———————

Thomas's POV

———————

I feel a weight shift on the bed before it disappeared along with my warmth. I blink my eyes open and see John leaving the bedroom. I sigh audibly, thinking back to last night: the way John touched me, the way I touched him, the sounds he made, and the passion of it all. As I drift off into blissful thought, I feel myself getting aroused again.

"Oh, no you fucking don't, dick," I looking down at myself. Then, I realize what I’ve just done, and I laugh to myself in embarrassment. If John—no, anybody—saw me right now, talking to my cock, I’m sure I’d be locked up. I laugh again to myself and roll over in bed to bury my face into John’s pillow.

I try thinking about John's mother to... dis-arouse myself? Is that a word? Well anyway, as heartless and fucked up as that sounds, it'd do the job. I sit up on my knees and rub my eyes, taking a moment to yawn and stretch. I let my arms fall back to my sides and sit there for a minute, trying to regain my logic and senses. Then I finally get up and cross the room, stopping in the doorway for a minute to listen to the sounds of John rummaging around in the kitchen. Warm smells and delicious aromas start to drift my way.

I do not deserve that man—that beautifully perfect man, John.

John.

Joh-n.

I push off the doorway and venture into the kitchen to see that John is there at the stovetop, wearing my shirt and only my shirt. On the other hand, I am wearing absolutely nothing at all, so I can hardly talk about his nudity.

I can hear him humming a soft nursery rhyme as I approach him. How adorable, I think as I wrap my arms around his waist from behind. He jumps in surprise when my fingers first touch his exposed skin, and I chuckle, placing a kiss on his warm neck.

"Hello, Love,” I whisper while peering over his shoulder and see... potatoes and bacon! Oh, fuck yes.

"Good-morning, Tom. How did you sleep?” he asks, not looking up from the breakfast he's cooking.

I ignore John’s question and carefully reach into the pan and quickly grab a piece of potato.

“Thomas!” John yells with laughter in his voice, turning his neck to try and look at me.

I lift my eyebrows quickly at him and grin before popping the piece into my mouth, not expecting it to be all too hot, but I was wrong. I make the hashafashasha sound as I roll it around in my mouth to keep it from burning my tongue off. John just laughs at my pain like an asshole. How cold! (Unlike these potatoes...)

I swallow what I stole and squeeze John into me as I hug him, tucking my head into his neck. I take a deep breath in and worship his scent.

"So how did you sleep?" John repeats.

I pull him somehow closer into me before I sigh and let his waist go. I walk over to the kitchen counter across the way, turning to lean against it. "Well, well," I answer his question.

The second 'well' was said in a more confirmative way as if I had to convince John that it was in fact "well". Of course, I was lying. I slept fitfully, but I'm just not going to tell John that. I had nightmares all night of the terrors of my past and of leaving John—of John leaving me. What if he no longer loved me? What if he found a maiden? What if he found another? Surely not! He said so himself that he could only love me. Right? He would only love me. Yes, of course. I worry about nothing—nothing at all. Right?

I hear John start humming again. I look up to see him taking out cutlery and dishes. Then suddenly, he raises his head again. This time, he turns to look at me with his beautiful steel-blue eyes. They are the color of the gray ships on the ocean. Beautiful. Then he smiles when he sees me admiring him. His beautiful smile.

I love him so much. I love him. I always think I couldn’t possibly love him any more, but I surprise myself every day. He’s so beautiful.

"What was it that you needed to tell me, Tom? You know, yesterday before we...” he trails off as he turns back around and scrapes the potatoes and bacon bits into two separate bowls.

I smile widely at the reminder.

Boy, oh boy, what a surprise. I finally figured out a way that John would have to stay. He would just have to. To not would put shame on me and his love for me. It would be only courtesy if stayed. He’d have to … out of respect!

"I joined the army!" I chirped excitedly.

He stops scraping breakfast out of the pan and falls completely silent. I watch as he puts the skillet down carefully and turns around slowly. "What do you mean?"

"I joined the army. There's obviously going to be a war soon, and so I thought if I could serve in the war, you could be my maiden waiting for me. Let me send letters to you while you wait anxiously in the post-office. You could stay here for me a-an-and support … me..."

"What did you do?” he yells a lot less playfully, making me flinch at his volume.

I watch as he throws his hands up in the air momentarily and turns back to the counter in disbelief. Then he twists around to look at me again, an expression of pain in his eyes.

"Now, what do you mean?" I ask, puzzled.

He rushes over to me, and I stand up straight, taking my weight off the countertop. John takes my hands in his.

"This … war," he spits out, looking down at our hands, “if it happens, you will be fighting against me. I live in the South, Tom. Tom, oh God. Tom, what have you done?"

He drops my hands and paces around the room. He brings his hand up to his jaw, rubbing it as he thinks.

"Well, I thought that maybe you would stay for me."

"Thomas, that is not how this works,” he sighs, looking up to me and dropping his hand to his side. "You have no idea how badly I want to stay; I do, but I can't."

He walks over to me again and puts his hands on my shoulders as a symbol of dominance. He keeps going back and forth with this, and it’s making me anxious. He keeps getting angry then treating me tenderly then getting angry again. It’s very confusing, but it’s definitely not a good sign.

"I can't stay,” he says another time, gliding his fingers up to the back of my neck. I almost feel like pushing them away. They’re making me nervous. If his anger comes back, I think he might just strangle me.

He leans in and brushes his lips against mine delicately, making me relax significantly. I really want to push forward a little bit to kiss him, but I don’t really know if I have a right to at the moment.

"I didn't really think this through, did I?" I falter with a hesitant chuckle.

"God, Tom. You're so fucking stupid,” he hisses, and he leans in farther and kisses me as if he was reading my mind.

Then, he pulls back with a sorrowful look filling his eyes, and I can’t stand it, so I look away.

He continues, "I can't stay. Nothing will change that. All that has changed is the fact that now you will be risking your life for a cause working against me."

I catch eye contact with him again, and we stare at each other for a few seconds. Then John slides his hands down to my chest and looks at them.

"I need to go for a walk,” he mumbles.

"Shall I accompany you?"

"No, you shan't."

He hesitates for half of a second before locking eyes with me and flashing me a forced grimace. I don't try to follow when he walks away to our room to get dressed; I just collapse my weight back against the counter for support as the tension leaves my body.

Fuck, I fucked up. I fucked up in the single most patriotic way. Who knew that doing something so prideful would be so wrong in a loved one's eyes? Wait, no. That makes much more sense when I say it like that. Fuck.

Fuck.

Yeah, I definitely fucked up.

———————

———————

My head was spinning as I put on some pants. I didn't even notice Tom as I walked out of the apartment. After reaching the street, I just started walking. Was he just desperate for me to stay? Did Tom really think that'd work?

There was and still is no way to voice how I was feeling. There were feelings of disappointment, longing, anger, guilt, and love, but above all, pain—pain that I was going to lose him.

I couldn't lose my Tom. My Thomas. Oh, my dear Thomas, my love and life.

My Thomas...