Free Kid Gloves by Anna Martin

know.”
    “I didn’t know. Not anymore though, surely?”
    Finn wrapped his hand around Dalton’s thick locks of hair, tying them back with one of the longest like he’d seen Dalton do so many times before.
    “No,” he said. “Not anymore.” He rubbed his own jaw. “I need to shave.”
    Dalton laughed. “You do.”
    “I’ll go to a barber later.”
    After they’d breakfasted on tea and toasted bread, Dalton set up his rain-shower contraption and watched with unrestrained glee as Finn washed himself down, scrubbing his body with a rough cloth and tipping his face up into the flow of water. His face fell as the water ran out, and then he looked over at Dalton guiltily.
    “I didn’t leave any for you. I’m sorry.”
    “It’s fine, I’ll wash later.”
    He dressed and looked around the small room, taking stock of how his possessions seemed to have spread around and found new homes in the short time he had been living there. His clothes were neatly folded and kept in the drawers next to Dalton’s. His bow and quiver had a place in the cupboard with their outer layers and boots. The small personal items that he always carried with him were kept on the small stand next to the bed.
    Returning to his unit was going to be more difficult than anything else he had ever faced.
    While Dalton opened up the shop downstairs, Finn went about carefully returning all of his things to his pack. He had not planned to leave this day in particular, but there was no point in delaying the inevitable. His hand was strong, his mind was clear, and his heart was full of memories of someone to take with him.
    While lacing his boots and soft leather jacket, Finn tried to return his mind to that of a marksman, finding that it was not as difficult as he had anticipated. Before leaving the room, he cast his eyes around it once more, committing it to memory, and neatly folded the blankets back on the bed.
    He shouldered his bow and his pack and made his way down the stairs.
    “You’re leaving,” Dalton said, standing from his workbench when Finn walked into the shop. He reached out to Finn, who took his hand and brushed a kiss over the back of it.
    “Yes,” he said simply, the word sounding rough and painful.
    “I’ll miss you.”
    “I’ll write,” Finn said hopelessly.
    Dalton nodded. “I will too.”
    “Dalton,” Finn whispered. “I have six months left to serve, and then I’ll have completed my five years’ service. I can leave with a good salary and the opportunity to come back and train others instead of working on the front line.”
    “I thought you wanted to stay, to work,” Dalton protested.
    Finn shook his head. “I wanted to hide,” he said. “Now I have something worth coming back to.”
    Laughing softly, Dalton reached out and cupped Finn’s cheek in his palm. “Okay,” he said simply and laid his lips one last time on Finn’s. “I’ll still be here,” he promised. “I’ll wait for you.”
    “I’ll come back. I’ll come home.”
    Affection flowed more freely between them now, and they kissed slowly, easily, reverently, hands quietly mapping each other’s bodies, memorizing.
    “I want to give you something,” Dalton said. “To take with you, to remember me by.”
    Finn nodded, not trusting his voice.
    “Close your eyes.”
    With his world cloaked in darkness, Finn was more aware of his surroundings, the heady beat of his heart, the absolute sorrow that threatened to spill over.
    Dalton’s hands came to rest on his cheeks, gently cradling his face. Then in a second, soft lips grazed over his own, once, twice, and then hovered there in the sweetest of kisses. He responded after a moment, kissing back, catching Dalton’s lower lip between his own, sharing the taste of each other back and forth.
    Because he was shorter, Dalton had to lean up into the kiss, and it was instinctive, now, for Finn to hold him around the waist to keep him steady; that too brought them closer together. When Dalton