A Heart Like Yours ~ 1917

Thursday, January 18th, 1917

Tw: not eating (?)

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Schofield sat in his spot in the trench, wrapping his arm. He glanced around at the boys surrounding him, everyone looking tired and half dead.

Men were skinny, and pale. Everyone needed rest, and the pesky rats didn't help the case.

He took a long sigh, leaning his head against the dirt. There was a lot of chatter about the German 8th, but he couldn't care enough to listen.

Will thought he'd never hear enough about the germans. It was bad enough that they had to go head to head. He sighed, putting his helmet on.

He stood, scanning the area for Blake. He sighed, unable to see him in the area. He walked down the line, hoping to get some peace after a long day.

Schofield found a tree to slump against, pulling out a tin box. He pulled out a few pictures, looking through them quietly.

He stared at one certain picture, sighing softly. He flipped it over, reading the cursive written on the back. ‘Come home to us x’ it read.

He carefully set it back in the tin, closing it quietly. He put it back in his pocket, staring at the new scenery.

Blake snuck up behind him, grabbing his arm. Schofield tensed, his hand straying to the knife on his hip.

Blake laughed a little, “ calm down-” He hummed, plopping down.

“ what was the Somme like?” “ I don't want to talk about it.” He said flatly, not so much as even looking at the young boy.

“ Can I at least see the medal-?” “ No. I lost it.”

“ fine. So, how are you liking france? You much of a French boy?” Blake hummed, clearly bored.

Schofield did not reply.

Blake rolled his eyes. “ how old even are you- you dont look old enough to have kids-” “ I don't like talking about myself, blake.”

“ you've got a bloody attitude today-”

“ If you've got a problem with it maybe you should go away.”

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