Deserter's Reason - mentions of Male/Male romance


And She Stands
It's close now, the close of our journey. The thing we've been fighting our long life together to reach. The End. So final, but somehow, not as frightening as I used to think. It's just another step in our road, now. Just that one more. A single step.

He hesitates, looks to me. Just watches. I wonder what he sees, cataracts in his once-clear eyes. An old woman whose skin hangs from her face in folds so soft, so pale? A loyal companion, one who has been by his side, held him during betrayal and defeat and never left? Perhaps the young woman I used to be, my lips red and cheeks ruddy, eyes just as clear as his of the past; just as alive?

He stares, I stare. All's quiet beyond our laboured breaths and the soft sound of my pulse, racing in my ears as it always has when his attention is focussed on me. That hasn't changed, not since the moment he first laid eyes on me.

The air is charged with some great promise as he leans down - not so far as he had to, once, now that his back is bent with age - and kisses me. It's the last time. I know that. He pulls back, his lips dry and cracked turn up at the corners, making folds within folds on his face. I know that smile, pasted on when he's afraid but trying to be brave on my account.

Tears sting my eyes. I return the smile, shakily. Why am I now finding it harder to breathe? Why can't we have longer? I want so much more! More time, more memories, more laughter and tears! I want to wake up to him and smile as he trips over his own feet and scream back when he yells. I want forever and always, to be by his side beyond time itself. I want... another day, another year, another thousand breaths, another life with him at my shoulder.

I-I'm not ready for the last step, the last smile or kiss or breath! I'm not ready for any of this! I want more than just one life can hold, more than what we've already had!

My breath catches in my chest as I think of all the time wasted, all the nights we slept instead of talking and loving and just watching each other. All the little moments we never shared, the silences we never talked through, the yelling matches and fights and cold shoulders and ignoring that could have been laughter and joy and memories instead. All of it, wasted time.

And now, at the last, he's content just to watch and smile. Doesn't he care? This is the last time we'll be together and he ... no. No, I know he cares. I know he's hurting as much as I behind that smile. He's just... braver than me. Better at fighting. Better at beating the odds, the pain.

I take his hand, frail bones and wasted flesh wrapped in papery skin, and squeeze. Let him know that I am with him, always. Beyond always.

We turn, as one - always as one - towards the next, last hurdle, and step. Hands tight, breaths caught, eyes watering, decision made. Our last choice is, as it has been since our first meeting, one made together.