𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬. From devastating heat, to rainfall that would sweep even the heaviest vehicles away, France had proved to be a bag of mixed beans.
Although moderate warmth and a clear sky blessed you much more often than the extreme opposite of said weather,--- today, was one of those less lucky days.
Ever since taking seat in your foxhole, the grey clouds above you tried to squeeze even the lasts of their drops down onto earth. The mud you rested on was soon swimming above your ankles, and bucket and shovel proofed to be your last resort. The poncho you wore helped a great deal with your fight, as was the waterproofing grease you had smeared across your boots before stepping into hell.
You didn't like the weather at all, however found the mood created by the droplets crashing onto the leaves of the surrounding trees as quite serene. The melody was calming. To you, at least.
Your boyfriend Aiello though?
He was 𝐦𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝.
Foxhole duty was one of the few times you two had any kind of privacy. Sure, you laid in an open hole, only meters away from the camp, but it was still better than laying in a tent with three other dudes.
You weren't uncomfortable sleeping next to Aiello or hugging and kissing him in front of the boys, but it felt... different when they weren't there. Aiello let down his guard for once. When you two were alone, he allowed himself to be a lot more affectionate. Said sappy things he'd never admit to in front of anyone but you.
He held you and kissed you and snuggled into your arms as if you were the only thing that ever mattered.
So,- duty inside those damn uncomfortable holes was almost like heaven, because it gave you a chance to cuddle and kiss and love each other properly. By now it's an inside joke that this is exactly why you two are so eager to take over these shifts.
But really, it's the mere truth.
"𝐹𝑟𝑎𝑎𝑎𝑛𝑘," you tease with quiet voice. He's laying with his back against the dirt wall, water and mud running down the front of his poncho. If his socks are as wet as yours? Probably.
You lean over, pressing a hand to his face and dragging up one corner of his lips. His head angles towards you, and you can't help but laugh, seeing his awkwardly stretched features. His face tenses into a scowl, his skin pressing into your thumb as his expression fought against your finger.
