The first weeks of September passed with no sight of Samuel. Their timetables no longer matched, and Edward no longer waited by the school gates, preferring the comfort of home or the flower store.

When they met again, the ground crunched beneath his feet and brown leaves stuck to his boots. A cold, miserable morning with the sky dark and the ground wet. His mother insisted on knitting a thick scarf that stopped the wind from hitting his neck. The material irritated him, tickling at his skin — but it brought a great amount of warmth. With a proud smile, his mother looped the scarf around his neck, hiding his mouth. He would not take it off.

The day of their meeting, the walk to university felt never-ending. It dragged most days as he passed store owners opening up and familiar faces. Each step he took was pushed back by gusts of wind; his eyes teared up. The heat from his lecture hall excited him. Determination rushed through, and he stepped over cobblestone roads, ignoring the bumps pressing into his feet.

In the near distance, he could see it. University was in sight — but so was he.

Samuel leaned against a wall with his head tilted up facing the sky, hands tucked under his armpits. It looked like he was waiting for something or someone. Edward lifted his scarf and put his head down, hurriedly walking by to avoid an uncomfortable conversation.

"Ed!" A cheerful voice called out, startling him. He froze. From the corner of his eye, he could see Samuel approaching. His hair was longer and blonde pieces poked out from his hat. Edward refused to look up. "It's been far too long. Where have you been?"

Edward shrugged in response, leaving a prolonged moment of silence. Though he'd been desperate to speak to Samuel, he was left with nothing to say. The strange way of thinking still caused an ache in his stomach — he needed to give these new feelings a name.

A hand was on his arm giving him a tight squeeze. Those thoughts of that night came back. Samuel's bare hand against his, the heat it gave off. He was itching to lock their fingers together.

His ears burned.

A soft laugh escaped Samuel's lips and he cupped Edward's ears with his hands, stroking his red lobes. "My word! You must be freezing!"

Edward worried — he could feel the heated sensation rushing through him, his eyes fluttering shut. Could Samuel feel it too? It was impossible to calm himself; he felt he would melt under Samuel's touch. Someone he knew very little of, yet missed so terribly. Slowly, he lifted his head...

...to reveal a bruised eye.

"God, Ed. What happened?"

He had messed up.

Harold bounded over before he could stutter an excuse. A bright scarf flew with the wind, his cheeks a matching shade of red. Edward had never been so grateful to see him.

"Baker!" Harold threw an arm around him pulling him close. Compared to Samuel, he was a boisterous lad fond of rough affection and loud words. They'd met often during the summer and sometimes played rugby in the park. Harold was very good at tackling.

"All well, lad? Got a bit nasty down at the pub."

"What's that?" Samuel chirped in and Edward felt himself shrink. 

An incident between Andrew and his uncle had happened at the pub — Edward had gotten caught between them. It was unfortunate that Harold had been in the pub that night drinking with fellas from his accommodation. He'd hoped Harold wouldn't tell anyone.

Especially Samuel.

Edward shook his head and gave Samuel a smile. "Nothing. All resolved now," he murmured, and his eyes lingered on Samuel's expression. It looked like worry... but Edward didn't want him to know the whole story. He'd lied to other people, and Samuel was no exception.

But he continued to press. "This is something, Edward. Who did this?" With a gentle touch, Samuel stroked the darkening under-eye. The cold from his fingers felt nice, cooling the pain he'd ignored for days. Edward deflected, mumbling that it was an accident. God, this touch — he didn't want it to stop.

And then it did. The hand moved away abruptly, catching Edward's eye. He rubbed at the irritated area, opening his eyes to see Lisa nuzzled up to Samuel. Her arms were wrapped around his and their fingers locked together.

Samuel didn't lift his head.

"God, Edward, we should hurry along," Harold exclaimed. He placed a hand on Edward's back, ushering him forward. "Those two were loved up all night."

The smirk on his friend's face implied one thing. Edward would've thought it impossible, yet Lisa's nervous giggles confirmed everything. They spent a night together — and he wasn't sure why he was so bothered.

So he shrugged the feelings away. He would confront his thoughts another day. Right now, he wanted to escape; the lecture hall was calling his name.

"Wait a moment, Baker." Harold trailed after him, but Edward's mind was elsewhere. That chatter in a hall, he was desperate to hear it. "I owe you an apology. I was a prat."

Both young men paused. On that night he saw George for the first time in months, living a happy life with Florence and Judith. Friends and family surrounded them. He'd woken the next morning with tear stains on his face.

"Put my foot right in it. I didn't know about your brother." Edward shook his head and gave Harold a smile. He knew Harold hadn't intended to upset him, yet he continued, "No, I was insensitive. I'm sorry." 

The trees around them rustled. A group of schoolboys rushed by on their bikes, shouting to each other. This time of year Edward and his brothers would seek out horse chestnuts to play conkers. George climbed to the top of trees to find the largest ones. He'd win against everyone.

Edward let out a fond laugh, grateful for the apology. His eyes wandered until they met his — Samuel's eyes.

"Lord, I'd have been a wreck if we'd lost our Albert."

The eyes staring back at him were set in position and never moving, just locked on him. Though Lisa was bubbly and chatty by his side, Samuel didn't falter. He continued to watch, eyes neither kind nor unkind. Everything was unreadable. Not happy, nor angry. 

Edward was sure Samuel would break first. Yet he continued to stare. The unfamiliar longing Edward felt, the desire to touch the untouchable. There was a twist in his stomach and he looked away from the gaze. Samuel wouldn't understand these unusual feelings...

...

When George introduced Florence to the family, Edward was envious. Surrounded by men most of his life, he had felt his own heart flutter for the first time. She was truly flawless, a perfect match for George. Edward dreamed of marrying a young lady just as kind — someone who would laugh at his jokes and love him unconditionally through all of life's difficulties. A companion who would be by his side, listening and comforting whenever needed.

For many years, that was his intention — something now swayed by thoughts of a young man. 

It wasn't difficult to admit that Samuel was attractive but that alone didn't mean anything. Both his brothers had remarked on handsome men in the streets, admiring their fitted suits and freshly polished shoes, wishing they could present themselves like that. This felt no different. He wasn't jealous of Samuel, but he would give anything to wear an expensive overcoat and have a dashing face for just a day.

That was it. He wanted those handsome looks. He couldn't be a homosexual.

The conclusion calmed his mind.

A knock interrupted.

Edward leapt from the sofa. His mother was with Florence; his father drinking with Andrew. It was an unusual time for visitors but guests were never unexpected. The milk boy likely needed payment.

As he opened the door, he caught a whiff of a strong smell. A familiar cologne — Samuel's scent.

"Good evening." There was a slight smile on his face as he spoke. Gloved hands were stuffed into his pockets, and a scarf looped many times around his neck. A woollen hat hid all but a few strands of his blonde hair. Though his cheeks were bright red from the cold, he was still impossibly charming. "Mind if I come in? It is bitter out here."

Startled, Edward stumbled back then gestured for Samuel to come inside. His boots left watermarks on the wooden floor and he hovered before a chair, looking around the kitchen. The smell of yesterday's stew lingered. Unwashed pots were scattered on the counters and the table was still dusted in flour. His mother had asked him to tidy the house and God, he should have listened.

He felt so very small.