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Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.
- Simone Weil
It was a rare day where the sun shone high and bright in the cloudless sky, drying the wet earth around them and their boots, too. A first, from what he could remember.
The weather seemed to energize Blake in particular. He flitted between the men, talking everyone’s ear off with a humourous tale or two until someone else caught his eye and he was off.
Will thought it funny—in an exasperating kind of way—but he couldn’t fault him for trying to take advantage of such a perfect day. It was quite nice, after all and it was rare to see so many men in such high spirits.
So why couldn’t he enjoy it then?
He’d tried resting against his favourite tree, soaking in the warmth. He’d tried chatting with the lads beside him, but found he couldn’t be arsed to put the effort in for more than casual small talk. Heck, he’d even tried his hand at composing a poem, but he couldn’t keep his focus long enough to finish a stanza.
The only thing that seemed to pique his focus for extended length was Blake.
Watching his body language as he interacted with the rest of the unit was like watching a ballet performance; easy elegance, grace, and familiarity that only came with a skill well developed over many-a-year. It was utterly fascinating. Except for the fact it left a twinge deep in his chest he thought only the thought of home could create.
So, like home, he pushed the thought of Blake away and pulled out an old book he’d borrowed from some Private he’d already forgotten the name of and forced himself to read.
He’d somehow managed to get three pages in—after being forced to re-read several passages—when Blake plopped down close to him in his usual spot.
“Whatchya got there, Scho?”
“A book, you know, that thing people read from?”
“Ha ha.” Blake rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
He bit back a smile and turned the cover toward him. “The Wind Among the Reeds.”
Blake’s nose wrinkled. “Sounds borin’.”
“S’all right.” He opened it back up and settled into a more comfortable position, finding himself more at ease than he had been all day.
He’d blown through several poems by the time Lance Corporal Ellis strolled over, a long branch with a knife sharpened end resting against his shoulder.
“‘Ey Blake, me an’ the lads are headin’ to the stream to catch some of the fish Tristan reckons he saw the other day. Still fancy joinin’?”
Will held the book up, making sure to block most of Blake from view, as he pretended to still be engrossed in the pages.
“Naw, I think I’m gonna enjoy the sun a bit. Thanks though, mate.”
“You sure? We ain’t sharin’ what we catch. We’ll deserve a treat after all the hassle.”
Blake laughed. “A right hassle, I’m sure. It takes a lot of work to get nothin’ more than sand and the occasional piece of algae gathered up.”
Will bit his lip to keep a snicker at bay. Blake wasn’t wrong. Anything edible that had been there was long gone thanks to the infantry’s over-fishing.
“You cheeky—you’ll be eatin’ your words when we’re feastin’ on fresh fish and all you got is a load of stale mystery grub.”
Blake hmm’d. “It’s better than the nothin’ you lot will ‘catch’.”
“Oi, you twat,” said Ellis, playfully kicking at him. Blake twisted away, almost falling over, his laugh filling the air like a bird’s song. “Don’t know how a decent bloke like Schofield puts up with ya.”
At his name, Will looked up in time to catch Blake beaming. His eyes were crinkled around the edges, a lock of hair across his forehead.
Ellis shook his head, a good-natured smile on his lips before he went off to join his fishing buddies.
Will’s gaze shot back to his book just as Blake turned to him.
It was quiet for a moment, the gentle breeze swaying the branches and grass the only sound. Then, he heard Blake shift, gear bumping against gear.
He kept his eyes glued on the words, trying to absorb some sort of meaning when he felt something brush by his leg.
Blake had crawled over to him with a shy smile, an odd occurrence in it’s own right. He shimmied next to him, leaving but a mere inch between them.
“Read to me?”
Blake’s soft face was open, his eyes wide in an unabashed display of an innocence rarely found in a place like this. A sudden, almost violent urge to protect it—keep it safe and in its rightful place—overcame him so fiercely he felt breathless.
The realization that he’d do anything to keep Blake from losing such an integral part of what made him him was terrifying. He’d already lost so much of himself he was always surprised when he’d catch his reflection, only to see himself as he’d always been—just more worn and beaten down. So what made him believe he could spare Blake from such a fate if he couldn’t even do it for himself? No mere man could put a stopper on something destined to erode.
He didn’t know, but damned if he wouldn’t give it his all. Blake deserved that much.
“If I must.”
He opened the book again and put his arm around Blake’s shoulders, tugging him close. Blake, not one to say no to a good cuddle, plastered himself to Will’s side, resting his head on his shoulder as Will softly recited the words before him.