At first the smell had been offensive. Different and strange, something frightening lurking just on the edge of perception… Now, it seemed comforting to Melanie. The spicy odor of men, tinged with a touch of sweat… it emanated from all of the sleeping soldiers, creating a musk that flushed through the room. Melanie had hated it once, liking more the sweet clean smell of home, but now… there was no other. It meant there were men, brothers, other fighting soldiers, each one willing to die to protect the other. It was a bond that Melanie could hold on two.
It had been nearly a month now: a month of hard marching, of waiting for attacks that never came. Wesley had not lied, it seemed all they did was march. The food was not elegant, but it filled her stomach and gave her the strength she needed. It was a harsh life, but one Melanie felt she could handle. It had not been hard to hide her femaleness. It seemed first impressions were really the only ones that counted. She had first been seen as a male, and now to find out different would be startling, which made the men lenient with her odd behavior. So the odd little Mel didn't use a community toilet, so he didn't rush and leap into the many rivers with the others, he was just a bit shy, that was all. Easy to account for, easier than the truth.
Melanie pulled her wool blanket tighter around her, feeling the cold touches of winter creeping into her body. The ground in the tent was still warm from the day, but the heat was quickly being stolen by the cold night air. An arm brushed against her, pulled her close and draped another blanket on her. She forced herself into a calmness she didn't feel as Wesley pressed against her back.
"If we share, we can both sleep under two blankets. At least we might stay warm that way." His voice was a whisper, the slight song of the south playing over his words. Captain Fair was a kind man, well spoken even in the harsh company of his men. Melanie honestly liked him, liked him more as Mel. She contrasted the dual personality as she drifted off to sleep, now warm beside Wesley.
Wesley didn't know what was wrong with him. He pushed his morning serving of stew around the wooden bowl. He had never felt this way for any man before, was not one to chase the pretty faces of young boys as some did. He glanced at Mel, felt the flare in his heart. More than brotherly love, more than friendship… He tore his eyes away, test himself by looking at the other soldiers.
His gaze shifted from each men… Frank, Harvey, Louis…. Nothing. He tried again, Tim, Mark, Richard…. No. He glanced back at Mel, felt the flare. He shoved stew in his mouth, vowing never to look at the young man again. He chewed, swallowed, and looked back.
Such delicate features, dust streaked now but still speaking of southern aristocracy. Fine blonde hair matched with light eyes… But it was more than that. He pushed Mel gently with his shoulder, grinning down at the boy to produce a matching grin. It was a streak of summer lighting across a desert, like milk against tea.
A Wesley hated that he wanted to see it so much.