Love is Always Write Anthology Bonus Volume

a little bigger and a little dirtier. A man leaning against a stoop railing glanced his way. Daniel gave him a hard stare, and after a long moment the man melted away into the shadows. The sound of Daniel's footsteps echoed loudly in the dark street, and he tried to walk more quietly. He rounded another corner.
    The cigarette burned down to his fingers and he paused to crush out the butt in the gutter. Jacob was right– falling asleep with the things was dangerous. And not just to himself. He tapped the pack against his hand. One left. He could save it. Or he could smoke it now and resolve to quit. He'd tried to quit a couple of times to please Jacob, but it never lasted. Daniel put the last cigarette between his lips and struck a match. As the light flared, he thought about flames rising from a smoldering couch and moving through the apartment to where a sleeping Jacob lay. That. That image would be his talisman. He would quit so he never woke to that.
    Never again to flames and screaming. Never again to people he cared about, hell, people he loved, hurt and dying, with absolutely nothing he could do about it. To the sound of shells, the bright fire of explosions and the spray of water and men calling out for help... He stopped to take a breath.
    It was damned unfair. He'd lived through that. He'd made it back with no more than a scratch or two, and started a new life with Jacob. And the war had followed him here. Not too badly at first, but more and more lately it invaded his mind. Images mostly. If he closed his eyes they played out on his lids like a motion picture. Hands reaching from the water. Men writhing in a boat, their pain distorting faces young enough to be Daniel's little brother Johnny. A plane spiraling into the drink, trailing black smoke, and no parachute in sight.
    Jacob didn't know what Daniel had seen, had done. He was glad, fiercely glad, that Jacob didn't know the worst of it. But his lover's fumbling attempts to help made Daniel snap and snarl. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to think about it. But Jacob kept pushing and pushing, offering to listen, offering God knows what comfort. And trying not to look hurt when it didn't help. Daniel was sleeping on the couch half the time these days, in an effort not to wake Jacob with his restlessness. And instead of being grateful it was one more thing Jacob whined about.
    No, not whined. That was unfair. But he did complain. Then Daniel yelled back at him and... He took a long drag on the cigarette. Oh boy, these were going to be hard to give up. But he would. He would do that and he would apologize to Jacob one more time and try again. It was kind of amazing that Jacob was still with him. Another man might have had enough of his moods and his disappearances by now and sent him on his way. The thought made Daniel shiver and turn his feet toward home.
    When he arrived, he let himself in the door quietly. But Jacob was still up, sitting on the couch. They said together in one voice, "I'm sorry."
    Daniel kicked off his shoes and dumped his jacket. Three long strides took him to Jacob and he dropped to his knees in front of the couch. "I've been grouchy as a bear. I'm so sorry."
    "Hush." Jacob ran a hand over his hair and Daniel grabbed it and pressed his forehead to it. Jacob's other hand landed on his head. "Hush, it's all right." Jacob's voice was soft. "I've been nagging at you, I know."
    "For my own good. I do see that. I just don't know how to fix things."
    "I had an idea," Jacob said tentatively. "You might be mad though."
    "Tell me." He couldn't promise not to be mad. His temper rose so unpredictably these days. But he would try hard.
    "Come see." Jacob stood and led the way into the bedroom. The bed had been moved to make a little more space. In the corner of the room, Jacob's desk had been cleared. On top of it was a slanted board. It looked like the slab they'd put under the sagging cushion on the armchair, but it was set up like a drawing board. Next to it was a jam-jar with pencils and pens, and on the angled surface of the board was a stack of blank white paper.
    "What's that?"
    "For you to draw." Jacob caught his upper arms and turned Daniel to face him. "Hear me out. I don't think I've seen you put pencil to paper since you got home."
    "It was a dumb hobby."
    "It was a hell of a lot more than that. You know, when I got your letters from the Pacific, even before reading them, I would look at the sketches. They were the heart