Homecoming
The air is crisp with the smell of rain that had passed by before Feliks arrived. All around is cleansed with a fresh coat of water, the smells of the flowers and dirt around thickened. The taxi pulls into the driveway with the gravel crunching underneath the tire. The house before him is just how he remembered it, beige in colour with coffee linings. A garden is beginning to sprout due to the mid-spring that falls across the land. Even though his host isn't out, he can feel his excitement rising. As he shakily hands the driver the money owed, he steps out from the car with his legs feeling similar to Jell-O. As he remembers how to walk, the grouchy driver pulls away with haste.
He had asked for no permission to come here. He was told before he needed his bed rest, due to his frail stature. But now as a country, he should be free to go home.
This is home.
He comes face to face with the oak wood door and knocks thrice, three impatient taps. His arms fold across his chest, lightly coated with a stylish jacket. Counting the seconds, one, two, three, four, he becomes tired of waiting, knocks thrice more before contemplating it once more. He can imagine Toris inside, bustling about with paperwork, housekeeping and cooking, scrambling to finish up before inviting the guest inside. He can't help but chuckle.
The door opens then and the man is revealed. Slightly taller now, he's healthy and full of colour, a dark peach framed with mousy locks. Seeing him there leaves Feliks – for once in his life – at a loss for words. Moments pass by the two with a gentle stare between them, each too afraid to make a move for fear that the slightest movement would cause the other to disappear.
The smaller blonde is the first to move and he embraces the other tightly like a child to their mother after a horrid dream. A dam is behind his eyes and he shields them with the lids to ensure no water broke free. A thin, yet strong, pair of arms encases him and pulls him to his chest. A grin breaks from the Pole's lips as he takes in the other's aroma. He still dons that smell of cedar and an open range fire, just how he recalled.
"Liet…." He manages out with a shaky voice. He shifts then to ease up, to see the face he hasn't in so long. "It—it's so good to see you!"
The other's tiny grin is one that makes Feliks's own grow fonder. "Was beginning to wonder when I'd see you." He replies honestly. "But come, it's going to rain soon, I-I don't want you out in it."
He allows the other's body it's freedom, though not without taking the extra warmth, and steps side to allow the other entry. Feliks steps in, his arms back across his chest. The Lithuanian had done some major redecorating but he supposed it happens after more than thirty years had passed. All is earthly in the man's home, the couch a deep brown adjacent to a television set, bigger than Feliks remembers them. The walls are painted a light brown, green lining them, a few bookshelves settled against those walls, filled with Lithuanian, Russian and even Polish texts. A few others held trinkets that were definitely handmade, by whom; Feliks wasn't too interested in inquiring.
"Where've you been all this time?" Toris then begins with the questions, he always one for them. "I tried to find you but, Ivan had told me it was no use… That you were already gone. So I… I had to give up."
Feliks's lips line. Of course Ivan would tell him such things. Hope was not something Ivan wanted for any member of the Soviet Union. "Was a Prisoner." He simply states as he turns on his heal to face him, his back to the living room. "Germany, he um, took me as one." His eyes avert as he tries to dodge the subject from progressing.
Toris takes the hint and embraces him once more. "I missed you."
The words are so simple, but they're enough for Feliks to want to break down in front of him. But he's a man, and he is stronger than that, so he refrains. He clings to the other once more, arms around his neck and his face hiding against the warm flesh there. They stand like this for a long while, just embracing so warmly. There is much left unsaid but sometimes nothing needs to be when it came to them.
xXxXx
The sound of thunder rolls across the sky and shakes the home in its path. At one time, Feliks was a fearless man, and would laugh in the face of things most humans feared. Snakes, they were mere pests just like the rodents they ate. Spiders only made a mess of things, so therefore he flicked them away with no thought. Darkness made it easier for an attack so he thrived in it. Thunderstorms would once lull him to sleep. But now? Now is different, and the thunder wakes him from what was a comfortable sleep, barricaded in the guest room.
As his eyes open, he is not in Toris's home any longer, but in his flat in Warsaw. Outside he can hear the maddening footsteps of soldiers marching through. He can faintly hear the pleas and cries of his people who were being killed and taken away from their loved ones. Lightning flashes and thunder follows and he is certain another round of bombs have been dropped. His feet thud against the floor and he races from the room, his destination outside. Though once he reaches the hall his imagination loosens its hold on him and he recalls just where he is. So changing his course, he heads down the dimly lit hall and knocks twice on his friend's door. When no reply comes, he keeps a steady knock until a groan for entry is heard.
He darts in as the windows light up with the flash outside. He nearly dives into bed with the other and clings to him. Toris sits erect then, arms lifted in confusion.
"Feliks, what are you doing up?" He nearly hisses in his sleepy stupor.
"I… I can't sleep." He whimpers out as he presses up against the other as the sound drums above.
It takes a moment, but Toris places the pieces together and he sighs. The other once was so fearless, what could reduce him to this? He pushes aside his misunderstanding and pulls the other up close to himself.
"Nothing will harm you here." He soothes the other softly, hands placed on the small of the other's thin back.
He hadn't noticed this before however, how grossly malnourished the other was. His brow quirks in question and he drops his hands from his back to his waist, which is similarly downsized.
"Have you been eating well?"
Silence.
"Feliks."
Silence.
"Hey." He lifts the other's face to look at him, though grassy eyes avoid his gaze.
"I—" Feliks falters. "It's complicated."
"I've got all night."
The few seconds feel like hours between them but in that second, Feliks wiggles away from the other, sitting on the side of the bed. Golden locks hide his face and his shoulders draw up.
"I was a prisoner." He repeats.
"You told me," Toris replies, goading him onward.
"Not at like, the normal prison," He clarifies. "They call it Auschwitz. It was a camp… They hated me Liet. For everything I was, for being Jewish for being Polish, for… caring for you." He puts the last part lightly to assure the other none of it was his fault. "So they take me in and… I worked." He shifts on the bed, staring down at his feet. "They fed us… Little. Like this size cup." He shows with his fingers to him, though his eyes don't follow to see the horrified expression. "Was rice, I think. Doesn't matter 'cause like… Couldn't eat any of it. There were these scientists there, and like, treated us like animal lab. They say they needed this dietary thing, for women, ya'know?" He brushes his hair back and presses his lips together.
He can remember it vividly.
The room was always with this blinding light above him and two hulking soldiers would struggle to get him in and hoist him up onto a metal slab of a bed. They did much to him, with cutting and examining only. After the third visit, he would usually go quietly and simply lay on the table, but after the sterilization, he began to struggle again, much to their displeasure.
That day he thrashed and kicked about, earning physical abuse from the tallest that held him. Once on the table, he kicked out, flailing like a dog before being put down. Desperation had him throwing punches and kicks wherever he could reach but as usual, a malnourished man was overcome by well-fed soldiers who strapped him down to the table, cackling at him. The needle was no stranger, but it never screamed out friend.
"You are like the stronger woman," The doctor had told him that day. "So this should hurt you none. You be good, and I'll be sure to slip you some more food, hm?"
The man always had given him an incentive, deciding that because he was Jewish, that would be the only way from him to cooperate. But the food given just made him sick and he ended up in a downward spiral of poor eating habits
After his story is finished, Toris just stares. He then crawls across the forest canopy and takes the smaller boy into his arms.
"Feliks, I…" He balks in his words before he presses a kiss on his temple. "I'm so sorry."
"It is a little better now," He assures him. "Lech had people fix it." He snuggles into his side. "Hey, Liet. Do you remember that song you used to sing? You know, like, when we used to stay out into the barn?"
Toris blinks at him before he laughs some. "That silly thing?" He questions of him. "Why?"
"Sing it to me…" He requests like a spoiled prince.
But that he was when he and Toris ruled. The other's voice first came soft and soon it soothes the Pole who leans against him, his shoulders sagging at a steady pace. He looks up at the other, at that serene and welcoming face. He sits up then, pressing his lips up against the other's, interrupting the little song.
"H—hey!" Toris blows up in a deep shade of red.
Feliks just giggles and sits up on his knees. "I missed you too."
The other takes a moment to recover from his moment of embarrassment to allow his face to soften. He then leans over to him, pressing his lips softly back. This is accepted graciously as Feliks's arms wrap around him, pulling him down to his height. After a few sweet kisses are exchanged, Toris presses hard, lingering ones to his once lover. He then overpowers the other, pushing him down against the pillows.
"You're so strong," He whispers into his ear before kissing the lobe.
A soft breath signifies that Feliks heard.
"So beautiful," Hands place on his hips.
"Ah?"
"No matter what they did to you."
"Stop…" The other's face is the shade of a cherry.
A kiss is pressed to him to stop his coy protests. "I care for you so much." Toris whispers to him after that moment. He licks across the other's lips and the latter gives a soft gasp, allowing the other's tongue through. "Let me show you softness."
"You always have," Feliks replies feebly.
"Let me continue to do so."
Feliks sits up, a brow arching. As he does this, Toris places a hand on his cheek.
"You come here more often, okay?" He tells him, a soft demand. "We make memories to help you forget what happened."
Feliks's arms encircle him and bring him back down to the bed, peeking up at him. "I have to come here… It's my home." He leans up to peck Toris's lips lightly. "You're my home."
Once there was a Pole, feeble and frail. He worked day by day on the carts, throwing and stewing luggage away. Though he went through hardships, he never once threw himself in front of the train. For every day was a day he dreamed again. About his sweet home, with his loving partner inside awaiting his return. And though every day he did yearn for and end, he marched on. Because dreams kept him alive, but today: this is not the dream. But the reality. The for mentioned pain taunts him no more. For all of his happiness, was right beyond that oak door.