered him that much. He was gentle and children seemed to be drawn to that sort of disposition. Only now, as excited as he had been to meet the other's new sister when he first learnt of her birth through letters, he found himself nervously inching away, holding back the urge to plug a finger in his ear to try and stop the noises. He hated the feeling of anxiety that ran through him over something as joyous as a child's giggle, but he couldn't pretend he didn't feel the way he did; ignoring it would only make his anxiety worse.

"I... I understand that, I'm not good with this; the noise. I don't... I can't handle it. I feel like my head's going to explode, Bobby," he laughed weakly, focusing his attention on his boyfriend to give himself time to calm down as much as he could. "She's... very cute, though. I just can't... deal with kids right now, they're too loud for me. I'd have loved a little brother or sister, but... maybe it was best how things worked out for me."
 
"Don't worry," he reassured softly, motioning the other to the foot of the stairs, away from the active kitchen. He couldn't go upstairs without intense pain but he remembered the romantic nights when George would carry Bobby in his arms up the stairs. He wasn't - and still isn't - very heavy but it would still make him snort when George would struggle to lift him. It was a great excuse to get close, after all, and he would always dare to snatch a kiss. Now he would only be lying if he said he didn't find the thought of George carrying him in his strong arms... well, arm, dreamy, his heart fluttering.

"I'm sure your parents won't make you do too much these few days and I'll be sure to keep the kids away from you. I thought I was done hearing this sort of thing but it seems my mom just likes to pop 'em out willy-nilly. I'd prefer a dog first, yeah?"
 
"I want to help out, though. I'd feel useless if I sat around doing nothing. Maybe I can just feed the chickens or something? Something less strenuous than working with crops and heaving around bails of hay, so... so I'll be fine, I can still help out," he reminded, quick enough to enforce himself while also gentle enough to ensure he didn't snap at him and make him uncomfortable or angry again.

"Dogs are too energetic, I don't really think we'd be able to mind one, do you? Maybe one of those lap dogs that just sit about all day and sleep. I think that could be cute, when we move and have a place of our own."
 
"An old dog, then? Maybe a cat?" He offered, a big smile growing on his lips as he absently snuck his hand to hold the other's, just enough for their fingers to touch as to keep anyone's suspicions low.

He did eventually let go to let the other eat, deciding to take a few bites himself of the hot dog. He hadn't been particularly hungry, thanks to stress, but that changed now that George was actually there. He hummed in content, easing back in his wheelchair for emphasis.

"It ain't a five star meal but it's stikl fantastic," he praised to no one in particular, the house growing just a bit quieter now that 1. The children were outside and 2. Their moths were full of food as well, leaving the chatting to be much quieter.
 
"My Dad's always been passionate about his barbecue, he probably cares for it more than he does anything else. I'm surprised my mother didn't make traditional Greek food-- but I guess that wouldn't go down too well, huh? I can't see you all happily tucking into some moussaka, not if the alternative is some burgers and hot dogs. I, uh-- I'll make you some one day, if you want; my mom's recipes and stuff. She would always teach me, said women love a man who can cook, however nontraditional it might be," he shrugged, picking at the food with an absent smile on his face. He couldn't think of anything more romantic than having some traditional keftedes, a cold glass of iced tea and to be sat with Bobby in their home in California. It was unlikely to happen soon at this point, but he was at least able to think positively about it, rather than feel panicked.

"One day anyway. I... My mom says people here don't appreciate her cooking; they aren't fond of anything that's too foreign. I guess that's true. She went through hell when she first came here-- hell, some guys at school with us would taunt me, remember? It's so... narrow-minded here, I hate it-- it's why I want to leave, eventually. Go somewhere more welcoming."
 
"Hey, I'm willing to try anything. You know my dad, though, he only eats manly, all-American food," he replied with a snort, mocking his father's gruff voice. Rolling his eyes, he decided rock take a bite of his burger. "I mean, it's ridiculou, really. My grandpa was straight from England and he acts that he's somehow the most American man in the world. Like, get over yourself, you know?"

Shaking his head, he let out a snort in disbelief as he watched said man sit by the bulky radio, humming along to the tunes that played. He didn't hate any man more than Robert, his toxic masculinity making him ill. "Maybe your mother could cook something up for us, yeah?"
 
"She'd love that. I know she misses Greece; it's all she would write about in her letters, how I needed to get home safe so she could show me Greece. I'm sure your father would hate that, huh? The idea of my mother wanting to go back to her homeland for a week or two; I bet he doesn't understand why anyone could fathom leaving this town, he's so... deluded," he murmured with an equally dissatisfied glance at the other's father. As nice as Robert had been to him whenever they interacted, that didn't mean he liked him. He found it difficult to give the man that chance when he was party to everything horrendous he had said to Bobby. That in itself was enough to cause (and maintain) his hatred.

"...I could cook for you, I'm serious. You might need to help but it might be romantic or something. And... And I guess we need to do something romantic, it has been a few years since we even saw one another-- and there's only so much I can say in letters."
 
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