August 1859

I woke up with my ear pressed against Thomas's chest. I could hear his heartbeat beating. I could hear his steady breaths. His smell of smoke and rain comforted me. We were two men, two men with their arms around each other. It was unorthodox, but I couldn't help but give in. Oh, of course, I couldn’t help myself. He was beautiful. He was beautiful and smart and loving and strong and... and everything.

Thomas began to stir under my fingertips that were lightly resting atop his arm.

"Good morning, Angel," he rasped out.

I didn't reply. I just laid against his chest, comforting myself from the horrors of the world, the impending war, and everything else—everything bad that could come of this relationship. I just listened to his breaths.

"Are you alright?"

I still didn't answer. I just laid, tracing circles on his chest with my fingertips idly, thinking I could draw my way out of the troubles in life. I wouldn't need anything else, just these imaginary circles on his chest. I just need those shapes on his chest. That's all I want. That's all I need still. I just want those little circles back. I draw them on myself sometimes still, wondering if that was how it felt. I do it to remind myself that he could feel. I do it so that I don’t forget that he was human.

"Angel, tell me what's the matter," Tom said sitting up, making roll back onto the bed.

I looked at Tom. His eyes were filled with worry and concern, but I guess it was time to tell him.

I stared down at my hands as I began to twist my fingers together at my waist nervously. "I'm going to have to leave New York soon enough, and when I do, you can't come with me."

Thomas looked a little shocked at first. Then, he began to laugh.

Why the fuck is he laughing?

"What?" I asked confused. "What are you laughing about?"

I turned over to look at him better as he laughed through his perfect smile. Tom laughed for a bit, and when he finally settled down, he had to wipe the tears from his eyes.

"I thought you were going to tell me someone had died or that you were leaving me. I mean, you will but not in the same sense. And who is to say that I can't go with you? Hm?" Thomas explained with a coy smile.

"I said you can't. I have personal neighbors who would never miss the hint about us. I also live with my younger sister. Surely you can't be saying that we could be together under the same roof as a young woman," I said with disappointment in my voice.

To have a sexual relationship with a man is one thing, but to have that relationship in the presence of others (and a lady at that)? It's already a disgrace in and of itself. I needn’t add more shame to the situation.

"I see your point, but still...”

We were silent for a while—a long painful while.

"I won't be leaving until a few months, maybe even years,” I added.

I could practically feel the relief washing off of Tom, but I know that he still wasn’t looking ahead to the future. He was still in disbelief of the inevitable.

"I'm just glad you didn't say you didn't want to see me any longer. You nearly gave me a heart attack. I can’t imagine living without you. I don't want to imagine a life when you aren't a part of it," he responded light-heartedly with a smile as if we aren't talking about me leaving.

I took the hint that he didn't want to talk about that anymore and sighed as I hoisted myself onto my feet and off the bed, feeling pain shoot through my lower back.

"Damn, Thomas," I complained, rubbing the small of my back, "couldn't you have taken it a bit easier?"

"You were saying something else earlier. It's your fault, you know," he replied like the snippy ass he was.

I rolled my eyes and chuckled as I stood up from the bedside to get dressed. I found my clothes on the floor and started to put them on. I stopped though when I felt arms snake around my waist.

“Can I walk you home?” he asked sweetly.

I leaned back into his embrace and smiled, feeling his warmth comforting me. “Sure, just get your clothes on first. Your body belongs to only me now.”

I felt his grinning lips touch my neck with a kiss. I reached up and pushed my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer into me. He squeezed my waist and pressed his hips into mine. I immediately realized what he was trying to do and brought my hands back down to my sides.

“Go get dressed, Tom. I have to go home. I’m not going to have sex again right now,” I chided.

He sighed, washing hot breath against my skin, before slinking away with a pout. I heard him mumble something about liking it better when I was there, and a flattered blush filled my cheeks.

After I finished putting on my clothes, I walked from the bedroom into the main sitting room, taking the time to get settled on one of the chairs as I waited on Tom. I took a look around the room, admiring the style. It was very simplistic and classy, yet it was still sort of rich. There was a couch, two chairs, and a rug. A small table sat between the couch and the chair I was sitting on, and across from me was a bookshelf filled entirely with books, but as I said before, everything had a rich air to it. While it was a plain rug, it was easily seen to be made of a quite lush fabric. It was probably imported, which is an expense all by itself. The books were quite classic, nothing exotic, yet they were bound with a golden shine. Even this simple chair with no design or lace was divine and, oh, so comfortable. I'm going to have to fuck him on the chair, aren't I?

Eventually, Thomas stepped into the room in a red waistcoat, black trousers, and his usual brown overcoat. I have to say, he looked better without any of it on, but he was handsome anyway. He was always handsome. I can’t seem to say that enough. I can’t seem to stress it enough. How beautiful he was. Not just in looks either. He was a beautiful person, blossoming with emotion. And I loved him, but I just hadn’t told him yet.

"Are you ready to leave, or do you want to just keep staring?” he joked.

I nodded and stood up off of the couch. He moved to the door and opened it, gesturing for me to walk through first. I walked over and grabbed my coat from his coat rack before walking through the front door. I muttered a small thanks as I passed him, and he muttered a response back.

I walked ahead through the small dimly-lit hallway while he locked the door behind us. When he caught back up to me, he also caught my hand in his. I blushed and attempted to pull my hand away, but Tom only gripped it tighter and leaned into my ear.

"It looks normal to everyone else,” he whispered.

Despite my nervousness, I did in fact stop struggling. I trusted him, and I knew he was probably correct. Things like that were normal. Sleeping in the same bed as another man was normal; kisses and hugs and holding hands was normal. But it still scared me half to death.

To everyone else, we looked like two average male friends, not male friends.

I squeezed his hand and walked outside with him. As we strolled down the street, what he said was found to be true. No one gave us a second glance or a glare, but knowing inside what you are actually doing is one of the most terrifying things ever. If anyone so much as glances at you, the first thing you think is 'they know', but they don't. No one knows but you. And while seeing those eyes shakes you to your very soul, you have to learn to ignore them because they aren't real. And on top of that, as long as you act confident about it, people won’t notice it. Walk with a purpose, and suddenly, you have one. No one suspects a thing.

Plus, you'll probably never see them again anyway; cities are quite large.