Isn't it confusing, what first love does to a man?
Story where Alexine is Soldier Boy's first love and rekindle after many years apart.
[UNGOING]
[Warnings; smut, angst, torture, mention of torture, trauma, physical abuse, mental abuse, verbal abuse...
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The morning of the service was quiet, the kind of silence that wraps around everything in soft melancholy. It was autumn, and the wind had a crisp bite to it, stirring the golden and russet leaves that littered the ground. The sky was an overcast grey, the kind that hinted at rain but didn't quite deliver. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, as if the world itself was in mourning.
Inside Alexine's house, the atmosphere was somber, heavy with the weight of unspoken grief. She had gathered a few people—just close friends and neighbors. Alexa and Matthew were there, standing near the kitchen, their faces drawn and reflective. Alexa wore a simple black dress, her dark hair tied back neatly, while Matthew stood in a black jacket and slacks, hands clasped awkwardly in front of him. A few neighbors, dressed in muted colors, huddled near the living room, heads bowed in silent respect. No one spoke. The only sound was the soft ticking of the clock on the wall and the occasional rustle of fabric as someone shifted uneasily.
Gunpowder, still swollen from his surgery, sat on the couch, his posture rigid. The boy, barely a teenager, looked out of place in his ill-fitting black suit, his hands clutching at his knees like he didn't know what else to do with them. His eyes darted around nervously, lingering on the floor as if looking anywhere else would be too much to bear.
Alexine stood by the window, her own black dress long and simple, the sleeves falling to her wrists. Her brown hair was pulled into a loose bun, stray strands framing her face. She hadn't said much since the small group arrived, her mind too far away to engage in any sort of conversation. She just needed to get through this. The priest, dressed in simple vestments, was already speaking, his voice low and reverent as he read scripture about loss and healing.
Alexine's gaze drifted toward the window, watching the wind pick up, sending leaves swirling in the air like embers from a fire. The changing season felt appropriate, as if the earth itself was turning a page, just as she was trying to. She had arranged for this service in the hope of finding some closure, for herself and for Benjamin. But as she stood there, listening to the soft murmur of the priest's voice, she felt the sharp ache of his absence. Benjamin hadn't come back since the night of their argument, and though she knew he needed time, a part of her had hoped—naively—that he would be here. That he would show up and stand beside her, even if they couldn't bear to speak.
Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, Alexine noticed movement near the door. She didn't turn, not fully, but there was a shift in the room. It was subtle at first, barely noticeable over the priest's words. But then, as if pulled by an invisible thread, the others began to glance toward the entryway.
Benjamin had slipped in without a sound. He was almost unrecognizable at first—his beard was gone, shaved clean, revealing the sharp lines of his jaw. He wore a tight black t-shirt that clung to his muscular frame, and straight black pants that were simple, but neat. The starkness of his appearance, the absence of the wild, unkempt look he'd had for so long, made him look like a different man altogether. But it was his eyes—those same haunted, green eyes—that gave him away.
