Chapter Text
It’s late and quiet in the apartment when the door rattles, loud hammering practically rocking it off the hinges. Merriell would assume it’s his ass of a landlord telling him his rent is overdue again if it weren’t nearly one in the morning. Nothing good can be standing on the other side of his door at one in the fucking morning.
Maybe his old man’s on harder times than he says. He hasn’t paid Merriell in almost two weeks. It could be a mobster coming to take his fingers. Merriell snatches his pack of cigarettes off his floor and pulls one into his mouth. Might be his last, if whoever’s at the door is heated enough. He tries not to look at the lighter as he flicks it open, but the glint of silver always gives a queasy tug at his navel. He pockets it and inhales.
“Comin’.”
He takes his time, enjoying the first burn down his throat before making his way to the door. His voice paused the knocking, which is a good sign. If they’re coming to take his fingers, at least they figured they should be quieter about it.
When Merriell opens the door, the cigarette drops from his mouth. He’d be sure he’s dreaming again if it weren’t for the civvies. Merriell’s never dreamed him in civvies.
Eugene watches the cigarette fall, and his foot slides over to stamp it out on the floor. He doesn’t look up for a while, and Merriell notices his hands are shaking. His are, too, which doesn’t feel right. He clenches his fists. He opens his mouth to say something, but his throat’s gone dry. He can barely breathe.
It’s downright unreal, seeing Eugene like this. His shirt is white and crisp, ironed nice and neat just like his slacks. His hair’s had a real trim now, better than anything Merriell had ever done for him in country. He’s got more meat on his bones than he did three years ago. He looks clean and soft and healthy.
Merriell can’t remember the last time he ate. He’s not even wearing a shirt, and his pants have holes in them from the lumberyard. He hasn’t even showered since coming home from work this afternoon. He must not look any different to Eugene than he did back on Okinawa.
God knows how long they’ve been standing in the doorway when Eugene punches him in the jaw.
Merriell stumbles, swearing under his breath. He tastes blood and spits pink onto the floor. When the shock of it fades, Merriell smirks.
“Guess I deserve that.”
“You’re Goddamn right you deserve it,” Eugene snarls, slamming Merriell’s door behind him. Merriell imagines his unruly drunkard neighbours being woken up from all the racket, but he doesn’t really care. He tongues at the split in his lip as Eugene barrells right in his face.
“You — do you have any idea what it was like to wake up alone on that Goddamned train?”
Eugene looks like he might cry, so Merriell looks at the floor.
He can’t know what that was like. He just has his own memories. The way Eugene looked while he slept, shuffling to curl up against the window after Merriell got up from their seat. The way Merriell couldn’t help himself, went back for just a second to lean over him and kiss Eugene’s temple after the rest of the car went on ahead. The way he ducked into an empty alley on the walk home from the train station when he knew he wouldn’t make it home before sobbing like a damn child.
He remembers the way he woke up in a panic, reaching for Eugene when it’s his own fault he’s not there. Almost every night for the past three years.
And now he’s here, and Merriell can’t even fucking look at him.
“Answer me.”
Merriell shakes his head. He doesn’t look up. Eugene’s voice is tight and forced and Merriell won’t look. He wishes he still had his cigarette.
When Eugene lunges at him and slams him against the wall, Merriell’s eyes are still trained on Eugene’s hands. He’s not wearing his ring. Merriell had made sure to leave it before he got off the train. It was never meant for him. Eugene should be wearing it.
He would’ve kept it, if he’d known Eugene wasn’t going to. He wanted to keep it. It had only been three months, but his hand still feels too light without it.
“How could you do that to me? You told me — you told me you…” Eugene’s voice trails off, and he flinches away. Merriell feels sick clot in his throat. It’s an effort to swallow, tense, thick burning in his windpipe, and Eugene slams his fist into his face again.
“All you — all you did was lie to me.”
Merriell shakes his head. Blood is dribbling down his chin now, but Eugene isn’t looking at him.
“You left me,” he says finally. He doesn’t sound sad, he sounds furious. “You didn’t even — you didn’t even tell me goodbye, you chickenshit.”
Merriell’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, his voice trapped behind his teeth. He can’t deny that, anyway. He was a Goddamn coward for what he did. That ain’t news. He looks at his feet.
“Why did you lie to me? Why would you do that? Why did you tell me you loved me if you were just going to leave?”
It wasn’t like that. He hadn’t planned it to be that way. Merriell opens his mouth to say so, but it’s not a real question.
Eugene talks right over him. “You fucking coward. Do you know what you did to me?”
Merriell shakes his head. He doesn’t try to speak again.
“I — I waited for you. Did you —?” Eugene’s voice trembles, and Merriell flinches. “My life stopped for you. For you. Like the Goddamn idiot I am, I thought maybe — maybe you’d come back for me. I was stupid enough to think you’d —”
He stops talking so suddenly, it takes Merriell several seconds to realize he’d made a noise. A quiet, shuddering breath. Eugene was shouting so loudly Merriell thought he’d be able to slip it past him. Maybe the look on his face isn’t as stoic as he thinks. His eyes won’t leave the floor. He licks the blood from his mouth. Christ, he hopes he isn’t crying.
It’s quiet for so long, Merriell thinks maybe this is a dream after all. Maybe he’s waking up. Maybe Eugene is gone. But then his head knocks against the wall, forceful, angry. Eugene’s nails clawing hard into his shoulders.
“Say something, Merriell.” Eugene’s voice is shattered now. He’s finally broken down. Merriell shuts his eyes. “I came all this way. Say something to me.”
“I’m sorry.”
He’s not expecting it to come out of his mouth, and it seems, neither is Eugene. There’s silence for a moment, and Merriell is still too terrified to open his eyes. He can’t see the look on Eugene’s face. He can’t see that he’s crying. It took everything he had to leave him on that fucking train. He won’t be able to do it again.
The silence now is suffocating. Merriell wonders if he’s gone deaf. Finally, Eugene’s voice cracks over the quiet.
“Why?”
At that, Merriell’s eyes snap open. “Why’m I sorry?”
He makes the mistake of looking at Eugene, then; his face blotchy red with angry tears tracking down his cheeks. A funny sort of smile twitches at the corner of his mouth for just a second.
“Yeah,” he sighs, “Why — why are you sorry?”
It’s the stupidest damn question Merriell thinks he’s ever been asked, but when he opens his mouth, he can’t seem to answer.
“I…”
When he doesn’t answer fast enough, Eugene gives him a shake, and Merriell’s head knocks against the wall again. He doesn’t say anything else. He’s not going to break the silence. He’s going to force it out of Merriell through will alone.
“I was —” He feels as if his throat’s closing up. He hasn’t said a word about himself since stepping off that train. Nobody’s ever asked. Eugene’s the only person who’s ever wanted to know. He’s forgotten how to speak. “I shouldn’t — I — I wanted to stay. I did.”
Shame is strangling him, making the words scratch against his tongue like sand. He’s humiliated. He’s never said it aloud, never let himself think he had a choice. He had to leave. Eugene could’ve never lived like this. He had no choice. He had to.
Eugene shakes his head. The answer isn’t good enough. Of course it isn’t. He’s still crying. Merriell’s hands itch to cup his face, brush tears away like he’d done before.
“Why didn’t you?”
It’s stupider than the last question, but even harder to answer.
“Gene, c’mon—”
“Why did you leave?”
“Gene…”
His name in Merriell’s mouth feels strange in that it doesn’t feel strange enough. It’s like the past three years haven’t happened at all. He hasn’t said it once since stepping foot in New Orleans. He couldn’t mention Eugene to anyone, not ever, not even in passing. Not even as a war buddy, a friend from his mortar squad, a marine he once knew. He’d never be able to stop once he started.
But now, his name has already latched itself onto his tongue again, forcing him to forget every other word he knows. He shakes his head. He wants to say something else. Answer his question. Apologize again. But he can’t. He only has his name. “Gene —”
“You — you told me you loved me.”
“I do.”
It’s out of his mouth before he can think. Wrong tense. Too fast. Eugene stares at him, looking like he wants to still be angry. He had a plan when he came here. He had a whole speech prepared. Merriell’s mucking it all up. His eyes go soft, and Merriell wants to hit him. Push him away. Get him as far away as he can.
“Merriell…” His voice is quiet and breathless now. Nothing like it had been. More like it was in Peking, that liminal time, when they were hidden away, Eugene’s hands on his skin. “Tell me why you left.”
“I can’t,” he says before he fucks up and does.
“Fuck you.”
Merriell forces a smirk. His heart is like a brick in his chest. “I know.”
He can’t lie to Eugene, never was any good at it when he tried, but he can’t tell him the real reason either. Eugene won’t take it. But Eugene is pressed and proper. He eats well and gets enough sleep. He looks like he’s on his way to land some white collar job. He could’ve never had that here. Merriell couldn’t give him shit.
“Did — did you already have someone?”
It’d be a good answer if Merriell could manage it, but all he does is snort. “Look around, Sledgehammer. Ain’t no one here.”
It’s a mistake to say, because the minute he says it, Eugene does. The apartment is a single room. It doesn’t take long to look. His eyes skate from the naked mattress tucked against one corner to the filthy sink and stove on the other side. The truth clicks in his head and he drops his hands to his sides.
His eyes take the tour several times before Merriell can’t stand the silence anymore. “Toilets’re down the hall if you need to take a leak.”
“You…”
He doesn’t say it, but Merriell hears it, anyway. Why do you live like this? Merriell shrugs in defense, as if Eugene asked it aloud, and bends to scoop up his pack of cigarettes from the floor. Shoving past Eugene, he sits on his mattress, ignoring the itch of Eugene’s eyes following him as he does. He tries to hide his lighter as he uses it, but Eugene spots it.
“Did you think I was lying about that?” he asks.
When Merriell meets his eyes, Eugene is gesturing to the little flame in his hand. He shakes his head. Around his cigarette, he grumbles, “You couldn’t lie if you wanted, Gene.”
“Then why —?”
“‘Cause I’m not.” He cuts him off before Eugene can ask the question again. Eugene will probably go back to clocking him, but that’s fine. He fucking hates that question. It’s been stuck in his head like a bad tune for three Goddamn years.
Eugene sputters, and Merriell decides to keep talking.
“You’d a whole future planned out, didn’t you? Thought you dialed it down enough from what you had back home. Little college boy apartment, maybe some mutt. Nice little view of the park, maybe. Right?” He doesn’t let Eugene answer. “You were never gonna get that, Gene. Not here. Not with me.”
“Merriell…”
“I ain’t even got enough to feed myself half the fuckin’ time. How was I gonna take care of you?”
“Merriell —”
“I ain’t been paid in so long I might as well not even show up anymore. Landlord calls me every name under the damn sun for how late I am gettin’ his rent. And you told me — you told me you were gonna never go back home? For this?” His arms sweep over the room. The back of his neck is burning with humiliation now. He never wanted to admit any of this. He never should’ve answered the fucking door.
Eugene is staring at him now, head tilted slightly. He glances around a final time when Merriell waves his arms, but only for a second before his eyes snap back to Merriell’s face.
“Merriell…”
“Stop sayin’ my fuckin’ name like that. We’re not in fuckin’ China anymore. You don’t get to just —”
“Merriell.” Merriell stops short, foolishness itching at his nape. “Let me finish a damn sentence.”
Eugene makes his way toward the bed. The movement seems predatory, almost, and feeling vulnerable, Merriell jumps to his feet. Eugene smirks a little sadly before taking a seat on the mattress. “I knew what I was doing, all right? I know what I told you.”
“Gene —”
“More than one sentence.” Merriell falls silent. “I’m not saying it was smart of me, Shelton, to let myself fancy on running away with you. I’m just saying — I’m saying it would’ve been fine.” Merriell shakes his head, but Eugene’s nod cuts him off before he can argue. “I loved you, Merriell. I would’ve lived here. I would’ve lived in a cardboard box if it had you in it.”
Loved. Merriell’s head can’t move past the word once Eugene says it. Used to. Not anymore. That’s Merriell’s fault, he should’ve figured. So why is he here?
He doesn’t say anything else, so Merriell clears his throat.
“Daddy ever send you to school?”
Eugene takes a moment before he nods. Merriell’s limbs feel heavy. His next heartbeat feels like a struggle and his throat’s embarrassingly tight. His eyes drop to the floor.
“Figured that,” he says with a rasp.
“Just graduated.”
It stings. Eugene’s moved on. Merriell knew he could, knew he was strong enough despite all Eugene’s whining and theatrics otherwise. He’s gonna have a nice job and a pretty wife in no time. Have Thanksgiving around the table like they do in postcards. Merriell would bet he doesn’t even get nightmares anymore. Not like Merriell does.
Merriell still forgets he’s not on Okinawa some nights, especially in the summer when the hurricanes roll in. Sleeps with the rain slicker from his seabag over his head, listens to the rain and storms. The only thing different is Eugene’s not here for him to hold tight to. Merriell has to remind himself when he wakes up in a panic that Eugene’s alive, out there somewhere, before he can even convince himself he’s home. Eugene’s not dead. Merriell is alone only because he left.
“Merriell?”
He must’ve been quiet for too long. “What?”
“I could get any sort of job I want, now.”
“That’s nice.”
Eugene sighs. “We… we could’ve —”
“No.”
He can’t let Eugene talk like that. He’ll fall into it just like he did the first time. It was stupid to think back then and it’s even stupider to think now. Stupider and twice as fucking useless. Could have. Who cares what they could have. They don’t have shit, and Eugene doesn’t even love him anymore.
Eugene jumps up so fast that Merriell doesn’t even realize it until he’s slammed against the wall. He can’t breathe, and he doesn’t know why until he tries to, and Eugene bites his lip.
Merriell’s heart is suddenly pounding in his throat. Heat crawls from the pit of his stomach out along his limbs. Eugene still kisses like he loves him. Merriell tangles his fingers in fiery red hair and pulls, desperate and needy.
“Merriell…”
His voice soaks into Merriell’s skin, and in an instant they’re back in Peking. Back to where nothing matters outside their soft, quiet little room. Back when Eugene loved him. Merriell whimpers, abruptly helpless for it, and Eugene reaches up to cradle the back of his head.
It’s hard to tell if Eugene drops back onto the bed or if Merriell shoves them both down. Eugene lets out a quiet oof as his back hits the mattress, and Merriell crawls over him. He’s still so dainty and passive, like Merriell could tear him open if he wanted.
The thought sparks a memory, and his hands rip hastily at the buttons of Eugene’s shirt. “Are — are they —?”
Eugene doesn’t answer, but shuffles out of his shirt as Merriell paws at it. He doesn’t look as if he knows what Merriell is trying to ask, but they’re still there. Faded white lines, crooked and barely visible against the creamy skin along his ribs. When Merriell touches them, Eugene jolts a little. Maybe he’s forgotten about them. He looks up when Eugene scoffs.
“Been a while since anyone’s noticed ‘em.”
Merriell has nothing to say to that. Abruptly, he has to stop himself from digging over them, making fresh ones for everyone else to see. He traces the lines lightly with his nails to quiet the need, and Eugene watches.
“You still have — yours healed different.”
Embarrassed, Merriell wraps an arm around his middle. “Yeah.”
They’d faded so much in the sun that summer that Merriell went to them one night with a pocket knife. He felt sick, after. Lonely. But it’s his own fault. He shouldn’t have been allowed to keep them, anyway.
Somehow, Eugene seems to know. Or maybe he’s just not angry anymore. He should be, but he’s gentle when he tugs at Merriell’s wrist. His thumb presses warm against Merriell’s pulse.
“You know,” he says, his voice so quiet it’s hard to hear even in the silent room, “Sometimes I think I was too busy missing you to let myself think about the rest of it, half the time.”
I know what you mean, Merriell doesn’t say. It’s not the same for him. It’s his own damn fault, being alone. He shakes his head.
“Gene…” He’s humiliated when his voice is hoarse, and clears his throat. He means to try again, but Eugene cuts him off, pulling him back into a kiss.
It’s pathetic, how desperate Merriell is just to touch him. How easily he’s letting this happen. He hasn’t been to the docks in two years and he hasn’t bothered to court a girl since before the war. It almost feels the way it did when he was sixteen. Better. Eugene’s always been better.
When Eugene’s hand slides to the front of his slacks, Merriell swallows down a moment of panic. He wonders if Eugene has been with anyone else by now. Probably has. It’s embarrassing to realize Eugene’s probably had more practice in the last three years than Merriell has.
“Merriell?”
He’s shaking. He wishes it were Eugene. It used to be Eugene, but this time the hand at his neck is holding him steady. He leans forward again and takes Eugene’s mouth in his. Can’t ask questions if Merriell just kisses him stupid like he used to.
He’d tried, when he first came home. Snuck out at nightfall to meet up with Navy boys. It was still good, but different now. After letting a redhead fuck him against the brick of a boathouse, it felt off. Blood in his mouth from biting his tongue to keep from spilling a name out when he shouldn’t.
Eugene breaks away from him. “Is this all right?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
A quiet huff of a laugh, falling back into the kiss. At least he’ll drop it, now. Stop worrying. This is all Merriell has wanted since running away like a damn fool. He can’t talk about this. He’s already said more than he should have. If he’s not careful, Eugene might stay.
That’s what Merriell wants, but he knows better.
They strip naked in silence. Eugene’s neatly pressed slacks crumple beside his crisp white shirt on the floor. Merriell doesn’t do things like sweep or dust since Stanley hasn’t been around to make him. The floor is filthy. He can see dirt clinging to Eugene’s fresh, neat clothes already.
He’s just afraid to look up, really.
He hasn’t seen Eugene this way in three years. If he’s honest, he’s never seen this Eugene at all. He’s so different now. The scars faded, but everything else is different, too. He’s paler than he was, covered head to toe now in muted freckles he didn’t all have before. He spends less time in the sun than he did burning on Peleliu. He’s so much fuller than he had been in country, chest not as sunken, shoulders broad. He eats well. There’s muscle under his skin now where Merriell only remembers bones.
Merriell had thought he was perfect three years ago, but he was wrong. He’s more beautiful now than he’s ever been.
“Gene —”
“C’mere.” Eugene tugs Merriell down by his arm until he’s straddling Eugene’s hips. It feels familiar. Safe. It’s been a while since he let himself miss this. He wraps his arms around Eugene’s shoulders and kisses him hard. Eugene’s hands slide careful and soft over his ribs, and Merriell lets himself pretend for just a second that this has been his life for the past three years.
His breath catches, but Eugene’s decent enough to pretend he doesn’t notice, pulling Merriell on top of his lap. “I’m guessing you don’t still have rifle oil on you.”
Merriell’s laugh comes out a bit hysterical. “No, but —” He leans across the bed to dig at the space between the mattress and the wall. The lid on the jar of Vaseline is caked and sticky, and Eugene’s hands shake a little as he forces it open. It’s a little comforting, knowing Eugene is nervous too.
“Will you —?” Eugene swallows, and Merriell feels a fresh wave of nerves. “Will you talk to me?”
Mouth dry, Merriell tries to think of something to say. Eugene’s hand is firm on his hip as the other one skates down, careful fingers, being frustratingly gentle. He shouldn’t be able to tell how long it’s been for Merriell. It feels like he knows.
“Talk to me, Merriell,” Eugene repeats hoarsely. He drops his forehead against Merriell’s collarbone. “Please.”
“Je suis désolé,” he says finally, but Eugene shakes his head.
“Not — not French.” His voice is tense again. Merriell clenches his eyes shut. “I want. I want you to talk to me, Merriell. Please.”
Words are locked in Merriell’s throat. He can’t think. Eugene’s fingers are slick and warm and all that escapes his mouth is a quiet gasp. As Eugene works his hand, the one at Merriell’s hip moves to cup his face. “Tell — tell me…”
He trails off, and Merriell forgets himself, the familiar, warm tingle flowing up his spine and making him loose. His head sags forward, dropping onto Eugene’s shoulder. Dizzy, he kisses the span of pale freckled neck he can reach. The hand in his hair pulls tight, and the one inside him falls away.
Whimpering, Merriell twists in his grip when Eugene drags him into his lap. He remembers it being this way overseas. In country, and between long spans of not having any privacy. He’d always liked to tease Eugene for being desperate, but Merriell was always needier. He thinks they both knew that.
Eugene is quiet as he slides Merriell over his cock, but Merriell isn’t. It’s been too long, like his first time all over again, and he feels as if he’s being ripped in half. The Vaseline is different from the rifle oil. Thicker, smoother. He’s only used it to jack himself off a few times since coming home. The Navy boys all had their own on the docks.
His vision is grey when he opens his eyes, faded around the edges. God, it’s been too long. His heart is gonna crack his ribs for how hard it’s beating. He feels too-full and too-hot and must be crying out too loud, because Eugene takes his face in his hands and shushes him, running his thumbs soothingly over his face.
“Look at me, Merriell, look at me. I wanna — I wanna hear you talk to me. Please.” Merriell whimpers, his head spinning, and Eugene still hasn’t moved. “Please, Merriell. Tell — tell me. Tell me what… how it would’ve been, if you stayed.”
It’s like a knife in his gut. Colour comes back as mostly red. He blinks and everything blurs. The breath steals out of his lungs, and Eugene cradles his head, watching him with wide eyes. When he finally moves in him, it’s gently. Slow. Tender.
Merriell can’t look at him. “Where — where’d you wake up?” He remembers his promise. It still echoes in his head every damn day like a scratched record. Get off the train, go north.
“Gulfport.” He answers quickly, like he still thinks about it, and Merriell’s heart stutters in his chest.
“Could’ve gone —” Eugene starts to move a little faster, and a low, comfortable buzz in Merriell’s brain drowns out his thoughts for a moment. The pain subsides all at once and his eyes slide closed in relief. “Up — up to Tennessee, Kentucky if you’d — if you’d wanted.”
“Yeah?”
Merriell nods, his skin burning, heart thumping out of his chest. He’s afraid to open his eyes, head swimming. “Yeah. Could’ve — built a cabin up there.”
“Tell me.”
“Just us, could’ve — gotten some land together and — grown some crop. Stayed hidden.”
Eugene’s fingers are soft on his face. It could almost feel like they’re still in China if Eugene would shut the hell up and stop asking him to talk. He tries to stay quiet for a moment, let himself get lost in it, but Eugene’s lips brush against his temple. “What else?”
He hates that all Eugene has to do is ask.
“Raise — raise us some cattle, maybe. Make us some money that way.” Eugene’s holding him still, rocking his hips forward. Merriell has to dig his nails into Eugene’s shoulders to stay steady. “Buy you — all the fancy shit you used to.”
The world shifts for a moment and Merriell’s back slams against the mattress. Eugene pins him down by the shoulders and fucks into him so hard Merriell has to throw his legs over his back.
Words are falling out of his mouth before he can think through them. Eugene’s hands are warm on his face, petting back his hair slick with sweat. “We could’ve — a ranch. Farm. I would’ve — kept you safe.”
There’s a soft gasp above him. Eugene freezes to press his forehead to Merriell’s. He has to look, then. Out-of-focus freckles right against his vision.
“I know.”
When Eugene kisses him, Merriell tastes salt. He reaches up to cup Eugene’s face, and his hands come back slick and warm. This is his fault. He shuts his eyes again before the room starts spinning.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Merriell feels as if his bones are lead. His heart is beating a mile a minute but it doesn’t feel fast enough. His body is heavy. His mind’s going blank.
“I love you,” Merriell says finally, his tongue thick in his mouth. “I love you, I’m — so sorry. I got scared.”
“I know.” Eugene’s voice is quiet, barely a whisper, catching on his breath. Merriell’s throat is closing around nothing. If he opens his eyes again, his vision will tunnel. Eugene had told him he’d grow tired of hearing it before Eugene would ever stop saying it.
He just wants Eugene to say it.
“Gene —”
Fingers wrap around Merriell’s cock, slide slow and tight over his skin.
He’d do anything to keep this. “I love you,” he says again, hoping Eugene will eventually say it back. “I love you, I’m so sorry.”
When Eugene comes it sounds like a sob. He drops onto his elbow, but Merriell keens. It feels amazing after so long, like he’ll never have anything better than this. He needs it to last.
“Don’t — don’t stop. Please.”
Eugene shakes his head, pressed tight into Merriell’s neck. Teeth sink hard into his collarbone, and Merriell comes with a shout, hands grappling for purchase in Eugene’s hair. It feels the same. Merriell tries to forget any time has passed at all.
They lie together in silence for a moment. Merriell reaches over the side of the mattress and scoops an old shirt off the floor. He wipes himself off. He feels a sweep of shame in his gut at the thought of handing it to Eugene, but Eugene takes the dirty shirt from his hands before he can and drags it over himself.
Neither of them say anything. After a while, Merriell picks up his cigarettes and lighter from the floor. He offers Eugene a cigarette, and lights it for him when he takes it. He holds the lighter so that his hand covers the engraving, but Eugene takes it from him, anyway. Runs his thumb over the letters. Hands it back.
“I’m —” Eugene’s voice croaks, still too obvious that he’s cried. He clears his throat. “I’m getting married.”
Icy sweat beads at the back of Merriell’s neck. He thinks, for a moment, that his heart stops beating. When it starts again, it feels too late. Half-dead. Might as well have stayed stopped.
He doesn’t say anything. He wonders if Eugene expects him to.
“Friend of my brother’s wife. We’ve been — I haven’t asked her yet but — she likes me.”
Merriell hates her. He says nothing.
“Merriell, I —” He hesitates, but Merriell doesn’t take the bait. Don’t look at him. Don’t fall for this. “I love you.”
Merriell shuts his eyes. Counts to three. Opens them again. He takes a drag from his cigarette and stares at the ceiling. His chest feels tight. Something’s digging under his ribs, scooping bits out. He clears his throat and takes another drag. Eugene’s is burning in his hand.
“I still — I still love you. I want this.”
Sick crawls back up Merriell’s throat. He keeps his teeth clenched. The corners of his eyes prickle and itch, but he doesn’t blink. He swallows, takes a deep breath. Whatever’s digging feels like claws.
“You don’t.”
A sigh. “Merriell —”
“She — she make you happy? You like her, right?”
Silence for too long. He doesn’t want to say yes, but that’s what the answer is. Maybe it’s not the same, and maybe he’s scared. But it could be the same one day. Better. He’ll have sons, after all. A life he was never gonna get with Merriell.
Merriell’s stomach roils. It’s hard to breathe. For the first time since Eugene showed up, he wishes he’d been dreaming. The Eugene in his head has stayed his. Three years younger, still on that Godforsaken train. His perfect boy. Right where he left him, so he could always go back.
His mouth tastes like blood.
“Merriell —”
“You gotta ring?”
“No.”
It’s too quick an answer. Merriell feels something heavy sit in his gut like stones. “Give her somethin’ that matters. An heirloom from your grandma or somesuch.” He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the memory.
Eugene watches him, and seems to read his mind. “I… I don’t wear it anymore.”
It’s too much. He’s hollow inside. Merriell sits up, plants his feet on the floor. Breathe. Don’t look at him.
“I keep it — keep it in the pipe box.”
“Stop.”
He can’t breathe. There’s nothing left to rip at under his ribs, but the claws are still there. Scratching at bone. He wishes Eugene weren’t here. He wishes he could cry. He wishes he could just ask Eugene to stay.
Eugene would say yes. He knows he would.
“I miss you,” Eugene says finally. “It’s — I can’t… God, I miss you.”
“Stop.”
“You told me you — you told me you were sorry. You still love me.”
Merriell bites his tongue. He can’t deny it, but he can’t give in, either. Eugene likes this girl. He could be happy. Normal. Merriell can’t let Eugene stay, not after he’s moved on. Quiet stretches, and Merriell realizes Eugene is waiting for him to speak. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and exhales through his teeth.
“So?”
“Merriell…”
Don’t look at him. If he’s crying again, if he’s got that look on his face, Merriell won’t be able to do this. He could hardly do it the first time. He won’t survive doing it again. But he has to. He stamps his cigarette out on the floor.
Eugene can be happy. Safe. He still likes girls, at least one. He likes her enough to ask. Make babies. He can be normal. He’ll be safe.
“You told me you’re sorry.” A nod. He is. “Do you —?” A deep breath. Merriell chews on the inside of his lip hard enough to bleed. “Do you regret it?”
Every day. “No.”
There’s a click of Eugene’s tongue, and Merriell has to look at him. He’s folded into his knees, auburn bangs hanging in his eyes. His knees are still as knobby as they were three years ago. Merriell hadn’t noticed that before.
The cigarette between his fingers is burning to the end. Merriell takes it out of his hand and tosses it on the ground next to his own, stamps it out with the ball of his foot. Eugene watches from his knees.
“If I’d woken — if I’d woken up before you left —”
“Gene…”
“It was your plan the whole time.” Stop. Go back. Start over. They can’t talk like this. Merriell’s throat is on fire. “You told me to get some sleep. You were never — you were never going to stay.”
“Eugene —”
“How long?”
Merriell’s thoughts trip over themselves for a second. “What?”
“How long did you know you were going to leave? Did you ever — did you ever want to stay with me?”
“Eugene, I…”
“You knew in San Diego, didn’t you?” Eugene gets to his feet. “I — I knew it. Told myself I was crazy, but I knew.”
He snatches up his slacks from the floor, but Merriell grabs his hand. He’s not done looking. This could be the last time he ever sees him. He shouldn’t even have this chance, but now that he has it, he has to take it.
“I would’ve stayed.”
“Bullshit.”
He shouldn’t have said that, anyway, so he’s not going to argue. But he would’ve stayed. He would’ve gone anywhere Eugene wanted. And then Eugene would be stuck, just as Merriell is now. He’d be stuck, and he’d hate him.
He hates him now, he must, but that’s probably a good thing.
Eugene doesn’t pull his hand out of Merriell’s grip. He’s standing there, waiting. He wants Merriell to say something, anything to get him to stay. Merriell would kill to say it, but he can’t. Not anymore. He drops his hold on Eugene’s fingers, but neither of them move.
“Tu me as ruiné.”
Exasperated, Eugene sighs. “What does that mean?”
He’ll stay if Merriell tells him. He’ll give up everything, all over again. Merriell shakes his head.
“This was a mistake,” Eugene says under his breath.
Merriell squares his shoulders and nods. It’s as if the claws tearing at his insides are back, even though nothing’s left in him. He should’ve never opened the fucking door. He clears his throat. “Probably.”
He expects it to shove Eugene out the door, at least make him angry. He flinches, in case Eugene hits him again. Instead, he just drops back onto the mattress next to Merriell with a sigh.
“Why — why do you still think I’m so much better than you?”
Merriell doesn’t move. He can tell when Eugene gives up on waiting for an answer, watches his shoulders sag out of the corner of his eye.
“I love you, Merriell,” he says, sounding more resigned than affectionate. It reminds Merriell of the first time he said it. The memory burns, and he clenches his fists at his knees. “I know you love me, too.”
He leans forward, then, and Merriell is too helpless for it to pull away. Eugene kisses him like he did on Okinawa, like he could die at any minute. Like he has nothing left to lose. It’s warm and careful and wet with tears and puts Merriell back together, ribs and insides all in place.
Merriell cups Eugene’s face. Eugene pulls back for a breath, but before Merriell can even say a word, he’s back on him, cradling his jaw like Merriell is made out of glass.
Eugene pushes at Merriell’s chest as his kisses trail down his neck, until he falls back, pressed against the wall. Merriell feels syrupy and warm, drapes a hand over the back of Eugene’s neck and scratches along his nape. He’s here, after everything Merriell did to him, Eugene is still here, and he still loves him.
He doesn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve it then, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve it now. But Eugene’s breath is warm and steady against his neck, and if Merriell just keeps his eyes shut he can pretend they’ve stayed this way from the beginning.
Kisses slow to nothing. Eugene splays over Merriell’s chest, still and silent. Merriell runs his hand through Eugene’s hair. He loses himself in the familiarity of the weight lying over him, the softness between his fingers. He doesn’t notice when he starts humming, just realizes, abruptly, that he is.
He can’t let himself fall into this again, but God, it feels good. Safe. Almost happy. He entertains the thought that he could fall asleep like this, maybe make it through several hours without a nightmare. But he can’t let himself, not now. He’ll wake up, and Eugene will be gone.
Not that he doesn’t deserve that.
They haven’t moved in so long that Merriell’s bones creak as he shifts up higher against the wall. Eugene shuffles into a more comfortable position, and neither of them speak. The only sound is Merriell’s humming, trailing off every now and again. When Eugene moves again, it’s only to scoop Merriell’s cigarettes off the floor. He takes one and hands Merriell another, lighting them both without a word.
The cigarette pack gets tossed back to the floor, but Eugene’s hand stays wrapped around the lighter. He runs his nail over the engraving and exhales in an exasperated puff against it. He flicks it open, starts the fire, and Merriell watches in silence.
Eugene plays with it for several seconds. Open, close. Open, close. Fire, out. Finally, Merriell prys it gently from his hand. He sets it on the floor beside them, and Eugene’s hand falls limp. He doesn’t stay still for long, barely a handful of seconds before he’s drumming along Merriell’s ribs, running fingertips along his skin.
He’d forgotten just how fidgety Eugene could be. Back in China, he was usually quelled by penning thoughts down in his little bible. Merriell’s throat feels dry. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth to press a kiss to the crown of Eugene’s head, and then puts it back between his lips.
After a moment, he starts to hum again.
The birds seem to join in around the time that light filters blue and faded through Merriell’s grimy hopper window. Eugene’s head is still pillowed on Merriell’s chest, listening to his heartbeat as they smoke together. It’s like they’re still in China, like the trucks never came for them.
“We should stay.”
Maybe they could have. Merriell hates himself for wanting it. They could’ve learned Chinese and disappeared, and Eugene would scribble in his bible and sleep beside him every night.
This time, when Eugene gets to his feet, Merriell doesn’t stop him. He watches Eugene step back into his slacks and stomp clumsily into his shoes. The cigarette in Merriell’s hand joins the other butts crunched into the floor. Merriell watches Eugene take a last drag of his own before dropping it, stomping on them both.
There’s something older about him, now. More than just three years. He’s different than he was. Tired in a bone-deep way. Merriell wonders if it’s just that the war took too long to sink in, or if maybe it’s his fault.
Eugene takes a moment before he straightens his button-up over the scars still visible on his ribs. Merriell wonders if it’s for his benefit. He smiles at the thought, but doesn’t ask. Eugene’s focus is on buttoning his shirt, and the silence fills the room like a presence.
When he’s finished dressing himself, his arms hang limp to his sides. “Do I —” his voice is rough from either disuse or smothered tears. He clears his throat. “Do I at least get a goodbye, this time?”
Merriell moves before he can stop himself, leaping to his feet to wrap himself around Eugene like a vine. He buries his face in Eugene’s neck and squeezes tight, holding his breath. He hates himself for this, being weak this way. Eugene deserves better than this.
His breath comes out in a punch when Eugene’s arms slide around his middle. He holds him close, and for a moment it feels as if they’re rocking, a pathetic sort of dance.
“I love you, Merriell.” His voice is muffled against Merriell’s shoulder, quiet and hoarse. Merriell nods, as if he asked a question.
“I — yeah. I love you, too.”
It’s as if Eugene’s been holding his breath since standing in Merriell’s doorway. Air flows out of him as if it were the only thing holding him upright. He sags against Merriell for a moment, nuzzling his face into his neck, and then nods.
When he pulls back, the aging Merriell had seen in him before is gone, like it was never there. He looks no different than he did curled against him on their cot in China. Hair plastered to his face from sweat and tears, eyes wide and bloodshot like he hasn’t slept in days. Merriell feels abruptly young, himself. Younger than he ever even was in country. Too young for what this is.
He wonders what Eugene sees as he stares back. He doesn’t ask.
Eugene kisses him again, gentle and chaste this time, before walking to the door. He pauses, his hand on the door frame, and turns back. He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t seem to know what. Goodbye doesn’t feel right, anymore.
“Merriell,” he says finally. His voice is hesitant, and just like that, Merriell is lost. If he asks, Merriell will keep him here. He’ll pack his things and go anywhere Eugene wants to go. He wants to be better than that, wants to do the right thing, but all Eugene has to do is ask and Merriell knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that he’ll do whatever it is.
For God’s sake, he thinks, just fucking ask me.
“Take care of yourself.”
It’s like swallowing glass. Merriell nods. Eugene takes a deep breath and shuts the door behind him. He does it lightly, respectful of the hour, but it sounds like a clap of thunder.
Merriell’s body still tingles from where it was pressed against Eugene’s. He lies back down on his mattress and pulls his rain slicker out from the corner between the wall. He pulls it over his head to block out the sunlight, and rubs the naked skin along the base of his ring finger.
Tears soak his mattress as he falls asleep.