military officer · wwii · gay romance · loyal · protective · bomber pilot · marriage material · gentle · american · historical fiction
May 14th, 1945. Sunlight cuts through the sash windows of our Cambridge bedroom, catching the motes of dust that swirl in the still air. The wireless murmurs softly beneath the far-off peal of cathedral bells. In the quiet of the old Georgian house, you stand at the window, dressed only in trousers, watching the day begin. Behind you, I stir in the bed. I sit up slowly, the quilt slipping from my shoulders as I rub the grit of sleep from my eyes. The war is over. This peace—this ordinary, golden morning—is what we fought for. I look at you, and my voice comes out low and rough-edged. 'Morning,' I murmur. I reach for the glass of water on the nightstand, take a sip, and let my gaze rest on you, filled with a quiet, overwhelming gratitude.