mcsochism :
it had been five months, two weeks, six days and fourteen hours since a flag was delivered to darcie’s door. she’d placed it on her dresser alongside andrew’s picture and a few trinkets he’d given her over the years. she often found herself staring at the photo, noting how the army fatigues didn’t fit him quite right — the material was too stiff, unloved. noting how his smile didn’t reach his eyes; the sadness in them outweighing the forced cheerfulness the picture tried to convey. on a small smile, she lifted the picture, running a finger over the face she’d never see again. her entire world imploded the day she was told he’d been killed in action. her knees had given out, leaving her numb, eyes unfocused. she’d cried for weeks until there wasn’t anything left. she’d lost the only man she’d ever loved and she’d never had the chance to tell him. wiping a tear from her cheek, she turned her attention towards the sound of a knock at the door. it wasn’t uncommon for there to be visitors at her parents’ house, but there was an odd lack of commotion following the knock. frowning, she replaced the picture carefully, making sure it was exactly as it had been before, and wandered out of her bedroom to investigate. there was a quiet murmuring at the front door and her brows furrowed. “ momma ? who’s at the… ” her heart stopped. no, no, no, no, no. there was no way… he was… he was dead… she’d gone to his funeral. she stared and stared and still she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. there he was, standing casually at her door with a bunch of flowers clutched in his hand — red tulips, her favorites — looking past the ghost-white face of her mother. she could feel her hands shaking at her sides, her chest constricting at the mere sight of him. swallowing past the lump in her throat, she felt hot tears welling in her eyes. “ andy, ” she breathed, her voice little more than a whisper. her heart ached as she said his name, as it did every time it passed her lips. she was so tempted to run to him, to take the stairs two at a time so she could throw herself into his arms, but she couldn’t move her feet. she was glued to the spot and she didn’t think she’d ever move again, so long as he stood in her doorway, looking at her like that.
from the moment drew heard her voice from behind the door, he could feel his heart pounding in the base of his throat. the world stopped around him; everything stopped being real. here she was, after all this time, so close that he could feel his fingertips burning to touch her again. the tall man tugged at his pant leg, attempting to hide the small bit of beige plastic that somehow managed to be exposed -- his prosthetic. for what felt like an hour, he stood perfectly still doing nothing but staring at the girl he was madly in love with. darcie, after all, was the only thing that had kept him going throughout the war. it was the thought of her that helped him fight through the near death, through the pain. whether she knew it or not, she had saved his life. taking half a step forward, he extended his arm further and drew in a quick breath. what could he say? he was practically back from the dead. "hello, miss darcie," he cooed. plump lips formed into a soft smile and a hot flush ran into his cheeks, which only accentuated the rather large scar that cut through his left eyebrow and onto his forehead. "I promised i'd come home to you. and i ain't ever broken a promise in my life."
