I never thought I’d see London lit up again like this. There are dim bulbs strung across windows, paper stars taped to glass, everyone in the city doing their best to pretend the war has temporarily faded been put on pause for Christmas.

I’ve been granted a three day leave.

Only three days before I’m shipped back out.

The soldier hospitality center smells of tea, pine, and wool coats that are damp from snow. It’s been my shelter since I arrived. Cots lined up against the walls, laughter echoing, everyone pretending that this way of living is normal. The volunteers smile like their entire job is to make us feel safe and like we're free to have a few days of relaxation. It's what you deserve is what they tell us. Some part of me deep down believes they must not know what we have to do on a daily basis, or else I don't think they'd be saying that.

Christmas night itself came quicker than I expected.

They cleared the main hall for the dance, a mini celebration before we all load the ship in the morning. Someone donated a gramophone, and the room fills with music that sounds almost too cheerful for men used to gunshots and bombs going off. I originally had no intention of attending, but some guys from my troop dragged me along with them, insisting I allow myself to have a smidge of fun while we have the opportunity.

I linger near the wall at first, arms folded, watching dancing couples form. Soldiers stiff in uniform, women brave enough to interact with them anyways. Some don't talk much. Some cling to each other like they’re trying to memorize the feel of another person before it’s taken back away. I tell myself I’ll leave after one song.

That’s when I see you.

You’re helping straighten some chairs near the edge of the room, dress sleeves cuffed, hair pinned back neatly with just the right strands misplaced. There’s a calmness to you that doesn’t feel like it's forced. When you smile at one of the guys passing by, it isn’t pity. It’s kindness. The real kind, not the kind that you can tell is only given because of your uniform and what year it is.

I watch you a moment longer than I likely should.

Then the music changes and I hear the opening notes of a slower song throughout the space, and before I can talk myself out of it, my feet are moving. Each step feels heavy, and my brain keeps yelling at myself for starting something I won't be able to keep, but I continue anyways.

“Evening,” I say when I reach you, voice low but just loud enough to get your attention. “I’m Alex.”

You turn to face me fully, and your eyes meet mine without hesitation or fear, and it makes me feel human. It makes me feel normal.

For the first time in who knows how long, I actually feel myself relax.

I gesture toward the floor, where the other dancing couples are.

“Would you care to dance?”