Part 10 of my 100 Themes Challenge is Breathe Again.
I was stuck on what to write for this for absolute ages until I finally came up with this.
The inspiration came from, starngely, a history lesson. And now that my history teacher has left school I'm going to tribute this a little bit to him.. Seeing as he was fantastic :)

Eeehh.. Not really yaoi. But quite major homoeroticism. If you're being picky.

Set during World War 1, from a German soldier's POV. Please don't be hatin' on my crappy and lack of detail. I'm terrible when it comes to historical.. things.

The desertions had begun ages ago- months earlier- but it was only now that I drew the line and insisted I'd had enough. It didn't really help that I hadn't served my country as I and many others had expected me to, so I wasn't defending my case well if at all. In all the years I had served in the army, I had shot but one man. And that wasn't even on the frontlines or for a heroic cause. It was my perverted trench officer who followed me back to my hotel.
My friend who was to be killed the next morning for aiding a British troop found me in hysterics; covvered in blood, jibbering and sobbing like a ten year old girl. He soothed me and stood me up and carried me to the hospital. He returned himself to the cell he'd previously broken out from and casually informed the soldier on duty that he had shot a man in the Berlitz hotel not far from the frontlines in room 210.
Horrified, the guard informed the highest ranking official who grimly confirmed the matter. I was lying in a hospital bed, holding a photo and the tiny medal charm around my neck. I cried myself to sleep and exhaustedly awoke the next day to run to the cell.
My friend was awake, but I found out he hadn't even slept. I held his hand through the bars and he whispered to me.

"The British, they aren't what they told us." he sighed, looking guilty and shamed. "They are good men; they are jolly and heartfelt and brave and honest and true to their king and country. I would give anything to fight alongside them.
Adie; don't stay here. Don't watch me die. I don't want you to see. Run. Run back to the trenches. Get your things and desert."

My eyes grew wide and I shook at the very thought. Deserters, if caught were punished more harshly than my friend was about to get. I gripped his hand tighter and forced myself to look deep into his eyes.

"I can't. I won't."
"Adie when I take that hood over my head I want to be gone- dead for the world and I want you to be far away."

I was starting to cry again. I was vaguely aware of a guard watching us, obviously come down to take the prisoner away for death. Instead he watched us, wavering, curious.
I ignored him and continued to sob.

"How can I leave you behind after all you've done for me? You're like my brother! I love you! Why can't those damn British help you now since you helped them?" I croaked.
"Ssh, Adie, stop it. This isn't what I want you to remember this like!" he soothed, smoothing my hair and placing a light, farewell kiss on my forehead.
"What like this? This WAR? This… This fucking stupid HATRED?" I snapped, barely able to see through my tears.
"Adie I said stop. Promise me you'll go. Please. Then you can forget about this." he pleaded, chains clinking against the heavy steel bars.

I hesitated.

"I.. I promise… On.. One condition." I whispered, shutting my eyes and hating myself.
"Anything."
"When you go out there… Please don't accept the hood… Will you look to the sky and think of me, one last time?"
He smiled. "I'll do just that, Adie."

Slowly, I moved away from him, trembling and crying as the guard uncertainly slotted the key into place and opened the door. He suddenly shot an arm out and grabbed the guard's collar.

"You keep quiet about Adie now. Breathe a word of what you heard today to another living soul and I will personally haunt you for the rest of my life." he hissed.

The guard frowned then sighed then nodded, brushing his hand away.

"Get what you need," he smiled at me as he was lead out. "And go."

I flexed my fingers and touched my uniform uncertainly. I had everything. I had my photo and my gun and myself and that was all I needed.
That was all I trusted.
Gathering myself, I ran out of the dark, dank prison room and bolted away from the frontlines. I knew where I was going, I just didn't know if I was going to make it there, and if I did, if he would still be waiting.
As soon as I'd left the oppressive clutches of the darkness I could breathe again, but not for very long as I heard to quick gunshots fire and I had to screw my eyes shut and use the pain to drive myself forward.
A part of me had died and that part would keep me running until the rest of me died with it.

On December 24th, 1914, I read that both sides gave up fighting for one day and walked across No Man's Land to meet each other. They shared cigarettes and buttons and showed off their medals to each other. British and German soldiers helped each other bury the bodies of their fallen friends and family.
On the morning of December 25th, the German trench held up a flag with the words written in English,

"Merry Christmas"

The British troops held up a flag as well, and on this it said,

"Thank you."

And then the war resumed as if nothing had ever stopped.