𝟏𝟗𝟑𝟕 | 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃

tristan farnon waited desperately for his turn at the base’s phone, shifting from one leg to the other restlessly. the base was bustling despite the late hour, but it was nearly christmas, and all the soldiers were desperate to reach their loved ones, no matter the time.

he loved darrowby, and missed everyone terribly, but he had to admit, it was you he missed the most. the thought of you all alone… he couldn’t even think of it without tearing up. not that he’d tell you.

but the line was getting shorter, and as he neared the phone, he began to plan what to say. how should he greet you? what should he start with? what time was it in darrowby? he didn’t even know. he didn’t want to wake you in the middle of the night. oh dear, he was spiralling again. but by the time he snapped out of it, it was his turn. he picked up the phone shakily, and dialled the number.