All he could hear were the bombs...the near constant explosions, mingled with the screams of the wounded and the stench of the dead. The blood of the soldiers ran like crimson rivers over the ground of the trenches and the constant barrage of grief and pain rolled over him like a tidal wave. The screaming of the nearest man caught his attention, practically a schoolboy, never held a gun. The voice was familiar, he knew that voice. That couldn't be right; he'd never seen any men he knew in the hospital. He moved closer and closer to the boy, recognition finally dawning on him. It was Louis. But that couldn't be right, it couldn't, it couldn't...
He woke up with a gasp, his body covered in sweat and his sheets tangled uncomfortably around him. He lay motionless for a few moments, breathing heavily and looking up at the whitewashed ceiling. He pushed the dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead out of his line of sight, and rested his hands over his eyes as if they could block out the images replaying in his mind. He calmed down a little after a few moments and started trying to settle down, tossing and turning on his mattress. As he did so, he heard a slight stirring from the other side of the room.
"Thomas?"
Bugger. He hadn't meant to wake up Louis (and he was surprised that he had – they all joked that Louis could sleep through an earthquake) and he turned his head to the disembodied voice in the dark. "Sorry. Go back t'sleep."
He heard the creaking of bedsprings then, "Not that tired. Besides, I can't sleep with you fidgeting."
"You can sleep through anything."
"I...I don't know. I just wake up when you have nightmares."
"I don't 'ave-"
"Oh shut up, yes you do. You..."
"I what?"
"...You cry sometimes. And I don't know what to do. It...hurts."
"What 'urts?" There was a mumble from the other side of the room. "What? Speak up."
Louis began mumbling. "...heart..."
He could hear the bedsprings again, and knew he'd turned away to face the wall. He tried to think of an appropriately snarky response without letting Louis know that what he had just said made his stomach twist in a not particularly unpleasant way, and brought a small smile to his face.
"Sentimental sod," He muttered, even though he was smiling in the darkness. "They really did convert you into a housemaid, didn't they?"
Louis mumbled something again.
"What? You mutter too much. I thought you 'ad problems with your eyes, not with your speech"
He'd be annoyed if it was William, or anyone else, and smack the muppet over the back of his head, but with Louis...it just felt wrong to think that. Not that he needed to know that. Ever.
"I said, I don't like it when you have nightmares because it hurts you. And then it hurts me. I mean, it's just...sad. To see you sad."
Thomas hesitated, not knowing what to say. "You're 'alf asleep, you don't know what you're sayin'," he said quickly, "Go back t'sleep."
Louis grumbled something, then threw the covers over his face and turned his back on Thomas.
xxx
He dreamt of the war again. He was once more surrounded by the horror and despair, and he hated it. But he couldn't think of a way out. It was like being stuck inside some deep, terrifying circle of hell. And the screaming...it was constant, the shrieking ringing in his ears mingled with the explosions surrounding the trenches. And suddenly there was a white hot pain searing through his chest, and he fell to the floor against a pile of dead bodies. He clutched at his chest, trying to rip the bullet out. As he did so, he felt a cool pressure against his hands, holding them steady and a voice whispering his name in his ear.
His eyes shot open, and as they adjusted to the darkness, he could see the dim outline of Louis sitting on the edge of his bed, his ridiculous fringe flopping in his eyes.
"Bloody 'ellfire!"
Louis jerked back, letting go of his hands as if they had burnt him. The loss of contact was sudden, and Thomas found himself almost missing it.
"Sorry, sorry." Louis sounded embarrassed, and though Thomas couldn't see him he could picture his face – wide eyed and flushed, his teeth nibbling on his bottom lip, his feet curled up underneath him on the mattress.
Thomas sighed, and spoke sleepily. "S'fine. What're you doing up?"
A pause, then, "You were...dreaming again."
The memory of the dream flooded his head, and he must have flinched or something, because Louis' hand shot out automatically to rest on his arm as he drew himself closer. And as he fell back to sleep, the last thing he saw were kind blue eyes and soft brown hair.
When he awoke, it was to a tangle of limbs and a young footman curled into his side. One of his arms was draped across Louis' skinny hips and Louis' thigh was pressed between his. And if he was perfectly honest, he wasn't complaining.
xxx
Thomas groaned, the fever consuming his body and the pain behind his eyes building slowly. He hated having the 'flu.
"Thomas?"
Thomas tilted his head slightly to look at the doorframe, then let it fall back onto his pillow as he registered Louis standing at the end of his bed.
"What?" he asked grumpily, closing his eyes again.
Louis laughed, and Thomas felt his mattress sink at the end as he sat down. "I came to see how you were feeling."
"Like death warmed up. You 'appy now?"
Louis jabbed him in the side, and Thomas pulled away from him grumbling, then pulled his sheets over his head. Louis just smiled again. "Cheer up, or I'll force you to cheer up."
Thomas glared at him from over the top of his sheets. He was sure he'd regret asking this but "...how?"
And then Louis pounced.
Thomas vowed to kill whoever it was (and it was probably Sarah, damn woman) that had told Louis that he was ticklish. He fought back valiantly, kicking out and punching, and it quickly turned into a struggle for dominance. He realised too late that (as he was straddling Louis' hips, laughing and breathless and pinning his hands to the mattress) all plausible deniability had gone out of the window.
xxx
It was Christmas, and all of the servants were returning to their rooms after a party in the kitchen. Thomas had been first out of there, having been forced to sit and make merry with a bunch of idiots, Louis and Sarah.
Louis came up a few minutes later, reeking of something that smelled distinctly like...lavender. Thomas scowled. He'd obviously been accosted by some maid under the mistletoe. Not that he cared. Much. Louis had a slightly spaced out expression, a small smile on his face as he fell back onto his bed.
"Did you 'ave fun then?" Thomas asked, a little more bitterly than he had intended. He undid his tie, leaving it hanging around his neck as he unbuttoned his shirt, glaring slightly at Louis who had flung his tie to the end of his bed, and was in the process of kicking his shoes off. He looked up in bewilderment.
"What?"
"You stink of poxy lavender soap."
Louis blushed, rubbing at his neck uncomfortably. "I was...er...grabbed, I suppose. By Carrie."
Thomas glowered and moved to sit on his bed but stopped when Louis spoke again.
"Why do you care?"
Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words. Why did he care? He didn't care about anyone usually, save for Sarah. People generally weren't worth his time. And then this stupid man –boy – barrelled headfirst into his life without looking and fucked everything up.
Louis walked towards Thomas, staring into his eyes unblinkingly. "It's really none of your business who I may or may not be kissing." He was getting dangerously close now, and the scent of lavender was disgustingly strong now.
"I-" Thomas broke off, swallowing hard and looking at Louis. He seriously debated moving away, but how could he, when he was so tantalisingly close?
Louis stood mere inches away, his breath ghosting lightly over Thomas' mouth. He leaned almost imperceptibly closer, his gaze fixed on Thomas' mouth, then he stopped and looked up into his eyes.
"Goodnight Thomas."
He turned away and undressed for bed. Thomas swore loudly in his head, and turned his back on Louis. He refused to look at him for the rest of the night.
xxx
He was sure he was doing this on purpose.
Before the events of the other night, they had been close. If someone asked where one of them was, the answer would invariably be 'with Thomas' or 'with Louis'. They shared a room, sat with each other at meals, smoked in the yard and worked together. Now, Louis was noticeably spending more time with William, Bates, Anna, Gwen and Branson. It wasn't unusual – while Thomas preferred the select company of Sarah and Louis, Louis got on with everyone.
He saw Gwen leaning over and grabbing Louis' elbow as she laughed at a joke he had told. A sudden twinge of jealousy clouded his vision, and he stormed out of the room to the courtyard to find Sarah.