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Button House stood still after the War was won, gathering thick countryside particles and fading from West Horsley's memories. It was unchanged from its abandoned state, lucky to have been spared from vandalism or squatters, but still cluttered with documents and material from the military intelligence research. No one had checked up on the place for months due to the deployment of most Officers to the front lines in the final weeks of the War. Those who had returned went home, wherever home was, if one was left.
On returning to the country, the Captain had found the keys to the estate he once commanded being shoved into his scarred hands; he was to keep himself busy with tidying and removing classified documents so the House could serve another purpose.
The master key felt frigid and rustic, like it could give him tetanus if he was still peppered with open wounds. His bandaged palms wrapped around the front door handle and he had to lean his whole body against the wooden panels to push through the entrance. It opened with a protesting creak.
Inside was musty and balmy, flecks of dust swirled about in the apricot sunset. Despite the warm day, the Captain insisted on wearing the same uniform that had kept him company for six years, now with a few more colours added to his breast pocket. It was all he had to show for the War as the research had to be burned.
He pressed his fingertips to the kitchen doorframe, connecting to its metal hinges, trying to feel every divet and scratch and knot of wood. His boots imparted a slight echo and disturbed the once-settled dirty floor as he made his way through. Being in the kitchen after so long flashed up so many images and feelings, it brought him back to a fully operational unit, filled with frustrations and progress and drills and laughter. It was funny how little he thought of it at the time, how insignificant the period was at the beginning. And how horrific it had all turned out.
It was unbearable now, thinking about how he missed his unit. They had won the War, they had done what they set out to do, but the hollowness left behind was his most apparent award, not the sense of achievement or glorious joy he should feel. He was entitled to that feeling, but it never stayed within him for long.
As he settled in front of the stove - the stupid stove where he had burned so many breakfasts, if he thought about it any more he could smell it - he traced over the cutting board abandoned on top of it and imagined it was September 1939 again. Six years ago, nearly to the day. When he thought he heard the rustle of the gravel driveway, he could almost convince himself that the unit was here again, working away at another shot-in-the-dark project or dancing to the radio or huddled around each other, drinking whatever alcohol they could get their hands on.
His heart ached, sharply, then in a dull, continuous throb. It resonated up his throat, making it close up, dry up, until he was breathing faster. His eyes stung as he blinked back tears. He just stared at the stupid stove and collected himself. Ever since he'd come back, he found himself shedding silent tears, just when he was alone. Only when he was alone. It wasn't cathartic, no matter what anyone said; it was just painful.
Remembering his time at Button House was almost worse. Burning autumn eyes, soft peach lips, a lithe solid body, and soothing warm embraces. A stolen glance. A meaningful touch. A lost heart.
He tried to get past his Lieutenant's absence in the five years that had passed. It was bad enough being haunted by those dead from his unit, he concluded the human brain wasn't meant to reconcile the purgatory of knowledge; not knowing, holding out for hope beyond reason that his Lieutenant was still breathing, still walking, still laughing, still reading, still wandering this earth with a beating heart, was a torture the Captain had never known. He wondered if being back in the very place where he had been caught off-guard by the only person he had ever-
It wasn't worth tearing himself up over again.
He thought after the thousandth time he shrouded his mind in regret it would get easier, that the distance and half a decade would be kind and tender to his bleeding heart, but every day felt like the last day he had seen Lieutenant Havers.
And he'd worked hard to pretend to himself, to Havers, to the world, that how he felt didn't crush him to the core. He shouldn't so devastatingly adore another man, he shouldn't think of the way their hands could slip together, he shouldn't envision nights under the stars in just Havers' company, he shouldn't, he shouldn't, he shouldn't. But he did. He does. Without heed of reality, without regard to impossibility, he still loved.
He was still staring at the grey stone walls, splashed with oil and grime, when he heard a few footsteps tentatively make their way through the foyer. He arrived alone and the entire estate was purportedly abandoned so the intrusion set him on high alert.
He jolted from his stance and quickly wiped a few stray tears from his face before marching over to the entryway.
The Captain's blood ran cold with adrenaline and a terrible shiver of breathlessness buzzed up his spine, around his ribcage, ripping through his bones. He stood stunned in place with his mouth agape. His eyes were transfixed on the man in front of him, apparently real, apparently Havers.
The man - his Lieutenant - was also frozen to the spot, his long coat swaying from his civilian-clothed body. He hadn't aged a day.
Havers promptly took off his cap and held it to his chest, a smile growing across his lips. "Captain?"
But the Captain couldn't say anything back, every question or sentence that rattled around his mind was stuck on his tongue. So the Lieutenant neared him. He looked so real, so there in his tie and clean-shaven face. The Captain was still second-guessing what his eyes showed him.
"Captain? It's me," Havers said so gently, patiently, with a concern weaving into his expression and it broke the Captain's heart unimaginably further into crushed strains of muscle and blood. He could almost feel it spilling onto the floor.
He swallowed the void in his dry mouth. He knew he must look shell-shocked, but any ounce of control over his body and stature had seemingly evaporated into the humid air. "Havers?"
Havers approached further, closing the mere feet between them. He fiddled with his hat and strands of hair fell over his forehead. "I asked after you - when I got to HQ this morning. I had a debriefing, but when they said you were alive and that you had just left for Button House, I couldn't stay put. So I took the next train here. I hope you don't mind... but I had to see you."
"N-No. No, I don't mind."
"You don't seem thrilled, either," Havers half-joked, though his smile had faded from his features. "You look well."
"So do you," the Captain sighed, exhaling all the air he had trapped in his lungs from where he held himself in a status quo. He still felt deceived by his senses, nothing felt real. He was floating above the ground away from his body, numb and hazy. He somehow found it within himself to speak. "I thought- I don't know what I thought; certainly not that I would see you again."
Havers smirked, his dimples denting deeply into his cheeks. He stepped forward again. "Well, I'm here now. Alive. With you."
"God, Havers-" the Captain stopped himself, not thinking through his next words. There were so many things to say that he didn't trust himself with anything that came out.
Instead, he surged forward and pulled the Lieutenant into a hug. His hands clutched tightly around his waist and shoulders, pressing their bodies together. He buried his head in the warm curve of Havers' neck, just above his shirt collar, and breathed deeply. Havers' scent was unchanged from his last memory of the man, it was the standard issue soap that he'd always used, his sea salt aftershave that he always had treated himself to, and his natural muted fragrance that was so comforting. The Captain recalled it all, hitting him like a wave of nostalgia since he had committed it to his memory for so long - his memory that had been a curse of grief up until then.
Almost instantly, Havers grasped back, with one hand holding the back of the Captain's head. He rested his cheek on the Captain's shoulder as they just held each other.
The House melted away as they clutched and captured and seized at the moment with the other man, afraid his body would slip through their fingers like sand.
They could crumble to the floor, cave in on themselves, with how little their legs cared about keeping them upright. For as long as they could permit, within the constraints of their relationship, expectations, conventions, they stood in the embrace.
Then remembering himself, the Captain pulled back, but the hand still on the back of his head didn't let him part completely. It held him close, as did the other arm around his hips, sturdy and erogenous. So he didn't move his hands either, allowing them to settle tentatively on Havers' shoulders.
He felt confused at first, then panicked. If he stayed like this any longer, he would certainly act out of line. He glanced over Havers' lips, then back up to the Lieutenant's eyes. Every point of contact felt like it fired tiny sparks of electricity, charging his heart with all the years of missed affection. He felt his blood thump through him louder, faster, as his attention darted around Havers' face.
He wanted - prayed at one point - to see his face again. He was scared he'd forget it. He was scared he'd forget his voice, too, but none of those what-ifs mattered now. Havers was here, in his arms.
The Captain noticed the way the Lieutenant was breathing deeply, too, or how his fingers tangled in his hair like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, or gazed at him like he was pleading for something.
They still didn't part.
"Why did you leave Button House?" the Captain asked, with a low tone and almost hushed voice. The question had haunted him from the moment he knew Havers was leaving. It was the most deafening question, one he could never find a slither of an answer to.
He moved his hands to hold Havers' biceps, willing the slightly wider distance between to make quiet his desires.
Havers broke eye contact for a moment as he thought, running his thumb through the Captain's short hair as if to soothe both of them; when his attention returned, he was resolved to a bittersweet sorrow. "I thought you knew."
The Captain let out a faint laugh. "I wish I did. It would have saved me a lot of time."
"You do know. You do."
"Havers-"
"You can call me William now, Captain."
The Captain allowed a small smile to settle on his face at the mention of the Lieutenant’s name. "William, I don’t know why. One week you were here, the next... And I- well, I supposed you might have thought ill of me, that was until you wrote to the unit and addressed me as a friend. Then I didn’t know what to think."
"I’m sorry I left you in a muddle."
He wasn’t getting anywhere, Havers was still too scared to answer, skirting around the issue. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on the Lieutenant's jaw, the tips of his fingers placed on the pulse of his neck; Havers' eyelids closed for a moment and he nestled into the rough palm. Then the Captain tried asking again, more stern and direct. "So tell me now: why did you leave me?”
Havers’ breath hitched.
His hold on the Captain fell from his grasp and he leant back. "We were too close."
"What are you saying?" The Captain could guess, but he'd rather hear it. It would hurt less than remaining in the dark with the already infinite things left unsaid.
"I-I wanted more."
It all made sense apart from any of it. "So did I."
"You... what?"
The Captain furrowed his eyebrows and tensed his neck. Part of him became irrationally angry. "But you'd rather fight on the frontlines than continue to be my Lieutenant - be my friend?"
"I was going to slowly die either way." Havers regarded him closely. "It was a different type of peril, and I would be more useful in North Africa than here. If I said I bled for you every day, consumed by thoughts about you, drowned by my sensitivities, and tortured by the hope that you might love me-"
"Then I would have said I felt the same," the Captain finished.
Havers' face pinched in forlorn grief. "Even so, even if I had known, I could not have been convinced to stay. We had too much to lose back then."
All that residual devastation, all the echos of heartbreak, left from his Lieutenant's wake settled in the Captain's gut as he put it to rest. Though he may thank the fates for bringing about this reunion, he could only think of the lost time with Havers; it was nearly unbearable. He should have stayed. They should have worked and fought and aged together. The Captain should have been able to hold Havers like this. They should have been able to have a life together.
For all these years, they should have loved.
But he understood the risks - God, did he understand them. As much as it was like an open wound across his chest, he understood Havers' reasoning. Already under constant surveillance from HQ and the unit, they would have risked everything for each other. Everything was an awful lot to ask.
And maybe fate was giving them another chance, where they could now ask for anything.
He searched Havers' eyes for a way in. They were wet with the rising grief, so soft and sorry. He felt a tear trail slip down the curve of his own face, spilling into the little space between them.
"Let me convince you to stay this time."
Havers shakily nodded, emphatic in his agreement. It was more than enough for the Captain as he closed the gap between them. He planted a chaste kiss on Havers' lips, neither of them able to contain their growing smiles.
After a few moments, he slid one hand to hold the back of Havers' head and pulled the Lieutenant in by his hip with the other. Havers wrapped his arms around the Captain's shoulders, tilting his head. His nose grazed the Captain's cheek as he deepened the kiss; they could only focus on the other man's velvet lips, the comforting warmth in the embrace, and the thrumming beat of their hearts.
For a blissful second, they could pretend that the hostile world had melted away.
The Captain sighed gently when their lips eventually parted, his body still buzzing from intimacy. He still held Havers tight to his chest.
"I know I can't undo leaving you, but-"
"Havers, I forgive you, and I would wait a thousand lifetimes more for this moment. But I'm so happy that I don't have to."
"You'd have me stay?" Havers asked, perhaps thoughtlessly, but the giddiness from adrenaline had yet to wear off.
"Yes, as freely as you ask, yes." The Captain saw the relief flood Havers' mind, and he felt lighter, too. He finally allowed himself to imagine giving everything for a chance at a life with William. "So would you take my heart at last?"
"Yes! As freely you give yourself, I will invariably answer 'yes'!" Havers pressed a quick kiss on the Captain's still-parted lips, drawing back unhurriedly as he relished the other man's touch. "You already have my heart."
The Captain, marvelling at the way his heart twisted and yearned for his beloved and longed for just this moment, was forced to order his thoughts again. "What-What do we do now?"
"Well," Havers breathed out happily, "I hear you have a few months to revert Button House back to a residential estate. I'll help. I have nowhere else to be, and certainly nowhere else I'd rather be. We can figure out the rest."
I would love to figure out the rest with you, the Captain wanted to say, I would love to brood over the meaning of our existence, plant flowers, light fireplaces, visit New York, reenact plays, dance, sleep, cry, and love with you. "That would be wonderful," was all he could manage. But it was enough.
They spent the autumn of 1945 in Button House, pretending it was theirs while talking about the future. Undisturbed, tenderly attached, soothing old wounds and forging a new life together. It was exquisite. Each day they could hold each other under the stars, smell fresh laundry, steal glances, and make up for lost time.
Two lives destined to collide, to flourish, in peacetime.
The love that bloomed was not fated to die: lingeringly present when apart, beautifully all-consuming when together, and echoed forever thereafter.