The Song of the Nightingale

Chapter Sixteen:

I slid past the rusted door of the dilapidated derelict building.

"Francis?" I said gently.

His head shot up.

"Angleterre!" He smiled.

I walked over to him and bent down.

He put his hand atop mine.

"Francis...I'm going to help you walk, alright?" I squeezed his palm.

He nodded.

I slid my arm under his, and softly lifted him.

"Is that good?" I prompted.

"Oui...I can walk like this." He grinned warmly.

"Aye." Slowly, we moved to the exit.

I led him towards base-camp.

After what felt like an eternity, we approached my large tent.

I helped him inside.

He collapsed onto the blanket-covered ground, breathing heavily.

"Francis!" I kneeled down next to him. "What's wrong?" The worry deeply laced my words.

He rolled over and chuckled softly.

"Nothing, mon cher. I'm just tired."

I released a breath I didn't realize I had been holding.

"Do you mind if I sleep here?" He asked.

"N..No! Of course not... I'll go get a blanket and some pillows..." I retorted at the man sprawled out on the floor.

I passed through the veil of the tent, and took three sheets and five pillows from the supply chest.

I returned, and tied the curtain closed behind me.

"Francis...Are you awake?" I inquisited.

"Oui, mon amour."

"I brought these." I directed at the materials I had gathered.

"Merci." He flashed a weak smile.

I returned the gesture, and tenderly placed the covers on the man. Raising his head, I moved the pillows underneath him.

"Arthur...You're staying here, right?" He spoke as though it were a command, rather than a question.

"I haven't slept next to someone in two years."

His voice broke.

"I haven't held someone in two years..."

Before he could complete his train of thought, I was next to him.

I wrapped myself around him.

"I'm here now. It's okay, Francis."

He closed his arms on my waist, pulling me into a warm embrace.

"Merci, mon lapin."

My nose was buried in the taller man's chest as I drifted to sleep.

The rising and falling of his body was a lullaby to me.

My hands found his back, and they started gently rubbing it.

I paled when I realized that my fingers were running across wounds.

I decided to let Francis sleep.

He looked so peaceful.

I wonder when he last slept this well...

My hands softly caressed a long scar on his chest.

I sighed.

My darling...What happened to you?

I pressed my lips to the closed injury before snuggling closer to Francis, and closing my eyes.

Is this what love feels like...

Or is it just something in your life other than the horrors and atrocities of war?

As I asked myself this, laying next to the man who had my heart, I fell prey to the clutches of slumber.