A/N: Nothing to say... so read on!
Disclaimer: You know the drill... Big Time Rush doesn't belong to me, blah blah...
Horror gripped a world-war 1 soldier's heart as he saw his lifelong friend fall in the midst of the battle. Caught in the trench with continuous deadly gunfire whizzing over his head, the soldier asked his lieutenant if he might go out to the 'no man's land' between the two trenches to bring his fallen comrade back.
"You can go," the lieutenant said, "But I don't think it will be worth it. Your friend is probably dead, and you may risk throwing your life away in order to bring him back." The lieutenant's advice and words of caution didn't matter – the soldier squared his shoulders and went anyway.
Miraculously, he managed to reach his friend, hoist him onto his shoulder, and bring him back to their trench. As the two of them tumbled unsteadily to the bottom of the trench, the lieutenant checked the wounded soldier, and then looked kindly at his friend. The petite figure lay still on the floor, golden blonde hair streaked with a splash of ruby red and eyes closed, lashes curving and casting shadows along his pale cheekbones. The lieutenant wondered silently to himself why the small sized blonde was chosen for the battle – he looked as if he could hardly carry his own weight, much less the rifle that he still had a grip on, clenched in his slim, long fingers. The lieutenant shook his head – the blonde had been very brave, to go out there, unlike the other soldiers, cowering in the shelter of the trench.
"I told you it wouldn't be worth it," he said, "Your friend is dead, and you are wounded."
The lieutenant watched as the soldier bit his lip, saying, "It was worth it, sir."
"What do you mean, worth it?" The lieutenant asked, "Your friend is dead."
"Yes, sir," the private answered, tears in his eyes, "But it was worth it because when I got to him, I heard him say, 'James…. I knew you'd come.'" There was a pause, before the hazel-eyed private murmured, "And I saw his beautiful emerald eyes one last time too," There was a wistful, lilting tone to how the private said it.
That very same private died honorably, in the thick of the battle, that very day.
The lieutenant thought that he'd never seen anyone so full of hate, the way the private that was laying still on the cold marble table, had shot down more than half of the enemies. The hatred that burnt in his hazel orbs as he gazed upon those enemies, the hate that drove this boy on, despite the shots in his battered body.
Why was he thinking so much about this boy and the other dead boy anyway? Those two were just two soldiers who'd been killed in battle -soldiers died every day in battles. Maybe it was because they were both so very young. Maybe it was their bond, their love.
The lieutenant raised a hand, shifting the white sheet over the boy's face.
A/N: Ehh... Review. Bye! :D