He rid his body of the uniform. And when he lay on the bed, he said, "I am a soldier, my love."
"And you promised you'd come back for me. War is not to break your handsome face." Gabriel said.
"War is unpredictable, and you are full of hope." He kissed Gabriel. "I've gone into war with the expectation I'd die. And yet, I am still here a year later."
"Shut your mouth, Fletcher! If you die, I will die with you. We will be together in the same soil."
They were not good performers of the sex act. But they had the passion no one else had, and they were in love.
"I wanted to go to the battlefield with you. But I would most certainly die before you. I am only twenty, and yet to go to college." Gabriel sighed.
"And I wanted to go to college with you. But war ensued."
They were at fair ground. There was no talking for a moment, and they shifted their legs together and positioned their naked bodies this way and that. They touched each other and were in no hurry.
"I missed your crooked smile," said Gabriel.
"And I missed the softness of your voice," said Fletcher.
A loud bout of thunder shook the bed, and Gabriel put his hands over his head. The lights of his home flickered until they were left with only the streetlights. Yet, the two continued their sex. In that moment, it was like there was no war, and they were eighteen again: fresh new lovers in secrecy, vowing to each other that they'd be by each other forever.
Fletcher finished in Gabriel's mouth, and after a moment of rest, Gabriel prepared the other and thrusted into him. He did it until he orgasmed, and then Fletcher orgasmed again. Then they lay together in silence. It was over so quickly; shall they do it again? By then, both of their eyelids had become heavy. And so, Gabriel concluded that they would do it again, but only in his dreams. They would miss each other the next morning, but this would become another forgotten sex act when the war was over: when Fletcher came home to pleasure him and love him again.
In the morning, Fletcher left with his coat and uniform. The only trace left of his presence was on Gabriel's bed. They said no goodbye to each other, and they were without each other like it had been before. And for memory's sake, there was the two-year-old photo in Gabriel's wallet. It was taken before the war had separated them, on an unnamed day in May when they strolled in the park together.
Seeing that Fletcher was not there when he awoke, Gabriel decided to go about his day as he always did. It was pointless to miss someone who was already gone; Gabriel had learned that much earlier.
His first stop was his sister's bakery. There, he worked at the counter and wiped the tables. It seemed many of the city girls were interested in him, but unfortunately, he did not reciprocate. However, he always found it amusing to listen to their compliments. By the time the establishment closed, he smelled of sweets and baked goods.
In the evening, he went with his sister to take care of the garden behind their eldest brother's house. It was Gabriel's favorite place to reside, and he washed his face in the stream that broke through the middle of the plants.
Like Fletcher, Gabriel's eldest brother had gone off to war.
When it became too dark to manage the garden, Gabriel parted ways with his sister and arrived back at his home. On the couch, he sat, pulling the wallet from his pants pocket. There it was again, the two-year-old photo of him and Fletcher. He smiled at it, before putting it down and forgetting about it as he turned on the television.
A few months passed after Fletcher visited his home. He got a knock on his door, and upon opening it, he was given a note and torn fabric from Fletcher's cape.
Once the fabric was unwound, papers fluttered to the ground. There were love letters and sketches of Gabriel, of which the latter was well-drawn even with the lack of materials.
For my only love, Gabriel:
The cold has made it difficult to work, but I am warmed by the thought of you. The conflict has started to settle, and I think I will soon be in your arms again. When that happens, this letter will have no more meaning.
Sincerely,
Fletcher
Gabriel knew what it meant. Even before reading the official note separated from the fabric, he very much knew.
One by one, Gabriel took the love letters. He picked up his pen, writing responses to each of them. Then, he took both his and Fletcher's writings, throwing them into the fireplace.
At night, Gabriel walked outside barefoot. He walked until he reached the bridge over the river, putting his legs over the sturdy cement fence. Once he was ready, he dove into the water and drowned himself.