@richardxoliverxmayhew cont. from (X)
Even after Eric had let go, Richard kept his arm wrapped tightly around the other, his hand occasionally offering an assuring pat or two against the side of Eric’s arm, as if he were giving him a physical reminder. ‘I’m here… I’m not leavin’ ye’. I’m righ’ here…’ As much as he wanted to tell Eric his plan, he bit his tongue and said nothing. Instead, he just let Eric cry. He could only begin to imagine how long the likes of somebody like Eric F. Brandon had been holding back those tears. Still, it didn’t matter how brave you were. Sometimes, that was all you could do. Cry. Eventually, Eric spoke. He was on board, or at least he would be willing to hear the Scotsman out. Thank god.– At the mention of him lying, however, Richard tilted his head in confusion. “Wha’ do ye’ mean?” he rasped. As the truth tumbled out, Richard gave Eric’s arm a gentle squeeze before he could even dare to finish that sentence. “–Absolutely not. I a’ready told ye’, Eric, I’m gonna make sure ye’ get outta’ this hell hole alive. I promised ye’, didn’t I?” And Richard Oliver Mayhew always kept his promise. “At least tha’ way ye’ can tell yer’ Da’ yer’self. Besides, I can a’ready tell ye’ tha’ yer’ Da’ would be more than proud of ye’. Why wouldn’t he be? At this point, ye’ have the makin’s of comin’ back a war-hero, like we always talked ‘bout. And if for some reason he’s not then talkin’ some sense into him will be the first thing I’m gonna do when we get outta’ here,” he offered a small but warm smile.
“And, for wha’ it’s worth, I can tell ye’ righ’ now tha’ I’m proud,” Richard added, his voice something of a squeak now, his blue gaze unflinching. Honest. Sincere. “Proud of everythin’ you’ve done,” he continued slowly. “Proud tha’ yer’ my friend. Proud of us.”
It had all just been an act. Boasting about his own bravery, about how he didn’t have a single care in the world – and the story about him enlisting just for fun because he had been drunk out of his mind had been made up completely, too. Truth is, Eric was just a boy. A boy who wanted his cold-hearted father’s attention and approval, if only for a short, fleeting moment. He didn’t care about others’ opinions, what the neighbors were thinking about him; about being a war hero, as Richard said. He just wanted his father to be proud of him for once.
He sniffed and wiped the tears away with his sleeve, then his gaze shifted over to meet Richard’s. Even with the difficulties in the beginning – he had quickly become hjis best friend. Nodding his head, he wrapped his arms around him once more, then finally let off him. “So wh—wha’s yer plan?”
