Page 83 of The Words Beneath the Noise

“You went cottaging.”

“I didn't do anything. There was a man, and then a constable came, and I left. That's all. Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Christ, Art. Do you understand what could have happened? If that constable had been looking for a reason to arrest you? If he'd decided you were suspicious? Everything you've worked for, everything we've?—”

“I know.” My voice cracked. “Don't you think I know? I stood in an alley afterward and shook for ten minutes. I'm not stupid, Tom. I'm just...”

“Just what?”

“Lonely.” The word came out broken. “I'm lonely, and you were gone, and I didn't know if you were coming back, and I thought maybe if I could just... if someone could just...”

I couldn't finish. Couldn't explain the desperate, aching need that had driven me down those stairs. The need to be touched by someone who wouldn't recoil. The need to matter to someone, even for a moment.

Tom crossed the distance between us. His hands came up to cup my face, tilting it toward him, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“I came back,” he said quietly. “I'm here. I'm always going to come back.”

“You don't know that. You can't promise that.”

“No. I can't.” His thumbs traced my cheekbones, gentle despite the anger still visible in the set of his jaw. “But I can promise to try. And I can promise that whatever you're looking for in places like that, whatever connection you need... I want to be that for you. If you'll let me.”

My breath caught. “Tom?—”

“I spent three days with my family. Talked to my sister about things I've never talked about with anyone. Tried to figure out what I'm feeling and what it means and whether I'm brave enough to do something about it.” His voice dropped. “And the whole time, all I could think about was getting back to you. Making sure you were alright. Telling you...”

“Telling me what?”

He was close enough that I could feel his breath on my face. Could count the faint lines around his eyes, the silver just starting at his temples.

“That I'm done being careful.” His hands slid from my face to my shoulders, pulling me closer. “I'm done pretending I don't feel what I feel. I'm done watching you go off alone to dangerous places because you don't think I can give you what you need.”

“I don't need anything from you.” The lie tasted bitter.

“Yes, you do. And I need things from you too. Things I've never needed from anyone.” He leaned his forehead against mine. “I'm not good at this, Art. Don't know the words, don't know the rules. But I'm here. And I want to learn.”

We stood like that, breathing together, while the dawn light crept through my small window and the estate woke around us.

“You scared me,” he said finally. “Promise me you won't do that again. Won't go to places like that alone. Not when I can go with you.”

“Go with me?” I pulled back to look at him. “To a queer pub? To a cottage? Tom, if anyone saw you?—”

“Then they saw me.” His expression was stubborn, jaw set in that way I was beginning to recognise as immovable. “I'm not letting you face this alone. Not anymore.”

“You don't know what you're saying.”

“I know exactly what I'm saying.” He released me, stepped back, and something in his posture shifted. The soldier returning, all discipline and determination. “We're in this together now. Whatever that means, wherever it leads. You're not alone, Art. And neither am I.”

I wanted to argue. Wanted to list all the reasons this was foolish, dangerous, impossible. But standing in my cramped room with morning light turning his hair to gold, I couldn't find the words.

“Alright,” I said instead. “Together.”

He nodded. Once. Decisive.

“Good. Now get some sleep. You look like hell, and your shift starts in four hours.”

“Bossy.”

“Someone has to be.” But he was almost smiling. “I'll bring you tea before you have to report. The good stuff I traded Corporal Harris for.”