Damaged Love

[saturnia pavonia]

The war was finally over. Nearly six years of Bobby's life had been full of anxiety, loneliness and hard work to give his boyfriend the best welcome home gift he could: a safe full of thousands of dollars. He had spent every moment he could in theatres, desperate to learn and keep track when he wasn't able to receive a letter from George. Every day, he would wait anxiously for the post man, for that familiar letter. He knew that the pleasant words from his lover were fake; that the front wasn't as casual and pleasant. He knew George wasn't punching Nazis and protecting their country with a smile on his face and it didn't take a genius to know that something was wrong when the handwriting became nearly illegible.

That didn't matter to him, all that mattered was that George was alive. There had been nearly 11 deaths in their town alone so it was no surprise that his anxiety had been heightened when so many Purple Hearts were mailed callously. He kept his pride subtle, not wanting to upset the new widows that sat at the pew of church, sobbing at the lost of their brothers or husbands. Meanwhile, Bobby was going to see the man of his dreams as a proud soldier.

His father was the first to greet George. All Bobby heard from the past few years was how ashamed his father was and how lucky George's parents were to have such a strong, true American as a son. His father had fought in The Great War which only made him angrier to learn his oldest was left behind instead of being sent to the front lines. He would praise George every moment he could, exclaiming that he would be alongside the other if he could but was instead both too old and needed to stay behind to watch and raise his children.

As his father pulled the former soldier into a hug, Bobby spent no time in wheeling over with a vase full of sunflowers he had picked that morning, a wide grin on his face. From the brief glimpses of honesty he saw in the other's letters, he knew that the war had done some emotional damage and he wanted to do everything in his power to make the first time seeing the other since his leave be a pleasant one. He would show the safe a little later, not in front of his father, so they could plan their leave as soon as possible. He had already bought tickets for a week in advance and had packed everything. His heart sank when he pushed past his father to see the sleeve of George's uniform tied neatly. He wasted no time nonetheless to pull the other close for a hug, burying his face into George's lower chest.

"You're alive," he whispered. "That - I missed your dumb face, you know that?" He teasingly offered, keeping his eyes off the missing arm. "God - look how toned you got! Oh - I got you your favorite flowers," He babbled.

 

[potassiumboron]

When the war had been won and the surviving soldiers told that they could finally return to their loved ones back home, the mood had been that of elation for many. For George too, in fact, the thought of seeing his parents, sisters and Bobby being the first thing that hit him when news broke that war was now over. That celebratory mood didn't stay with him too long, though. He was terrified of returning home to the people he cared about and having them realise what a state he was in, both in terms of the very obvious physical damage he had suffered, and the strain on his mental health. He was determined to hide the latter as best as he could, if only to his family. He couldn't exactly hide anything from Bobby, but he was desperate to seem more put together than he was.

He had already heard from his father about how proud everyone seemed to be of him; how the town had lost so many young men which made George's survival all the more noteworthy, especially considering how little faith everyone seemed to have in him when he first left. They never said so to George's close ones but there was little point in denying that many in the small town had expected news of George's death to be the first in the community. He had left there as some weak, lanky, far too kind-hearted teenager, after all. It made sense for many to immediately discount him and prepare themselves to send messages of grief to his family. It took everything George's mother had for her not to show the doubters the letter that came to claim George was heading home, even though she felt that they deserved it for having such little hope in her son.

She had taken his time at war horribly. George was her only son and her youngest child too, and she had always concerned herself with him for his sensitive disposition which she knew was ill-suited to a physical, brutal war. That didn't mean she wasn't immensely proud of him when she saw him enter the home, the shine from the Purple Heart catching her eye first and making her tearfully smile in pride at her son's bravery. It was only when she really took him in that her smile felt as though it would falter. It wasn't just the missing limb that she felt like hysterically sobbing at; it was the falseness behind his smile and the dullness in his eyes. She could easily see through the attempt of holding himself together and, while she didn't doubt his happiness and relief at being home, she could also notice his lack of desire to be back; to have them all see the failure he felt he was.

The brief glance with his mother, in which he knew instantly that she had already deciphered that he was acting happier than he was, made him force back the similar urge to cry. Instead, he proceeded to smile and laugh as his sisters each approached to hug him and gush about how good he looked, all things considered. It was only when Bobby hugged him that he allowed a more genuine smile to break, returning the hug and holding back the urge to make it anything more romantic. He wanted to pull him into a heated kiss and murmur how much he had missed him, but he had to restrain himself, as difficult as it was. With a pat on his back with his only remaining arm, he straightened up with a surveying glance over everyone gathered to meet him, biting hard on his lip to stop the emotions getting to him.

"You didn't all need to welcome me back, this is-- it's lovely," he nodded quietly, taking each individual and noting the slight differences in them. His father has some grey streaks in his hair, his mother had lost some weight (probably from the stress of her son's ever-changing letters), and Bobby, he noticed, had clearly been working harder than he would probably care to admit; the toughened hands from labouring gave that away. George calmly let his mother examine his medal up close, watching her eyes trail to his right side and how glassy they became at the realisation that her son had clearly gone through something horrible to lose it.

"...It's fine, Ma. It didn't hurt that much. Promise," he nodded to ease her concerns, blatantly lying to her face. "Some Germans got me, it's... really not that big a deal. I got one of them before they got me anyway--"

"You did? That's my boy! See, I told y'all, didn't I? I told you my son would make this town proud. God, come and sit down, George. Let us get you what you want; you've done enough for us, fighting an' all. We're real proud of you, son," nodded Walter as he carefully pulled his wife away, the soft hunching of her shoulders indicating that she had lost the battle against preventing her tears, though she hurried from the room before they could be seen. "She'll be alright, just emotional is all. I'll get you some coffee, boy. You catch up with the others now; tell 'em about the battles and how many of those Nazis you shot, yeah? We all want to hear about how brave you were."

 

[saturnia pavonia]

"... it's okay to cry, George," Bobby urged in a whisper as he pushed forward, following behind George as he, too, took in the room. He knew that his own father and mother would disagree, insisting that it wasn't very manly to do so, but he knew he could easily throw back in their faces that they hadn't lost a vital limb, now did they? It wasn't until George took a seat on the old rocking chair did he properly hand over the vase, daring to hold his hand just a little bit longer than most - it was a subtle sign of affection but he knew it wouldn't go amiss. He eventually let go, albeit reluctantly, and eased back. He just wanted to hurry to his bedroom and properly embrace, though much like the others, he held back his own emotions despite his own urge to cry.

"Do you know how long it took to wheel me out to the field to get you these?" He teased, biting his lip as he smiled to keep himself calm. Letting his eyes drift to his own father, who eagerly cracked open a beer in celebration whilst completely oblivious to the darkened mood, he scooted close enough to whisper, his eyes tearing up just a tad.

"You know," he began, his smile only growing a bit, "I heard that there are super pretty sunflowers in California. I bet there's a lovely home waiting to be surrounded in them, eh? If only, right?" He urged unsubtle, his brows wiggling for emphasis. "That is, if you had the energy. I know you've done some travelin', hm?"

"You guys can talk about all of that later, we wanna hear about your time! I heard French girls are very frisky," Robert commented with a chuckle, rolling his eyes at his wife's clear disapproval. "I'm sure you and your friends had some fun. I remember how all the cute girls I met swooned over us tough soldiers - and you buffed up. What woman wouldn't swoon over such a strong bachelor like you?"

 

[potassiumboron]

He wasn't numb to the sign of affection, nor was he oblivious to the hints of California. He knew that they had made plans to escape there in their future, the plans being made when they were young teenagers, but the idea of actually going there now didn't make him as happy as it used to. He used to imagine himself basking in the sun and able to express himself more than he could at home. Now, however, he didn't really want to leave the house, let alone the town; let alone the state. He had no doubts that most people would call him some sort of hero and express gratefulness at his duty to the country, but the idea of heading outside and being stared at only made him cringe.

How could he go to California when he could barely stand himself? It was supposed to be the place he went to be happy, and he really didn't want to sour the place by retreating inside the entire time. It seemed wiser to stay at home than venture out, knowing he'd just disappoint Bobby if they did go and ruin all the dreams he had built up about how perfect it would be. He didn't communicate his apprehension, however, instead clutching the vase tightly to his chest and staring off into the corner of the room, too deep in thought to really reply to the other.

He did break out of the contemplation when his father reappeared and thrust a beer into his hand, deciding it was better than the coffee he had promised, carefully setting the vase down on the table. "Did you have fun, then? I'm sure your mother would relax a little if she knew you had a good time."

"...I made a few friends. I was too busy focused on the war to... really meet a girl, anyway. The country comes first, right?" Replied George with a faint blush at Robert's compliments. He never knew whether to like the man or not. He detested the way he treated his son and he hadn't really paid George any attention until the young man was being sent off to war. It was strange to have the man suddenly so eager to talk to him, but he was far too kind to tell him how he felt about him. Instead, he offered a smile, raised the beer politely before taking a careful sip, at least glad it calmed him a little. "We, uh... it wasn't easy, but I... guess I enjoyed it?" He lied, much to his father's delight, his eyes shining proudly at the words. "I... It was definitely an experience, put it that way, aha..."

 

[saturnia pavonia]

"Oi, you got a free trip to Europe, though! Most people would kill for an experience like that, right, Walter?" The man urged. Perhaps it was because he finally had someone to share their war stories with, or maybe it was because he was well acquainted with the familiar dullness that he had seen in other soldiers' eyes. All he was certain of was that he was desperate to make George smile the only way he could; through tough, masculine humor.

Robert knew others wouldn't understand the drama of war and how taxing it could be from the position of someone who had seen action. His wife had spent quite a bit of time comforting Calliope, explaining that everything would be better and not once mentioned the idea of her son dying on the battlefield. It was one thing he had over Bobby and he secretly wanted to use that to his advantage.

"Hey, I'm sure it was fun," Robert continued, his voice growing quieter as he chugged back the beer. "I'm glad someone got to fight for our country properly." His eyes then landed on his son, who quietly thanked Calliope for the beer he was given. Bobby brought no mention to his father's clear upset.

"Yeah, we donated a lot of crops to the effort," Bobby added as he took a gingerly sip of the beer. "I mean, I heard German food is garbage so if we could send over some good food, it would help. I mean, you're back so we can have some proper food. I've been working on my cooking skills when I've been free."

 

[potassiumboron]

The blatant dig at his own son didn't go unnoticed by George, who, despite how numb he felt and how out of it he currently was, found himself suddenly enraged. If anything, he was at least somewhat happy he could feel something other than bitter disgust at himself, however brief that alteration in his feelings were. He had read plenty of letters from Bobby, his boyfriend often always lamenting the fact he wasn't out in France with him, fighting at his side. If he could and was able enough, George had no doubt that Bobby would have been right there beside him - but apparently the desire to show his worth still wasn't enough for Robert.

He had to physically calm himself down, his clenched fist finally uncurling and a low breath exiting through his gritted teeth. He eventually lifted his eyes back up from the floor, downing most of his beer in one or two chugs.

"You don't need to cook for me, I'm probably not going to eat much tonight. Not in the mood. Beer's fine for now, that's enough of a celebration. I just-- I don't think I could manage sitting at a table with a fork and knife set out for me, yeah? It's just rubbing it in that I can't really use 'em the same way anymore," he snorted with a nod towards where his right arm would be, the attempt at making a joke at his situation at least provoking some relieved smiles from his family. In their eyes, their son had come to terms with the amputation of his arm, and was comfortable enough to make playful jokes at his expense. They didn't really notice the disgust that came with it, or how little he had truly comprehend the loss. In many ways, they only saw what they wanted to see; their son and their brother happy and just the way he had been before he left.

"...They tried to save it but I really got in trouble; they said it wasn't going to do me any good to keep it, so... hey, it's at least a story to tell. And it got me this medal, which-- it's the proudest I've ever been, owning this," he muttered as he took in the medal, this time a wide smile gracing his lips in genuine pride at the medal that was pinned to his uniform. "Shame I had to lose an arm to get it, but... still. No war comes without sacrifices, right? And it's for my country, so... it's worth it, I s'pose."

 

[saturnia pavonia]

"I'd rather have a part of you missing than having nothing at all," offered Robert, while Bobby nodded in agreement. The man's son gave George a nervous glance before deciding to roll himself to the kitchen to grab another beer for his boyfriend. He wanted nothing more than get to the porch and get some fresh air, the mix of tension and toxic masculinity becoming suffocating. It was all overwhelming for him and he wasn't even the one who just came back from a life changing war. He could only imagine how shit George felt, but it wasn't about him.

He listened to the men and women alike chatting, knowing that they were oblivious to what he and George had sent one another. He also noticed just how... indifferent he seemed, especially to his unsubtle hints to the fact that he had collected the proper money. He was taught to suppress his emotions by his father so he didn't really know how to approach his lover, fearful that he'd somehow say something wrong and only upset him more. It wasn't until he had managed to roll himself into the back porch that he was suddenly hit with the urge to cry.

He took his time to relax and calm himself down, even if it was difficult. Clutching the beer he had grabbed between his legs, he reluctantly began to head back inside with a soft sniffle.

 

[potassiumboron]

On one hand, all George wanted to do was avoid Bobby. He could pretend to be fine when it concerned everyone else, perhaps other than his mother. He just knew he could never act in front of the man he had known since he was a young boy and who he had literally grown up with and experienced everything with. Lying about his feelings wasn't all that possible, and he barely wanted to be alone with his boyfriend and have him be concerned about him. He wanted everything to be normal and for Bobby to be happy, which he doubted could happen if all he did was concern himself with George's fractured mental health.

Avoiding him forever was also impossible and, deep down, it was something he knew he didn't want to do. He couldn't just stay away and ghost him, not when he loved him as much as he did. It was why he made an excuse and headed out to the porch after him, stopping the moment he spotted him heading inside from it. As risky as it was, with their family members chatting happily in the next room in jubilation over his arrival home, the former soldier leaned down and offered a kiss to his lips, making it as brief as he could whilst also showing as much love and passion as he could in those few fleeting seconds.

"I love you, I... god, I missed you," he smiled awkwardly, his one remaining hand clenched tightly again, his nails dug deep into his palms in the effort to control himself. "Can we head back onto the porch, I... could do with a cigarette-- I picked the habit up, it was hard not to when everyone else was smoking, so... let's not talk about the war, it... I don't want to discuss it, not really. I just want to move on and get back to normal-- you look good, by the way. You've got a tan, that's-- I like that. Makes the blue of your eyes stand out more. It's handsome; you're as handsome as I remember."

 

[saturnia pavonia]

Wiping his eyes clear of tears, he was startled by seeing George follow him which only caused his cheeks to redden in embarrassment. The kiss didn't help, his whole face growing beetroot... but at least it led him to a bashful smile. He didn't need to say anything in response, instead hurrying to roll to the porch. Scooting a bit out of the way and intentionally moving to the portion of the deck away from the door for at least some privacy. Once rolling up next to the most hidden part of the porch, next to the pair of rocking chairs, he didn't wait to take George's chin for another deeper kiss. His attempt at hiding his tears failed at this point, sniffling.

"I missed you too. I kept all of your letters under my bed, neatly folded in a box. I'll be honest with you, I was disappointed that I couldn't brag about my handsome soldier boy. I mean, you... you don't even know how proud I am - I won't mention it, though. God - look at me? You got me all flustered, lookin' like a fool," He babbled with a laugh, shaking his head.

"I look good? You look amazing," he countered easily, taking in his boyfriend's form. "I took some extra jobs to get us some extra cash. I... I didn't want you to come home and find out I've just been twiddling my thumbs this whole time. I wanted you to be proud of me, y'know? So... I hope you are. I got the money in a safe under my bed, too. We... don't have to go now."

 

[potassiumboron]

"...I'm proud of you, I am. Raising enough money to start out new life, I just... I don't know if I can just drop everything and leave, not now. I'd ruin it for you. I'd-- I'd mess up our new life and I'd ruin the dream and... isn't it best we stay here, working on the farm? I like it here, it's peaceful and quiet and I need that," he decided with a meek nod, his finger absently rested on his lip after the heated kiss. However tortured he was inside, the kiss at least broke through that, his smile fixing itself back onto his face. He had dreamt of kissing him for years, missing everything about Bobby in fact, so to have it back made hm happier than he could vocalise.

And it made him feel even worse when he realised he wasn't the same person he had been when he left. He felt guilty for it, even if he had a perfectly valid reason for being more reserved than usual.

"I just think my mom needs me here. My sisters want me to stay around. I can't go. I'd ruin it for you, it won't be like we dreamed it would be. I... I don't think I'd cope well there, Bobby. Look at me. I'm not amazing, I'm... damaged."

 

[saturnia pavonia]

"You could never ruin it for me, George The only way you could ruin it is if you weren't there at all," he urged quietly, his eyes scanning the other's face as he tried to hold back his disappointment. He knew that George would come back different, it was obvious in his letters. He hoped that it didn't affect the dream they both worked so hard to achieve. Pursing his lips, he eased back into his wheelchair tiredly. The whole day had been physically draining both from him struggling to get the flowers and the general work to make the party the best it could be, insisting to his parents that his best friend had finally been back so why wouldn't he want to make it all perfect?

"I can't stay here for much longer, George. This place - it's been hell without you here. My father has been even crueler since you left, I don't think I can be around that for very long. I... get that you need time, I don't want to rush anything. I just w-wanted to prove to you that I did something that would make you happy, you know?" He tried to explain while trying to keep his voice from cracking. He knew that day wasn't about him and that he shouldn't be getting upset so he kept his expression in a small smile.

"I understand, though. I'm just glad you're here in the flesh, you know?" He insisted after a pause before returning to look at the other. "I thought of you every night, I did. No fantasy is better than the real thing, though. If... you want to stay here, you should at least let me take you out for a bit. A cute soda fountain opened up in town and I want to at least treat you to a float. I'm not a huge fan of them but I know you'd like it. We could drive out to the lake if you want, too. I want to spend as much time with you as possible now that you're back."

 

[potassiumboron]

"I don't want to go into town. I'm happy to stay on the farm, Bobby. The town is... it's too loud. I can't deal with loud noises, I... I get flashbacks, it'll only trigger them if I go into town. I like it here. It's what I need; peace and quiet; the simplicity of it is what will help me, I'm sure," he nodded as firmly as he could, taking a seat carefully with a quiet glance up at the clouds above them, just to give his eyes something to focus on that wasn't the disappointed expression of his boyfriend. He was well aware he was the cause of that disappointment, his lip quivering until he bit hard on it to stop the emotion from making a more obvious appearance.

"...I didn't lie completely in my letters. There were some things I enjoyed. I made friends, Bobby. I never made friends here; everyone liked you more than they ever liked me. I met a few good men who had my back; they saved me from getting killed. If it wasn't for them, I'd be dead. All things considered, losing an arm is nothing-- and a girl did flirt with me in France. That's never happened to me before. All girls ever did here was swoon over you and your macho attitude. I only got girls laughing at me-- what is they called me again? A stick insect or something? I don't know, I don't remember, I just remember them basically laughing at me while you were called a 'hero' for beating up some misogynistic fool on their behalf. It was good to have a girl actually take notice of me for once-- not that she interested me in the slightest, you know I only have eyes for you," he cheesily smiled, resting his chin on his hand as he finally glanced back over at the other man, taking in his features properly.

"I won't ever leave again, I promise. I want to be with you, I just-- I need that place to be here, Bobby. I can get better here. My mother is here, she... she'll help me. I need you both in my life, please understand that."

 

[saturnia pavonia]

"Ill refund the tickets tomorrow," he replied quietly, his eyes now drifting to the field where cows casually grazed, their moos occasionally interrupting them whilst relaxing in the warm, late summer sun. Growing quiet for a moment, he did hand over the extra beer with that same smile despite his misty eyes, both from disappointment in himself and the realization he hadn't needed to strain himself as much as he did over the years for nothing. Did it piss him off? Incredibly so, but he didn't want to seem like an asshole, not when he finally had his boyfriend back.

"Well, what do you want the money to go towards, then?" He suggested after a pause. "I... got a lot. I mean, I'm no millionaire but I have enough to buy our own house at this point - probably two, even. I saved enough for a home in California and lord knows those places are pricey. We... We can use that money for whatever you want, George. I don't want to let it rot under my bed, it would just be a waste." He then did let his smile grow just a tad, his cheeks growing light pink.

"You're lucky you're so sweet, you know that? You know I'm putty in your hands when you say cheesy things like that. I don't want you to think I'm upset, okay? I want what's best for you and if... if what's best for you is staying here, that's fine. I mean, if you couldn't get rid of me for five years now, you ain't getting rid of me any time soon."

 

[potassiumboron]

"I don't need the money; keep it for yourself, you earned it, Bobby. And... And who knows? Maybe I'll be okay in a month and we can go then? I just know that I'm not ready right now - isn't it best to be honest?" He murmured as he took a small sip from the beer, his own eyes straying back over the fields. He remembered spending most of his childhood out in them, not working with the crops but simply sat trying to sketch the animals in the tattered old notepad he had kept beneath his mattress. In reality, that was all he wanted to do for the next few months; take a seat in the field and get back to reading or sketching again, something that didn't take too much thought or sap too much energy from him.

"...It can't have been that bad here without me. You had my parents at least. Your father might not be that great but my parents love you. You're always free to come over and spend time with us, you know that. It... isn't that bad living here, Bobby. It's better than California, I... I'm sure it is. We don't appreciate how nice our lives are here. We don't need to move; we have everything we need already. And-- And if we've managed to hide our feelings for this long, I'm sure we can hide them for the next few decades too."

 

[saturnia pavonia]

"I don't want to hide anymore," he whispered, biting his lip. "I don't want to tiptoe around everything. I want to be able to kiss you and hold your hand without being mocked or threatened. I want to be able to share a home, o-or even just some sort of space to be able to relax and listen to our stories. I want to kiss you as much as I want to - god, you don't know how much I want to kiss you. I just want to hold onto you and make sure you don't leave but we can't do that here. Your parents are lovely and they definitely helped me during all of this but even they would be horrified. I love you and I don't want to be afraid to love you," he insisted before sipping his own beer gingerly, having never been one to drink.

"I have nothing to spend it on, don't be ridiculous. Please just let me do something, George. I just - I want to make you happy, it's what you deserve. I got no reason for this money and like hell am I letting my parents get it. You know that your parents would refuse me offering them the money. Even if it means I have to roll myself into town to just - just get you something to eat, I'll do it for you."

 

[potassiumboron]

"I just told you, I don't need anything," he emphasised with his voice now raising in annoyance, the bottle in his hand being clenched tightly, if the prominence of his knuckles was anything to go by. Getting angry at someone he cared about so deeply wasn't something he ever wanted to do, but his stress levels were notoriously high after the war - it really didn't take much to cause him to snap at those who were only trying to help him.

"Stop going on about it, I told you I... I'm not going to be leaving here. Do you want me to waste your money on w-worthless shit, Bobby? You worked hard for it, spend it on something good. Stop pressurising me," he grimaced, his foot tapping nervously against the ground. "Can we go back inside? I'm tired, I... just want some sleep."

 

[saturnia pavonia]

"I'm not pressuring you!" He countered, albeit quieter than the other and in a squeak. He unlocked his wheelchair, starting to carefully wheel himself back towards the door. He hesitated, though. "I'm just trying to... to make you excited to be back, o-or something. I - to be honest, I don't know what I'm doing b-but I'm... I'm trying. I'm trying to do something b-but I - I'm sorry. I'm... I dunno, there's a lot of emotions going on," he decided before glancing over at George.

"We should talk when this party is over, just you and me properly. "You should take a nap, yeah. I'm sure everything is exhausted. Do you want me to put your flowers in your room? I want to make it look nice and proper. Bright, yeah?"

 

[potassiumboron]

"What else do we have to talk about, Bobby? We've talked about everything, there's nothing else to discuss. I'm not talking about the war. I've explained how I lost my arm, everything else that happened to me is a blur, so let's leave that. I told you I'm not leaving here, so that conversation is over and done with. What else is there to discuss?" He questioned glumly as he fiddled in his pockets for a cigarette and his lighter, only to come to the realisation that he couldn't exactly light the cigarette himself. He had lived without his arm for a year now so he ought to be used to it by now, but little things like this only cemented his disability for him. Sometimes he forgot he had lost an arm, swearing to himself that he could still feel it hanging at his side. Only when he was faced with a situation that required the use of both hands did he recognise he had lost one of them.

"...I-I... the flowers. That'd be nice. They're beautiful. You know I like sunflowers," he nodded slowly, refusing to move from his spot as he calmly set the lighter down. He could ask for help, of course, but that only made him feel weak. He had always asked Bobby for help, whether it was with homework at school or to defend him against some stupid kids, so he really shouldn't feel bad about asking now he really needed it. Except, he couldn't. He was some hero soldier who had bravely fought for the country, and so he felt pathetic not even being able to light a cigarette himself.

"Go on in, I'll be right along soon. I just... I want to take a moment to myself, I... I need some fresh air; I need to think."

 

[saturnia pavonia]

He wanted to storm off in the anger that was stewing, maybe go to punch a trash can to get out of his anger. He stopped, though, once noticing George's struggle. He was well aware of the feeling of uselessness and distinctly remembered his lover pushing him along the street, especially when he had first been diagnosed. He remembered George insisting kind words to contrast the bullies who taunted him, repeating the familiar words of his father on how weak he was and how he couldn't even walk right.

He rolled over once again and, without a word, he lit the cigarette for the other. He knew that no one else would understand how crippling the feeling of that uselessness better than himself so he had no problem making George just as comfortable as he, him when Bobby was younger.

"It's a bad habit," he commented in a whisper as he lit the cigarette, handing it over and neatly putting it between George's lips. "Listen, it'll be fine. I... know you don't want to hear this but I can assure you that things will get better. Remember how awful it was when I couldn't walk anymore? You helped me out the whole time until I got sort of used to it. I'll help you."

 

[potassiumboron]

"...Of course I remember. Don't you think I told myself that you had gone through something bad too? It doesn't mean I'm suddenly okay, I-- no, no, I'm fine. I'm not whining about this, I'm okay. Nothing wrong with me. It'll just take some getting used to and then... it'll be fine. I'm sure people won't make fun of me for it, right? Not if they realise I lost it at war, people... they seem really proud of me, so I'm sure it'll be alright," he nodded as collectively as he could, the clear relaxation the cigarette brought him evident by a now calm smile on his face and the loss of tension in his body.

"I know it's a bad habit. I know that. It just helped a lot when I was out there," he shrugged, blowing the smoke out with a tired grimace. "Look, I'm fine, I really am. We could... we could head out next week, to California. Just let me have a week here with my Mom, alright? After that, I'm all yours, I promise. No point turning my back on our dreams, is there? Besides, the sunshine and the sea air might do me some good."