i fell in love in 1914 ~ l.s

💣 10 💣

(A/n: I've given you enough fluff..... shit's about to go downnnnn)

~ Louis ~

I wake up with the sound of weapons and war.

I feel a weight on my lap and when I look down, I see a curly haired boy, slowly waking up. I hear men screaming and Harry and I get on our feet.

The other German soldiers jump into the trench. I realize what is going on.

This can't be happening. I knew the truce wasn't going to last forever but I thought I was going to be able to say goodbye.

"I got to go." Harry says.

I look at him and our eyes meet. He looks sad and scared and I just want him to stay with me in the trench. I want to quote Peter Pan and Shakespeare until we fall asleep again.

But I know he needs to go. I want to postpone his departure but I know it's only getting more dangerous. If he doesn't go back to the British side right now, he'll probably get shot. And he can't stay, the commander will kill him.

I give him the notebook. "I told you I'd let you read it." I mumble.

Our eyes lock one last time and he turns around to climb out of the trench.

What if I never see him again? I know I'm a dramatic and unrealistic person, but chances are, I'll won't see him again.

I can't follow him, I shouldn't. But maybe one last hug? Yeah, that'll be alright, surely.

So I climb up the ladder behind him and yell out: "Curly!"

He turns around and I run up to him. I throw my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder. I notice that I'm pulling him down a little, because he's taller than I am, but he doesn't seem to mind.

His arms are draped around my lower back and his face is pressed against my neck.

I take in his sent and try to ignore the brutal sound of war and destruction around us.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow." He whispers.

"Never say goodbye, because saying goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting." I quote.

"Shakespeare?" He asks while pressing his face in the crook of my neck.

"Peter Pan." I correct him.

I pull away from him and with one last look in his eyes I decide. I decide that I want the curly haired boy with the green eyes to be safe, always.

➳

It's like Christmas never happened. People are shooting each other as if we weren't playing football a few hours ago.

I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated because everyone is shooting at my Harry and they have the audacity to tell me to stop being frustrated.

I'm frustrated because my Harry is in danger and there is nothing I can do about it.

I'm frustrated because we're on the opposite sides of war and I might never see my Harry again.

I'm frustrated because my Harry isn't my Harry, because he isn't mine. I'm fucking frustrated because my Harry will never be mine and I'm really fucking frustrated because I shouldn't want him to be mine.

Shortly said, im frustrated with myself and everything around me.

So, naturally, I'm grumpy and I get annoyed easily. I snap at everyone who tries to tell me what to do (I tend to do that when I'm not frustrated as well, but that isn't my point).

On top of it all, Germans aren't generous with their artillery.

Mortars are being used excessively, considering the plunging, high-angle fire of the mortar is effective against targets in trenches.

I wouldn't mind if a cannonball or a grenade fell on me right now.

Okay, now I'm exaggerating a little, but im allowed to be dramatic. I've been feeling shitty since Harry left.

"Tomlinson! Are you going to fucking do something, or are you just going to stay there with a unloaded gun, pretending to do something?" Müller sneers.

"Are you going to keep being a little bitch about nothing or are you actually going to mind your own fucking business for once?"

Paul chuckles and sits down next to me. "Good one, kiddo, but let's not be mean to Müller, he's just jealous because he didn't make any friends yesterday." He jokes.

I scoff. "He's the lucky one, at least he didn't get emotionally attached to someone they just met, only to get torn apart brutally. It's tragic, really."

"You're so dramatic." Paul laughs.

"People should really stop saying that." I roll my eyes.

Is it bad that I miss him? His presence just made me all giddy and it was fun. He made me want to be extra funny and more energetic than usual.

And most importantly, he made me feel comfortable. Like actually comfortable. If someone can make you feel comfortable like that, you should just marry them right away, shouldn't you?

There are a few tiny problems though. Firstly, he's the same gender as I am. Which doesn't bother me at all, I know it should but instead of it bothering me, it does the opposite, really.

I've been to these illegal queer events, they're fun. Makes me feel accepted. But it doesn't change the fact that most people are straight or in denial/the closet.

Maybe that's why I said we would get married as soon as we met, just to see his reaction.

I remember his face like it was yesterday, which is was, so I'm glad that my memory is doing well.

He looked surprised and flustered. A light shade of pink covering his cheeks and his eyes a little wider than usual. He didn't look like I disgusted him, which doesn't happen quite often.

His face didn't crumble and his eyes didn't look at me like I'm a disgrace. He didn't look disappointed and he didn't look like he was about to punch me. He didn't look at me like I had some decease. He didn't look at me the way my dad did.

"I think you should stop thinking about that boy." Paul interrupts my thoughts.

If it was Müller who said that, or anyone else for that matter, I would ignore the comment and pretend like I didn't hear it. But it's Paul, he's good at making me feel loved, he's good at making up for the lack of love and affection I got from my dad. Normally I wouldn't care, I would give him a sassy comeback. But this time, it's about my-, that boy.

"I wasn't thinking about him." I lie.

"I thought you could act? You and drama classes, right?" Paul asks raising one eyebrow.

I sigh. "Why do you think you get to tell me what to think about? Are you my conscience, the voice in my head that tells me what to do?" I sass.

"I'm just looking out for you, kiddo. It's not healthy, you barely know anything about him and you'll probably never see him again."

"Who says I won't be seeing him again?" I ask defensively.

Just when Paul opens his mouth to answer me, a big mortar appears behind us, how ironic.

I just don't realise what it means. Call me an idiot, but I didn't realise until it was too late.

I didn't realise what was happening when Germans shouted thing and officers giving orders.

I didn't realise what was about to happen in less than a minute, when a commanding general shouted: "vorbereiten Sie das stück." (Prepare the piece).

Or: "Laden Sie es jetzt." (load it now).

And I was too late when the commander said yelled: "schießen!" (Shoot)