Chapter Text
The sun glowed through the hazy window in the main room of the apartment, casting everything from the threadbare couch to the rug to the small kitchen in an orange light for a few minutes before night truly fell. The dust in the air caught the sun as if it were a shined earring under incandescent light, like the ones the girls at the jazz club wore in their ears. If you could count on anything, it would be that Brooklyn was always dusty.
I check the front door over my shoulder for the hundredth time in a minute, waiting for the telltale click of the lock as James finally comes home. It would be easier to count the number of times James had come home on time this month than it would be to count the late shifts, the docks losing so many young men to the front lately, it was up to the remaining few to pick up the work of a dozen or more men. I turn back to the stovetop, the pilot light flickering away under the metal as I give the stew another gentle stir, brown gravy sticking thick and hearty to the wooden spoon as I keep the meal warm. Autumn had truly settled into New York, the winds picking up and the few trees in the parks turning a burnt auburn and orange with the changing of the seasons, which also meant that the apartment had a chill skittering along the wood floors and the thin walls, the window rattling slightly in its frame with a passing gust. Being able to heat the main room, along with the radiator in the bedroom, was going to take more money than we had to spare right now. Better to bundle up in blankets and stove fire than to lose the coins that could instead gain an extra pound of meat from the butcher on the corner.
Thankfully Mr. Hannigan had given me a couple extra hours at the switchboards today; one of the usual girls at the company had left early citing ‘women’s problems’, and I’d managed to fill in for the time she was gone and earn myself an extra dollar twenty for the day. Maybe not enough to turn us into the Rockefellers, but I can’t complain about the extra coin. Not when James’ work had him out of our bed before the sun had even considered rising and had him falling back onto the mattress long after it had set. Brooklyn continued its noise past the walls, the rumble of cars on the cobbled street and the shouting of kids in the alley below playing their games as the apartment stayed full of the smell of beef and potatoes simmering in the cast-iron pot.
Still, I didn’t miss the click of the lock, and I was on James the second he was through the door, helping him shrug out of his woolen coat and pressing a kiss to his cheek before he could even get his hat off, leaving a pink smear of lipstick tinting his face amongst the dirt and grime.
“Heya, doll.” James offers me a tired smile, affection still seeping through the exhaustion colouring his face. Even dead on his feet, James was one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen. His typically icy blue eyes were a little greyer these days, and his clean-shaven cheeks sporting a slight shadow, but his little lopsided grin could send butterflies through my stomach no matter what. “Sorry m’late.”
“Nothin’ t’ be sorry for.” I immediately shake my head, ushering him past the doorway and closer to the stove to warm up, his shirt sleeves still damp with sea spray and sweat where they're bunched up around his elbows. The last thing we needed was James working himself into an illness out there in the cold. I continue to fuss a little with his wrinkled clothes and his stiff steps as I settle him in a chair at the slightly lopsided kitchen table, the wood groaning at the same time as him. “You look like you’re ‘bout t’ keel over. How was work?”
“Exhausting… as usual.” I hear the hum of his voice more than I hear independent words, squeezing his arm in my hand as I turn to grab him a serving of supper. Instead, I only make it a step before James has caught my hand and pulled me back to him with a squeak, sitting me across his lap with my skirts pooled over both of our legs and his arms around my middle, the chair continuing to complain under the weight of both of us now. “Pays the bills. Means I get t’ come home t’ you.”
I huff a little bit as he flirts, even half dead at my feet he’s still got that silver tongue, but I also can’t wipe the grin off my face as I wrap my arms around his neck and lean into the solidity of his chest. “I made supper if you’re hungry. Soda bread ‘nd stew, your favourite.”
“Well, ain’t I a lucky man?” He murmurs, watching his eyes slip closed and his embrace get tighter as every word slips past his lips in a quiet breath that ghosts over my cheek and the few curls that escape my pins as he presses a kiss to my temple. His lips are chapped and the smell of the New York bay cling to his clothes and hair, burying the scent of cheap soap and whichever cologne he’d put on hours ago.
“Ain’t ya?” I tease, mimicking the tired drawl of his words as he traces the bridge of his nose along the curve of my cheek and presses another light kiss to my skin. I loved the sound of his voice, that low and happy hum he gives me even when he’d probably rather crawl straight into bed after a long day. “I called your ma from th’ corner phone for th’ recipe ‘nd everythin’.”
“You talked t’ ma? How’s she doin’?”
“Well, th’ girls are keepin’ her busy.” I smile, threading my fingers through James’ slicked hair for a moment just to get a couple of the strands at the back to stand on end and serve to make him even more disheveled than he was a moment ago as he continues to insist upon peppering soft kisses along the side of my face, only half paying attention to anything that isn't smudging the makeup with swipes of city dust. “Steven also called while I was on th’ board today, wan’ed t’ lament ‘bout some new drawin’ pencils that ‘pparently showed up on his bed this mornin’… I’m sure you had nothin’ t’ do with that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.” He mumbles again with a knowing grin, finally pulling back enough to let me get a good look at him instead of busying himself with sucking the underside of my jaw. I brush my thumb under his eye, swiping away another smudge of grime from the soft curve of his skin as he presses another final kiss to the heel of my palm. “Why would I give Stevie a pair o’ bran’ new drawin’ pencils? You think I got that kinda money?”
“That’s what I told ‘him, that you’d spent your last dime getting’ me that pretty new dress a couple’a weeks ago… couldn’t’a possibly been you.”
James had been working at the docks about as long as I’d known him. Finding good work in the city was a tough enough ask, let alone keeping it these days. James’ family had been well off when he was a teenager, his father had a good job and was able to support his family with more than enough to spare for a car and shoeshines at the end of the month. But the last several years saw the closure of most businesses that could keep a nice young man like James employed, and now his father was gone and even factory jobs were starting to turn men away. But the docks were always in need of an extra hand, especially with the war taking away most of the strong workers to go die on the western front; and the new draft picking away the remaining few that didn’t enlist. While the women were filling in where we could with the workforce, we couldn’t exactly be counted on to stand out on the boats in the bay all day hoisting crates and shipping scrap metal to the front. I didn’t complain a single peep about James’ work no matter how much I wished I’d get more than a moment with my fella every day before he collapsed back into bed. I knew that the spare change I got whenever Mr. Hannigan gave me a shift was not going to support us, and that it was James breaking his back every day that kept a roof over our heads and meat in our suppers, but it ached somewhere deep in my chest that the world sat on his shoulders like that.
It didn’t matter that I told him we could live without the little things, that I had enough dresses to get through the week and stockings were allowed to have a few runs in them, every little ounce of chiding fell of deaf ears when it came to James. If he could work an extra hour to bring home penny sweets, or buy his ma and sisters some new shoes, or fuel Steven’s art with a sketchbook or a pencil, there was nothing I could do to stop him. He would give the people he loved the moon on a string if they asked. Or in this case, did not ask.
“You looked so beautiful in that dress.” He replies with a smile, completely ignoring the stern look I’d started to give him at the idea of spending more money, and instead winning me over with those pretty blue eyes as he keeps me perched on his lap. It’s hard to stay cross with him when he's sweet as sugar. His embrace tightens a little bit more as his muscles finally warm through nice and close to the stove, shaking off some of the ache in his joints from the cold outside and his fingers wrinkling the fabric of my skirts clenched in his grip. “Worth e’ery penny, showin’ those girls at th’ company that you’ve got a fella keepin’ you happy.”
“They were practically green over it.” I reassure him with a slight roll of my eyes. It's not the first time this week he has made sure that everyone was appropriately jealous over how spoiled I am by my perfect boy. “Prettiest thing this side of the river.”
“Prettiest dame this side of the whole country.” He quietly corrects, earning another laugh from me.
“Oh… hush.” I scold quietly, pressing a final kiss to his lips to try and wipe that pleased little smirk off his face as I finally escape his embrace and make it back to the stove so I can plate up some supper for him. “You ‘nd your tongue, Mr. Barnes. Gonna get yourself in trouble one o’ these days.”
“Jus’ for my best girl.” I catch his grin as he tips his head back to watch me with lazy eyes as I ladle out a serving of stew for him, giving the pot an extra stir so I can make sure I load up his bowl with as much of the beef and potatoes as I can, trying to make the one and only hot meal he’s getting today is as hearty as possible. Seeing as the sun is far enough gone to consider turning on a lamp or two in the main room of the apartment, I had eaten my share of the meal hours ago. Whatever was left, a large chunk of soda bread and any remaining stew was all James’, with any luck there was enough of something to put in the icebox for him to eat on the docks tomorrow too. “I’d do anythin’ for you, doll. You know that.”
“Jus’ keep bein’ yourself for me James, that’s all I need.”
James’ stomach makes its complaints known the moment I have a bowl of stew set in front of him along with some bread, finally coming to terms with just how starved and exhausted he is, and I leave him to hunch over the table and forgo most of his learned manners in the name of getting food into his body sooner rather than later. I’m pretty sure there is a mumbled ‘thank you’ somewhere in the middle of it, but it gets somewhat lost in the clatter of dishes in the sink basin as I tidy up. The water out of the tap runs cold as I set about washing the utensils, hot water unfortunately reserved for the summer when the scorching sun warms the pipes, leaving us with stove water if we want to wash faces or hands in something nicer than what October has to offer. One of the neighbours has their radio on, the soft sound of a big jazz band seeping through the thin walls and adding to the general ambiance of creaking floorboards and rumbling streets outside.
I might have said something, some quiet comment about the weather or about James’ friend Frank getting redirected to the same phone three times this week to be sweet on some new girl he’s met, but it's quickly interrupted by the front door creaking open again and sending a draft through the apartment in the second the stove warmed air meets the outside. A flash of blond hair slips into the doorway before quickly shutting the door behind him.
It’s not a rare sight for Steven to appear in the apartment. As well as I knew, James and Steven had been near inseparable since childhood, meeting in the middle of some schoolyard brawl that ended in both of them being dragged to the headmaster’s office for a switch across their palms. Though to hear the neighbourhood tell it, the two may as well have been ‘Buck and Stevie’ since the moment they came out of the womb; a package deal for all of recorded history and for the rest of time. So through the years, especially after the passing of his mother half a decade ago, if Steven found himself sketching the skyline with a chunk of charcoal sat on the sun warmed metal of James’ fire escape, or sat at the table just in time for a meal and someone to count his breaths as he slept through another fever, then that was simply James making sure that anything he had, his best friend had too.
In the time it takes a slightly bleary James to look up from the table and grin, perking up a bit at the sight of his best friend, I have the last bowl down from the cabinet and next to the remnants of stew. The dishes can wait another moment or two, soaking in the cold water as I plate up a slightly smaller portion for the blond. “Heya, Stevie.”
“Hey, pal.” Steven gives James a grin, offering me the same smile as his hat slips down a little bit over unkept hair and into his eyes, his cheeks flushed pink with the cold and the exertion of walking all the way here. He manages to shrug off a very worn coat and hang it next to James’ on the rack, sitting in the chair at the table that James kicked out for him. I give his narrow shoulder a squeeze as I hand him the bowl and a spoon, watching the way his pale hand tremble. “This for me?”
“What, you think we’d forget t’ feed you?” I ask, stepping away to grab a thin blanket from the bedroom and drape it over Steven’s shoulders and the back of his chair. Steven could get pneumonia just from someone looking at him funny, the boy is not catching his next fever on my watch just because he decided to come visit in the middle of an October squall. “Hurry up ‘nd eat ‘fore it gets cold.”
“Thanks.” Steven laughs quietly, digging into the stew with the same gusto James had as the other man resorts to resting his head on his hand to keep from face-planting into his scraped clean bowl, the apartment slowly gets darker and darker. The street lamps outside and the small light by the stove now keep the room from being more than vague shapes in the dark.
“Hey…” I whisper near James’ ear as I brush a few strands of dark hair off of his forehead, escaping from the gel he’d put in this morning when I messed it up earlier. He’s got a very pensive look on his face as he keeps his chin propped up on his hand and watches Steven take a bite of stew, practically melting into the chair and blanket I've got him wrapped in, and I try to capture James’ attention again with the soft press of my fingers. “You alright? What's got you all in knots?”
James offers me a tired smile, letting me fuss over him as he glances up again and tips his head slightly into my hand. I can read the expression on his face, somewhere between half asleep and wanting to stay awake just a little bit longer; the tension in his shoulders even though the stove fire and a hot supper had finally put a little bit more colour back into his face.“Jus’ thinkin’ is all, doll.”
I let him get away with that. I wasn’t going to push for a proper explanation, especially in front of Steven if James didn't want to give it just yet. It's not like he didn't have plenty to think about. It could have been any of a dozen problems; from how he's going to have to go back to work bright and early tomorrow, to how we’re going to stretch groceries until the end of the month. Instead, I give him a teasing little smile back, running my thumb along his forehead like I could push away everything plaguing his mind. "You're gonna think yourself into a stupor at this rate."
“I’ve been workin' myself to the bone at that dock all day.” He laughs for me, quiet and low as he sits back in his chair instead of slumping over the table. I loved the colour of his eyes in the sunset, the light above the stove catching the blue and blowing his pupils wide. “My brain’s already stupefied.”
"Oh, my angel and his poor 'stupified' brain." I murmur against James’ temple as I press my lips to his skin again. Catching Steven’s gaze with a little wink, I watch the blond stifle another laugh with a chunk of soda bread shoved into his mouth. "Whatever are we gonna do with you?"
"You can take pity on me ‘nd give me another kiss?"
"We already pity you James, no need to ask." I murmur, leaning down to press another light kiss to his lips as he tips his head back for me, tasting the salt of supper on his skin instead of sea spray now. “It's Thursday; are you gonna make it, or you wan’ me ‘nd Steven t’ jus’ tell you ‘bout th’ episode tomorrow?”
Thursdays were my favourite day. James had bought the radio months ago, putting quite the dent in the last little bit of savings he’d had from before the war, the wood well worn and the speakers giving a sort of tinned and static noise instead of the crystal-clear ring that the ones in the shops downtown did, but it was by far my most prized possession in the apartment. The music was lovely, of course, and I’m thankful for the chance to hear the news broadcasts… but the radio shows were priceless to me. A moment to close your eyes and push away all the terrible things. To listen to the narrators and the actors weave together a story about fanciful places with heroes and villains; where the cowboy catches the train and chases away the bandits, where the knight saves the damsel in distress, even Bob Hope telling his jokes were enough to make the day just a little bit better. James knew I didn’t miss a single Thursday show if I could help it, even though he’d laugh when I’d start dragging him home by the shirtsleeves if we were going to be late, and typically strays like Steven found their way to the apartment to listen too.
“Wouldn’t miss it, doll.” He whispers, sneaking in one last peck to my cheek when I reach to take his bowl away, and I share a knowing glance with Steven. I don’t buy his promise to not fall asleep part way through for even a second, although the intention to not crawl into bed and leave the two of us to the radio was admirable considering his current state, so I don’t hold it against him. Steven however does not quite have the same tact for his friend.
“You’ve got it too good ‘round here, jerk. If you fall asleep and upset your girl, I’m gonna have to take you out into the alley and teach you a lesson ‘bout how to treat a lady.” Steven snorts, mumbling around his spoon.
“What, you think you could take me, punk?” James offers a tired grin for his best friend, feeding into the teasing. Leave it to Steven to think everything could be solved with a good old tussle in the streets, even if he was jokingly defending my honour from the perceived carelessness of my sleepy fella. The blond could start a fight with a brick wall if he felt so inclined, which was comical considering at any given moment Steven looked like a stiff breeze would take him off his feet. James was not a small man, he was fairly tall and well built from working the docks day in and day out, definitely had a couple pounds on Steven, and that didn’t even touch whichever ailment was currently working through Steven’s body between fevers and asthma and the like. Still, it was somehow always the smaller boy starting the fight and the bigger dragging him back out of trouble like a scorned kitten.
“Alright, alright.” I huff another quiet laugh as Steven looks like he’s about to throw off his blanket and shove back his chair, ready to wrestle James at the drop of a hat. Taking away both of their dishes, I ruffle Steven’s hair for his efforts. “Go get th’ radio ready, you can tussle later if you’re still feelin’ so inclined.”
Both boys are set up on the couch with the last notes of some Glen Miller song playing by the time I make it over to the sitting area with them, curling up on the rug and leaning back against the cushion next to James’ leg so I can rest my temple on his knee. The couch isn’t nearly big enough for the three of us to sit comfortably, but even if I don't get a seat on the cushion today, I’m the one who was thinking ahead enough to sneak the brown paper bag of penny sweets out of the pantry, so who really has the best deal here? Steven stays wrapped in his blanket, making himself as comfortable as possible without a couch spring digging into his skin, and James provides a nice little pillow for my head as he clicks on the lamp on the little side table.
The program starts with the introductory music right on time, the opening notes tinning through the air as the narrator introduces the story and recaps where the episode last week left off. I shut my eyes with my cheek against the scratchy material of James’ pantleg, his slacks stiffened with salt spray that is going to take a heck of a wash to get out later, and I immediately feel his hand gently tracing over the escaped curls at the nape of my neck. As the actors jump right into the action, the performers mimicking the sounds of a horse’s hooves against a dirt road and the hero proclaiming that it is the last time the villain has gotten away with such evil, James carefully unpins my hair from the updo that I’d had it in for work. Each little metal stick slowly and methodically removed and collected in the palm of his hand as I picture worlds of adventure and wonder until he is free to properly thread calloused fingers through the soft waves of my hair. We stay perched like that for the rest of the story, leaving me curled up against James as Steven lounges on the other side of the couch through a tale of travel to far off lands; where there is no warfront and no draft, no bills piling up and cold water in the pipes, no losing my angel to work shifts longer than the day itself, no fevers or asthma threatening to take Steven away every winter…
I’m the only one still awake when the story comes to a close. James stilled about halfway through, his hand warm and rough where it cups the back of my neck, his head tipped against the couch. He’d started quietly snoring when the damsel was kidnapped by the villain, much like I figured. Steven isn’t much better, despite his chivalrous claims of making sure James paid attention to the story for my sake, his head laid against his best friend’s shoulder and was equally dead to the world by the time the static fills the radio speakers instead of the voice of the program’s narrator. I sit for a minute longer, just listening to the quiet breathing of both James and Steven, almost masked by the general ambiance of the last few cars outside and the hum of the factories down the way… it would almost have been peaceful if the radio channel hadn’t clicked back on.
Neither boy stirs as the newscaster starts speaking again, though my stomach drops out of my body and through the wooden floor when I realize what he’s saying so late into the evening. It wasn’t fair. The President had just announced the draft last month, they’d already taken their first lottery… there couldn’t be another so soon, could there? I sit frozen as the newscaster explains over the radio in a voice far too even and calm for my racing heart that letters have been sent out to the young men expected to report for duty, reiterating the names of the next collection of New York residents that have been called to action.
“Milton Ailsby, Geoffrey Bagley, Marshal Cleland, Fred Davis…” I can practically hear the death toll accompanying each name, thinking of the families and the partners of each one of those men months from now receiving a telegram saying that their loved one has given his life for this damned war. We hadn’t received a summons… James had yet to be drafted, but still… that didn’t guarantee his safety from this list tonight, let alone the next time they selected half of the men from here to Jersey to be shipped off to France and Italy. Even as he slept peacefully right there next to me, his snores interrupting the broadcast on occasion, I no longer felt the warmth of his body or smelled the salt and wood varnish on his clothes. It was like someone had opened the door and let the cold October suck away the air I’d worked so hard to warm.
God had no reason to listen to my prayers as I tightened my arm around James’ calf, watching the radio like I could will his name into being spared for now and forever just by my eyes the carved wood. I lived with my love unwed. I worked on the Sabbath when we needed the spare coin. I could probably do with a re-read of the Torrah, it’s been a while. Still… even if Rabbi Johnston was maybe a bit too preoccupied to give me a proper talking to these days, I begged and I begged with the powers that be to let me continue being the most selfish woman this side of the Atlantic and keep my angel home. Don’t let him go where I can’t follow him. “…Jack Dennett, Pat Egan, Eric House, Bill Kempling…”
I didn't realize I was holding my breath until the newscaster got to the end of his list without calling James Buchanan Barnes, and the broadcast day finally comes to a close. It takes me even longer to push myself back up onto shaky legs and move through the dark apartment like nothing happened, collecting myself and my racing thoughts as I push in the chairs at the table and tuck the few remaining sweets back into the pantry where they belong. Just the static now keeping me company, the rest of the city gone painfully quiet, as if the rest of Brooklyn was also holding its breath. It probably was.
When I can’t wait anymore, I gently nudge James on the couch, tracing my fingers over the curve of his cheek and giving his shoulder a little bit of a shake to wake him up. He’d regret a night spent on the couch when he got up in a few hours for work and couldn’t turn his head all the way to the left. “James… we gotta get you t’ bed, angel.”
“Was it a good story?” He mumbles the words tiredly slurring together as James sort jerks himself awake, blinking very hazy blue eyes back up at me as Steven shifts a little bit on his shoulder. I offer him both of my hands to sort of pull him off the couch, as if I have any chance of hoisting the whole dead weight of him, tired and stiff when he makes it to his feet. I don’t think Steven even wakes up, just curls onto his other side and stretches out onto the warm cushion that James was previously occupying.
“Wonderful… there was a dragon.” I whisper past the lump in my throat, completely omitting the part about the draft being called again while he slept. I’m sure he’d see it in the papers tomorrow, he didn’t need to worry about that right now with everything else already resting on his shoulders. “Like that silly book Rebecca likes, th’ one with th’ wizard.”
“Th’ Hobbit?” He laughs quietly, scrubbing a hand over his shadowed jaw with his voice in that raspy low tone that sends shivers up and down my spine even in the stove fire warmed room.
“Yeah, th’ Hobgoblin.” I nod distractedly as I pull an extra blanket over Steven to keep him comfortable on the couch, catching James’ elbow just in time for him to take a stumbling step towards the bedroom. I practically pull him along, supporting both of us on my stockinged feet until he was close enough to collapse onto the mattress himself and bury his face into his pillow, moving only enough to unbutton his slacks and sort of kick them off his legs and onto the floor at the foot of the bed while I changed into my nightgown and wrapped my hair. After wiping off my make-up I climbed into bed with him, pulling the covers over both of us. Though, my mind was still completely elsewhere. Any warmth or comfort I’d gotten from my beloved radio show was ripped away and taken to the western front, my thoughts amongst the boot prints that must litter the snow in Albany and the roar of the tanks and trucks carting young men further and further from their homes. The terrible things the news is saying are happening to people like James and I just for the temples we attend.
I take James’ hand in mine as he sinks further into the mattress, leaning back against the headboard and pulling his palm into my lap so I can press my fingers into the rise and valley of each of his knuckles, gently massaging the muscles of his calloused hand to keep myself distracted. It earns me a tired groan as I press my thumbs into the meat of his palm, kneading every ache I can find as James curls himself in closer to my body on the other side of the bed, his nose tracing along the hem of my nightgown to press a kiss to the curve of my thigh. I hear something that might be an ‘I love you’ mumbled into the pillow as I take James’ other hand in mine and begin the process again, trying to ease some of the pain before he has to work again tomorrow and break his body all over again.
“I love you too, angel.” I whisper back, once I am sure that his breathing has evened out and he has fallen back asleep again as if I’d never woken him up and guided him to bed. I listen for the quiet snore once more as I squeeze the heel of his hand between my fingers, even making sure that Steven isn’t so much as making a noise in the living room past the closed door before I’m sliding down into bed beside him, a tear finally slipping down my cheek.
If there was one thing I was not going to do, it was let James see me cry. Not after he worked himself half to death every day to give us as good of a life as he could, with things like penny sweets and pretty dresses and a radio when he could spare them, trying his best to support his ma and sisters alongside Steven and me… it would absolutely break his heart to see me weep over trivial things like seeing my favourite lipstick on the little desk had finally run out, or making the choice between eating my own supper or saving whatever scraps I could for James to have a hot lunch at the docks. Or knowing that time was running out before he’d be on that draft list and ship out in a crisp new uniform, leaving me behind like the other girls at the phone company who had fellas risking it all for their country, An entire future with my angel was going to be stripped away soon and given to the US Army. I knew that if James saw my tears, he’d shoulder my burdens along with the rest of the weight he carries, the pain I see behind grey eyes that used to be ice blue. He’d work any extra shifts he could, he’d sell a spare pair of shoes to a stranger on the street if it meant he could bring home a little tube of lipstick and stop my crying. That was something I simply couldn’t bear.
Silent tears slipped down my cheek and stained the pillowcase in the early night, only the streetlights to keep me company as my heart aches over a future that sleep only brought one day closer, until eventually the exhaustion gets the better of me too.
~*~
James knew every time his girl cried herself to sleep.
He’d wake in the morning as the light-yellow sunlight started to filter through the window in the bedroom, the first men already starting to walk the streets on their way to work, and see her pretty face pillowed on the bed next to him. Sometimes her lipstick stained the soft plush of her lips and left them a shade pinker than normal, parted in gentle breath as she slept. Sometimes she let him see the freckles dotted across her nose and he could count them in peace without her blushing and trying to cover them in powder again. But always, every morning when he woke up and knew that the world was starting to eat away at his girl and the light inside her, her eyes would be rimmed red and dried tears would stain her cheeks in tacky streaks.
He brushed his thumb gently over her skin, trying to smooth away the evidence of her tears as she continued to sleep soundly next to him. As much as James wanted to pull his girl into his arms and hold her until she knew with absolute certainty that everything was going to be alright… James lets her keep her secret. She could cry, if that's what she needed. Instead he cups her cheek in his hand in a silent promise as he presses a feather light kiss to her forehead and slips out of bed to get dressed for the day, every muscle in his body protesting at the motion.
Whatever it took, it was going to be okay; he was going to make sure of it.