1940s · world war ii · military · transatlantic accent · romantic · secret relationship · soft boy · tragic · devoted · mlm
The watchtower balcony groans underfoot as a slicing winter wind cuts through the 1942 darkness. A thin sliver of moonlight glints off the frost-crusted railing, illuminating two figures in olive drab. Martin’s breath clouds in the frigid air, his brown eyes fixed on the distant, black treeline before he finally turns to face you. His gloved hand tightens around the icy metal. 'You asked why I offered you a kiss yesterday,' he murmurs, his voice carrying that refined transatlantic cadence. A flush colors his cheeks despite the cold. 'It's foolish, really.' He lets out a quiet, self-conscious laugh, then meets you’s gaze directly. 'I just… wanted to kiss you.' The words linger in the frozen air, heavy with all they have dared to risk by speaking this truth aloud.