2065 - The Academy
David’s fellow cadets called him something now.
F*ggot.
He’d heard the term before, but he didn’t know what it meant. So when they started referring to him that way, he wasn’t sure how to react. Maybe with an awkward smile? A laugh? Should he be offended?
But then, one day, someone called Victor that name too, and he responded by winking and blowing a kiss in their direction.
Oh, David thought, it means boys who look at each other that way.
He thought he’d been discreet, but apparently not. He’d spent far too much time in Victor’s company, and Victor had gained something of a reputation. That was putting it mildly, of course, because the gossip that flew through the Academy halls was riddled with obscenities, as well as warnings of what might happen if one were to find themselves in a compromising situation with Victor alone.
David knew this was all hearsay, but he couldn’t help but wonder if there might be some truth to it. Victor rarely took “no” for an answer, and his affection had taken on a somewhat demanding nature, as of late.
But there was little time to critically evaluate these things because the only moments David had to himself were his two-minute showers, his twenty-minute lunches, and however long it took to fall asleep after lights-out. Military life was taking its toll, both physically and mentally, and more often than not he found himself utterly spent by the end of each day. But even still, these thoughts invaded every waking moment. His grades suffered, and his professors noticed.
“Mr. Harlow,” General Howard said at the mid-term cadet review, as David stood before a panel of faculty, administrators, and the chancellor himself, “you were one of our best at the beginning of the year. What happened?”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” David said. “I’ve been stressed.”
“Well, that’s not a very good excuse, now, is it?” General Howard said without so much as glancing up from his notes. “You’ll always be stressed, and if you want to succeed, your performance can’t suffer along with it. We’ve got standards for our officers, and we need to ensure you can meet them. Do better.”
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“Yes Sir,” David replied.
He still continued to see Victor, though. That was all he wanted, and a good pretense, he discovered, was to ask for help with his Russian homework. Since they lived on the same hall, it was as simple as taking a short walk and knocking on the door. Then he’d go inside, sit at that desk, and practice those words while the man he loved stood over him, looking on, correcting his mistakes, and whispering in his ear in a voice that could make anything beautiful. There was something David found enrapturing here—sitting in the same place Victor had sat so many times, holding that same pencil and paper, and staring at the row of neatly arranged books lining the wall. He’d memorized those titles by now, even though he knew Victor had barely glanced at them. It didn’t matter, he thought, because this was part of his life, even if it was just the background, and he wanted to dive as deep as possible into the well of shared experience.
“There,” Victor said, placing his hand over David’s as they traced the Cyrillic letters together. “That’s how you write my name, and that’s how you write yours.”
He gently guided the pencil, and David’s hand shook.
Victor’s moods could be unpredictable, and his emotions changed on a whim, at times presenting as warm, vulnerable, and affectionate, and others distraught, accusatory, and vindictive in a manner nearly bordering on cruel. But today he must’ve sensed David’s feelings and shared them, because he leaned against his shoulder, and spoke in a low, reassuring tone, and gently placed his hand on David's back. David inhaled sharply, taking a deep breath as he tried to compose himself, and he tried to hide just how nervous he was, but he wondered if Victor knew. And in a subtle gesture that seemed to confirm these suspicions, Victor squeezed his hand and held tightly for a few seconds. But then, he let go.
“Not here,” he said. “Some other time, where we won’t be interrupted.”
David frowned, not fully understanding, and watched as Victor retreated to his bed and sat cross-legged to finish his homework. But sure enough, a few minutes later, Victor’s roommate walked in, and when he did, he found them on opposite sides of the room, buried in their studies.
David wasn’t confused for long, though. He learned very quickly that they needed to hide their relationship, and he learned how.
He lost his virginity to Victor that year. He hadn’t meant to, but it happened, and he didn’t regret it one bit. He wasn’t Victor’s first—he found out he wasn’t even Victor’s fifth—but he didn’t care.
There were whispers floating throughout the Academy halls regarding what was happening between them, but David was accustomed to the gossip and the slurs by now. It was so prevalent, he suspected some of his professors—and even General Howard himself—might know, based on the looks they’d received in passing, although he never had proof. It would be improper for a chancellor to be involved in such things, and General Howard was a very proper man. If he knew, he never said anything.
Others did, though. Rumors flew, and David never confirmed them, but he never went out of his way to deny them either. They were what they were, he thought, and he tried not to let it bother him. He simply let his classmates say what they were going to say, and he resolved to stay above it all.
But this was a mistake that would haunt him for the rest of his life.