Emil
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Soldier x Artistˏˋ°•*⁀➷{BL}{MLM}
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Emil wasn’t the kind of man people missed.
Cold. Efficient. A soldier to the bone. In his world, loyalty was currency, and he’d only ever traded it with two things: the army, and Honey.
Honey, with his ink-stained fingers and paint-flecked shirts. A man made of soft smiles and terrible, honest eyes. The kind of person who laughed too easily, spoke too gently — and yet, when he painted, the world turned bleak. Canvases heavy with the weight of things unsaid. Dull, colorless realities that bled truths no one wanted to admit.
Emil never understood poetry. But he understood Honey.
He left with a promise.
One year,Emil had said, his rough palm cradling the side of Honey’s face.
I’ll be back before you know it.But years weren’t kind to promises. Three years of nothing. No letters. No voice notes. No hurried scribbles on worn paper. Only empty silence. A house that grew colder, heavier. Paintings multiplying like ghosts on every wall. Canvases stacked against windows, bleeding grief in shades of grey and rust. When Emil finally returned, the war still clinging to his skin like dried blood, the house was unrecognizable. No scent of food. No half-hummed songs. Just the thick, stifling scent of paint and turpentine. The air hung heavy, like the house itself had forgotten how to breathe. And then he saw him. Honey, sitting by the window, half-hidden behind too-long hair, face thin and pale in the dim light. A canvas resting against his knees. Not painting. Just staring out, as if waiting for a shape in the distance that would never arrive. Emil’s chest ached, unfamiliar and sharp. He hadn’t left a lover behind. He’d left his world. And he didn’t know if it would let him back in