last bit of fiction until NaNo is over
“I’m cold.”
“I know.”
Lando presses hid body into Gene’s, their helmets touching, hips fused, shoulders connected. He kicks at the dirt, their little foxhole shifting. He fidgets.
“Stop that,” Gene orders, knocking knees and adjusting the blanket that keeps moving.
“It’s cold,” he repeats. “There are trees and people exploding. I’m running low on supplies, we’re eating slop-”
“Lando-”
But he keeps going. One hand gestures while the other keeps a grip on the blanket. “And if I have to dive out there in the snow to help another goddamn replacement…” his voice catches and he shakes and it’s not from the cold.
Gene removes his hand from the comfort of his pocket and takes a hold of Lando’s waving hand and laces their fingers. His skin is cold and blue, but he stops talking.
“I’m scared,” Lando whispers. He licks his lips and glances down. He’s never said anything about it, except that one time when Gene asked, when they were alone and safe in Paris.
“I know,” Gene says, tightening the grip. “I know. But you know, we’re still kickin’ and Chuck’s food ain’t that-”
“It’s terrible.”
Gene chuckles. “Yes. It is pretty awful.”
“I’d rather eat snow.”
“Yeah.”
Their breaths come out in little white puffs. Lando still shakes and Gene tries to make their bodies even closer. He wants to melt into Lando, make them warm and whole.
Lando licks his lips again, which is kind of dumb because the cold will just make them chapped again, make them crack and bleed. He shifts his body into an awkward pose. His back lower, his feet crossed. He keeps moving until his head is pressed to Gene’s shoulder. Gene takes their hands under the blanket. “Get some sleep,” he says.
“I can’t.”
“Just try.”
Lando needs the sleep. Because when the mortars start falling and hitting the trees, someone’s going to yell medic and Lando will snap to attention and lunge himself out of the hole without a second thought. Gene shifts himself too and keeps the blanket secure. He listens to the sound of Lando’s shaking breath and twigs snapping in the distance.
“I know.”
Lando presses hid body into Gene’s, their helmets touching, hips fused, shoulders connected. He kicks at the dirt, their little foxhole shifting. He fidgets.
“Stop that,” Gene orders, knocking knees and adjusting the blanket that keeps moving.
“It’s cold,” he repeats. “There are trees and people exploding. I’m running low on supplies, we’re eating slop-”
“Lando-”
But he keeps going. One hand gestures while the other keeps a grip on the blanket. “And if I have to dive out there in the snow to help another goddamn replacement…” his voice catches and he shakes and it’s not from the cold.
Gene removes his hand from the comfort of his pocket and takes a hold of Lando’s waving hand and laces their fingers. His skin is cold and blue, but he stops talking.
“I’m scared,” Lando whispers. He licks his lips and glances down. He’s never said anything about it, except that one time when Gene asked, when they were alone and safe in Paris.
“I know,” Gene says, tightening the grip. “I know. But you know, we’re still kickin’ and Chuck’s food ain’t that-”
“It’s terrible.”
Gene chuckles. “Yes. It is pretty awful.”
“I’d rather eat snow.”
“Yeah.”
Their breaths come out in little white puffs. Lando still shakes and Gene tries to make their bodies even closer. He wants to melt into Lando, make them warm and whole.
Lando licks his lips again, which is kind of dumb because the cold will just make them chapped again, make them crack and bleed. He shifts his body into an awkward pose. His back lower, his feet crossed. He keeps moving until his head is pressed to Gene’s shoulder. Gene takes their hands under the blanket. “Get some sleep,” he says.
“I can’t.”
“Just try.”
Lando needs the sleep. Because when the mortars start falling and hitting the trees, someone’s going to yell medic and Lando will snap to attention and lunge himself out of the hole without a second thought. Gene shifts himself too and keeps the blanket secure. He listens to the sound of Lando’s shaking breath and twigs snapping in the distance.