Damaged Love

"This is a slow day," he replied quietly, his brows knitting in concern. "... are you certain you want the fish? I can bring the waitress back if you'd like something else? I remember that one time my ma made us some fish fry and you almost got ill right then and there. Then I remembered that you almost getting sick made me almost get sick. Ugh, just remembering it makes me queasy," he teased lightly, his hand sneaking under the table to at least entangle their fingers.

"If this is too much, please tell me," he pleaded in a whisper, his eyes scanning George's face while still holding a smile. "We can get everything to go if you'd like and we can head back home, I... don't want to push you, okay? What sort of 'friend' would I be if I didnt wish the best for you?" He suggested quietly.
 
"...Taste buds change, Bobby. I might like fish now; no way of knowing without trying, and now seems as good a time as any to do that," he smiled weakly. The likelihood of his taste buds changing so dramatically so he liked something he had previously hated was very, very slim, but it was just easier than going through the hassle of changing his order - he didn't really need the attention he felt it would bring him. He was equally worried that the waitress would stop and ask him about war or claim how thankful the country was for his duty; he wanted to eat his food without anyone even talking to him, besides Bobby. Thus, avoiding as much interaction with the waitress was the best way for that to happen.

"I'll tell you, sure, but I'm fine right now. I'm okay. My headache is less severe and... I'm happy. You look gorgeous, so that's certainly helping take my mind off the noise outside," he praised as quietly as his voice would allow, briefly touching his hand to try and get some affectionate contact in, without it being too obvious to the other members of the public. "...Some hot food and some pie will go down a treat, I'm sure that'll help me feel better."
 
"You're such a charmer, you know that?" He cooed in response, latching on to the compliments. George was the only one who ever seemed to give Bobby any love and with that included the compliments. George could read off some cheesy Valentine's Day card and it would make Bobby swoon. It was proof of just how much he loved the other and while he knew the mental flaws of the other, George could kill a man in front of him for no reason and he would still pick George's side. Taking his hand, he gave it a comforting squeeze.

"Do I look appetizing?" He questioned with a tease, flexing his free arm with raised brows. They weren't nearly as tough as George but compared to before, Bobby had certainly gotten tougher from the hard work. "I'm no model and I'm certainly not like you but I think I look like a pretty tasty snack," he teasingly bragged before snorting.
 
"Unless you want me to push everything off this table and swoop you up into my arm, I really think you need to be less... flirtatious. I'm just a man, Bobby. I can't resist temptation for long, especially not when you look as good as you do," replied George with a surprisingly playful smile on his face, indicative of the fact that, however tortured he was inwardly, there was still glimpses of his old self to be seen - they just weren't as apparent as they used to be. The flirtation didn't make him uncomfortable, nor did it embarrass him too much; he found it relaxing if nothing else, it being the dose of normalcy he needed in a time where everything felt unstable.

Similarly, focusing on his boyfriend's more defined frame was helpful to block out the noise and the busyness just outside the window... and admittedly, he took great delight in Bobby's confident flaunting.

"You could be a model," he remarked absently with entire seriousness. "I don't think your disability ought to play a part; it doesn't make you any less beautiful."
 
"As, shucks, George! You're making me feel like a proper dame," he replied with flustered giggles and the addition of his trademark snorts. He felt like a schoolboy again, how the simple actions of kindness by George would make his heartbeat quicken. The same was the case now that he was an adult but he wasn't too embarrassed by it, not when he focused on George.

"Nah, no way. Even if I did become some fancy model, I don't think I could handle it. I'd be camera shy," he insisted as he entangled their fingers under the table, his eyes sparkling at the closeness. He had been waiting for this for four years and to find out that their love hadn't dwindled only made him more excited. "Of course, I would want you to be there with me. I mean, I want you to be my side in general but I would probably pass out without you there, George. Not to mention it would be some motivation, hm?"
 
"Oh, I'd be there, right by your side. As if I'd let you do that without my support," he smiled, happily entangling their fingers together. He knew it was all theoretical - as sad as it was, his boyfriend stood no chance of ever making it in that career just because of the fact he relied often on a wheelchair. Similarly, George knew his own disability would prevent him ever entering a career based on appearance. He wouldn't want to anyway, the attention being something he wanted to avoid, but it angered him nonetheless. To him, Bobby was beautiful, and it seemed ludicrous that he would be overlooked and disregarded.

"...When are we going to California?" He asked quietly, breaking their hands when the food made an appearance. "I do want to go, Bobby. We should make a plan, work towards a date."
 
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Grinning at the sight of the food, he thanked the waitress and cut into the hot fish, eating it with a hum of content. He slid over the potato salad towards George just in case his claims of suddenly having a love for fish were false, as he knew they were. Taking a sip of the shake as well, he licked the cream from his lips, unable to really stop smiling. He knew he was enjoying everything far more than the other most likely but he wanted to revel in it all.

"I can get a plane ticket whenever you're ready," Bobby explained as he hungrily took another bite of the fish. "We can leave in a month, we can leave tomorrow. I just want us to leave sooner rather than later. We can start our life over. Do you know how exciting it'll be to be able to just recreate our identities? No more neighbors that constantly whisper, no more girls oggling you up. We could go to the ocean, George. I always wanted to see the ocean, especially with you. It would be romantic," he whispered.
 
"There are girls in California too, Bobby. Not that they'll ogle at me; nobody ogles at me now," he pointed out obliviously, passing over the fish once realising pretending was useless, unless he wanted to make himself vomit which, as the fish sat on the plate in front of him, was becoming more likely by the second. Instead, he settled on the potato salad with a thankful smile, at least content in eating that.

"A, uh... a month sounds good," he admitted, deciding that that was enough time for him to spend time with his family before making the decision to leave; he felt they would understand that after a month or so. "I, uh... yeah. I'll be good in a month, promise."
 
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"I don't think that's true," he admitted as he watched the other, happily taking bites of the fried fish. "That being said, I know that we can work this out together. I know you don't feel like your old self but I'm going to try my damnedest to make you happy, whether you want me to or not. You're stuck with me, George," he teased with a wide smile.

"As for ogling, I could look at you all day," he purred with a smile. "I mean, why wouldn't I? I'll be honored to have cute girls fawn over you before I punch 'em in the face. I can't blame them but I certainly don't have to be happy about it just as I'm sure you'd feel the same if the roles were reversed."
 
"You're conveniently forgetting the years I stood by watching girls fawn over you, aren't you? How they'd be so thankful to you punching the skeevy guys that hounded 'em. I've had to deal with girls fawning over you for years, Bobby. It's maddening how you either don't remember that or won't admit to it. I can't blame them, of course. You're impossibly dreamy," he smiled in return, much happier focusing on that conversation than referencing and discussing his mental health. He didn't want anyone to know the state he was in, especially not Bobby.

"Don't go punching anyone for looking at me; people are going to stare, Bobby - either because of my medal or my missing arm. It won't be because of my looks; I think you're biased when it comes to how handsome I may or may not be."
 
"I think my bias is wholeheartedly warrented," he countered, offering a huff in feigned annoyance as he paused to rest his head in his hand, doing something as simple as eating to quickly tiring him out. It proved just how hard he had worked, having spent hours in the field while on the verge of passing out as long as he made the extra cash they needed. It also proved himself that he could do what he needed to but he granted himself some time to relax now that he and George were (essentially) alone.

"Idont want anyone stealing my man," he teased with a chuckle, his free hand reaching to take a sip of his shake. "I imagine it'll be even more difficult in California, yeah? We'll be fresh faces; two hotshots on the beach and whatnot. God, that'll be exciting, yeah? We could still raise chickens if you'd like, to keep some of that with us. Cows'll be a bit more difficult, but... we could manage it, right? It'll be fun to plan. I'm excited to decorate, to be honest!"
 
George would be lying if he said every day since the war ended had been a struggle for him. Some days were genuinely quite good; good enough for him to fool himself into believing that he was on the path to recovery. Then came the days when he felt like he was underwater and couldn't reach the surface; hell, there were days when he didn't even want to try and break free of that drowning feeling. It was at least a feeling, and much better than the numbness he sometimes found himself experiencing; that was terrifying and not an experience he ever wanted to live through, though he knew there would be days like that. This day wasn't one of them; he was at least feeling something. However, it was also not a good day for him, a realisation he stumbled upon when the other's eager plans only succeeded in panicking him. He couldn't make plans, not when he didn't even know what person he would be tomorrow.

"S-Stop, Bobby. I... can't think that far ahead, I can't plan, I... let me think," he laughed weakly as the panic slowly set in, his headaches starting up which he knew would only linger and throb for hours; they were often omnipresent, only varying in intensity. Until that point, they had been barely noticeable; now they were agonising enough to cause him to grip his head and tap his foot in an effort to distract himself. He was aware that he was causing attention to himself, his fists clenching handfuls of his hair, but it was better than having a complete freak-out.

"I... I want to go home," he mumbled under his breath, his voice strained with emotion-- though mostly with pain. "...Eat your food first, then let's g-go home. I... need sleep. Beer and sleep."
 
"I can get it to go," he ensured, setting his silverware down firmly before resting a hand on the other's knee from under the table, his cheeks growing red in panic and fear - not so much from the whole sight but moreso from the fact that he felt completely useless. Whistling over the waitress, he rummaged through his pocket to pull out the appropriate cash with an awkward smile, thankful for not needing to say anything as the woman hurried off for some boxes.

"Take a deep breath, everything is fine..." Bobby insisted, his voice soft and slow. "You're going to be okay. Do you want to go to the washroom, would that help a little? Once she comes back we can head out immediately, no need for clothes or none of that nonsense," he continued with a soft smile, though his eyes betrayed his false sense of calm as they scanned George's face.
 
"I... I don't know, just let me think. I know you're trying to help, I just-- need to think," he insisted weakly, carefully setting his hand back onto the table and locking his eyes on the ceiling fans above him, the motion and the faint whirring sound somehow being therapeutic for him; it was some consistency that he could use to focus on and, thus, refocus himself.

"I want to listen to music with a beer out on the porch, Bobby. I think that's what I want right now," he admitted after a long few minutes, his eyes finally glancing back over at his boyfriend, at least regaining some calm in them, contrary to the panicked tears that had built up in them just moments prior. "With you. I want you to sit with me with the radio on and a beer or two, I think I just... need to be in that environment right now. I don't want to... be selfish and make this all about myself; gosh, have I ruined the day? I have, haven't I?"
 
"No, no, you haven't ruined the day," he reassured with a smile as he set the box of food on the table as he moved to get himself into his wheelchair, trying his best to hide the sudden and intense pain he felt whenever he got to his feet. He said nothing about it, the only sign of how hard it had been being the sigh of relief that followed once sitting in the chair, his hands then reaching for the boxes to rest on his lap.

"Led can come back tomorrow if you want, or next weekend. I'm just glad we were able to have some lunch together," he admitted with a smile, hiding his disappointment perfectly. He had hoped to go to the secondhand store, have George in some proper clothes that he felt comfortable in . He wanted things to feel a bit normal and he knew he was being selfish because of his disappointment, hence why he said nothing. Thanking the waitress, that of whom offeees an apologetic smile, he motioned the other to follow suit.

"I'm not in a beer mood but some nice iced tea sounds grand," he admitted, balancing the food as best he could. "I've been trying to cut back on the stuff, I've been getting headaches from it. Though a nice glass of iced tea on your back porch with some Rosemary Clooney playing, yeah?"
 
Despite the other's insistence that nothing had been spoiled, George could sense the disappointment. Much like how Bobby could see through his lies about how 'fine' he was, George could see through his, and it hardly made him feel any better when he took on the guilt that their nice day out had effectively been cut short because he had become overwhelmed. If he couldn't handle a lunch at a relatively sleepy diner in a small town, California was going to completely stress him out, though he clung to the hope that he could somehow improve over the month before their trip went ahead.

"Sounds lovely, yeah," he nodded, that at least being genuine as he carefully tucked his sleeve back into his pocket. "I-- we can go into town next week, Bobby-- for clothes. I can wear my father's clothes until then, they fit me better than my old clothes do, so... I can manage until then. I just think I rushed into this, I-- I'm not ready for this yet, if that wasn't obvious already, aha..."
 
"No, I rushed you into all of this. I should have realized that you didn't want to do this, I was just being selfish," he countered casually, smiling to local passers as they said hello in return. His reputation amongst their small town had gone up after how hard he had worked, many switching out his rough and defensive attitude for a hard worker and 'a son his father should be proud of', as the shoemaker described him. He took his time pulling himself, having grown tired quickly both emotionally and physically from just how many places they had gone and he realized it was selfish but he wanted nothing more than for George to push him.

"We got plenty of time, I'm not worried," Bobby continued as the sidewalks ended and were replaced by the dirt road that led to their farms. "I... need to take in consideration that not everything is about me."
 
George could take a hint, however subtle it might have been. In fact, pushing the other along at least made him feel useful; it was better than wandering at Bobby's side and watching him struggle anyway. He took the duty up with a smile, finding it a challenge to do it single-handedly but having that focus was beneficial for him. It kept his mind busy and, once he managed to push the wheelchair along the bumpy didirt road without an issue, he allowed himself to smile in triumph.

"...I need envelopes and stamps, maybe we could come back in a few days and shop then? I... maybe sending letters to some friends from the army might help me a little? I.. don't exactly have any friends around here. Everyone's saying hello to you; I bet they don't remember who I am. I was never... noticed that much in school, Bobby."
 
Once the other took it upon himself to push Bobby, he eased back in the wheelchair with a thankful smile up to his boyfriend, the two containers of food neatly resting in his arms. The whole activity, while necessary, made him bond with George even more in his eyes. It also felt nice to have his buff boyfriend pushing him, it just proving George's muscles.

"I think they're just so bewildered by how handsome you are," he countered teasingly before closing his eyes, his shoulders relaxing, deciding that the whole nap idea was probably a good one. "You've always been shy, there ain't nothin' wrong with that. You've always been a gentle giant in my eyes, even if you aren't very tall. You're tall to me, at least. Hm... oh! I guess that makes, to have made friends. I would love to meet 'em if I could, I'm sure you've made quite a few. You're super likable, George."
 
"...I only have three friends left, Bobby. The others were killed so-- so it'd be nice to get in contact with the ones that are still alive, I suppose. One of them saved my life more times than I can count, I... wasn't a very good soldier," he laughed under his breath, happy to make plans that he knew for certain wouldn't happen. He didn't need to feel panic about it because he really had no intention of ever contacting them, however much he had liked them. He had fought and lived alongside them for years; they had become his family during that time, but he couldn't be around them. Not when it would just remind him of war and how horrendous that time had been for him.

"Maybe one day, let's not worry about it. It was a silly suggestion, I... don't think it's wise. You're sociable, you make friends easily. People take to you, Bobby. I'll just wait for you to make friends in California and-- that'll be fine."
 
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