I love you.

It sounds easy to say.

Just three little words. Not much of a breath you'd need to say it.

'You love me?'

'That's right, Dick Winters, I love you' - but you hadn't said anything so he cannot realize it by your words.

You always talk a lot, especially to him but you don't say the words that matter - mostly because you don't need to say them, because Dick Winters has always known what you mean, what he means to you.

But you don't tell him the whole truth, how deep it goes, what he means to you for real.

You prefer to think about it when drunk - because these thoughts always come when you can't control yourself.

You think about him and his bright red hair. You think about his face or what would be of his face if you told him and then you burst out in a loud laughter - because you hide yourself in miles of dark and depreciating humour, even when drunk.

He looks at you and asks "What's up?"

And you keep grinning to yourself.

"Just a silly thought," you say while watching your own boots.

He is still looking, an arched thin eyebrow, a partial smile on his lips.

"Tell me," Dick says, because he is curious, he's always curious about Lewis Nixon and you always read it in some stupid, nonsensical way, because you can't accept this man loving you for what you are - maybe for a guilty pleasure, but Dick Winters is better than that and you are tired to know it.

"Nothing. It's stupid," you say, because you need to keep the ugliness from him. He cannot see what is beyond the obvious - and sure, you don't know how it isn't obvious how you feel about him.

"Tell me anyway," he insists, walking to you. You swallow hard because it wasn't suppose to happen, that is, Dick coming to you. Too near. You can feel his warmth and your face is burning at this point.

"I love you?" You say in a snort-laughter, looking at him briefly.

Everything stills and he is silent. There you had it. You always thought about this happening, just like this. You regret your action, but not as much - you are drunk, yet - to say anything or even laugh to hide your fear.

"I love you, too, Lew," he says after a time and you raise your eyes. He is serious, you think, frowning.

Yeah, friend love, that's right, keep with that Dick. That's the best outcome possible. He misunderstands your words so you can live with yourself, and him with you.

"No, Lew, I mean…" He kisses you sloppy between the cheek and the lips and you can't fathom it. It isn't real. You are drunk. That cannot be happening.

You blink profously at him as he retreats.

"It's not that hard to understand," Dick says with an insecure smile.

You kiss him again, now you did it.

"Well, I thought you hadn't understood before," you say incredulous. Why would be Dick kissing him after that, or at all?

Dick presses his lips and shakes his head before taking your hand and taking you away from the chair you were in.

"Grow up, Lew," he jokes, taking you to the HQ and you chuckle 'what that was supposed to mean?' but you still follow him, happily.