Each song on the radio that finished signalled another bunch of miles less that he had to travel before he reached his destination. So, although each respective tune wasn’t necessarily better than the last, it was worthier of celebration. Before long, Wilkes exited the M3 and passed through the fashionable, expensive areas west of London—Twickenham, Richmond, Battersea. Then Clapham, and a turn towards the river eventually brought him into Stockwell.

He didn’t know the area, but Balkhi had explained what a great location it was—close to a Tube station, giving him easy access to the university hospital on the south bank of the Thames. Even better, it was outside of the congestion zone, and the accommodation came with its own parking space, meaning Wilkes could drive right up to the block of flats without incurring any charges, or have the hassle of finding somewhere to leave his vehicle.

Wilkes couldn’t help smirking as he thought about some of the situations they’d gotten into together. A trip to Camp Bastion and accidentally bumping into each other in the shower area had started it all off, followed by taking advantage of the relative privacy of an accommodation block. Then there’d been the blowjobs in the briefings tent, the insanely risky clinches in Wilkes’ tent… Christ, how had they never been caught? Heat flushed his cheeks at the erotic flashbacks, and he had to shove them forcefully from his mind and drag his attention back to the road before he caused an accident.

They’d always known things between them were never going to be simple, not even on returning to the UK. Neither man was “out.” And although it had been far too dangerous for Balkhi to come out in Afghanistan, there was no reason he couldn’t be openly gay here. Wilkes, on the other hand, had the reactions of his family, friends and colleagues to consider. He was certain all the people that mattered would quickly get over the shock of discovering his sexuality and accept it, but he still couldn’t shake the worry that it would adversely affect his career. His immediate superior, a homophobic old bastard by the name of Major Graham Hunter, often made his life unpleasant as it was, and that was without knowing Wilkes batted for the other side.

Wilkes had felt terrible. His return had taken place a few weeks before Balkhi’s, so although he’d been granted some leave for R&R, he hadn’t been able to either spend it with Balkhi, or to use it help him with his relocation. By the time Balkhi had set foot on British soil, Wilkes was back to work. And, given nobody knew about the two of them, or even that Wilkes was gay, he couldn’t exactly ask for more leave in order to help his boyfriend move into his new flat.

Life had conspired against them ever since, so this was the first opportunity they’d had to see each other since saying goodbye in Afghanistan all those weeks ago. They’d communicated via email, text message and phone calls, but it just wasn’t the same. Especially since they’d gone from seeing each other every single day for the best part of six months to not setting eyes on each other for weeks on end.

Wilkes had struggled terribly in the interim. Life had been tough enough while they were still out in the desert. After weeks and weeks of trying desperately to ignore their growing attraction, they’d finally given in to it. It had been stupid and risky, but, having quickly realised there was more to their attraction than the physical, they’d decided to carry on their relationship in secret while they were in Afghanistan, see how it went, and figure things out once Wilkes’ tour of duty was over. Balkhi had always intended to return to the UK for his studies, so they would, at least, be living in the same country.