Ivan remembered seeing that man throw his memories into the river. He remembered seeing the tears in his eyes, and the emotion in them as well. He wondered about what that man was giving up. He recognized the sadnes; he felt that man's relief. Because he understood. That is why, now, he could not bring himself to ask what the man was throwing into the river.
Ivan drank in his lover's beauty. Flowy blond hair, clear and shining blue eyes, a long nose, and lovely pink lips were the features that drew in everyone. A somber smile hung on his face, and Ivan understood. The sunlight lit up Francis's face, and the scar above his neck, under his ear was visible. Ivan still did not know where that scar came from. He had his own scars. Across his own neck were disfiguring burns and welts that were long healed but never forgotten. He was embarrassed by the red bruises and marks across his skin, and no one else had seen him with his scarf off. Francis never asked him to.
They were walking, content with the sounds of nature, silence between them. They needed no words to be comfortable together. Words were not needed between them at all times. Silence is, at times, wanted. Francis and Ivan continued to stroll, their calm gazes at the surrounding nature were light-hearted and awe-filled at the beauty of autumn. Leaves fell around the two, and light wind blew. Francis looked to the distance, eyes searching. He nodded towards the direction he wanted to go in while nudging Ivan.
Ivan needed love that night. He wanted to be touched, he wanted to be touched by Francis. He made his advance, and his lover pushed him away. Ivan did not know why, but he did not ask. He was unnkowing, but he understood.
Francis guided Ivan to another path and grinned with a jump in his step. They walked along this new path for a bit longer, and eventually Francis strayed from the trail, gently pulling Ivan along. He stepped into a clearing, a little area with leaves covering the ground. Francis took off his coat and set it down. He sat atop it, and gestured for Ivan to do the same. Francis took the other man's hands in his, and began to sing quietly.
His eyes closed, and face lit in utter peace, Francis continued to sing quietly, his soft words in French. He had a deep voice, a lovely one. Ivan listened, no longer surprised by his lover's odd actions. With wide eyes, Ivan watched Francis's eyes tear up as he sang an emotional verse. His voice lowered, and decrescendoed as he sang the final words. A single tear ran down his cheek as he opened his eyes and smiled at Ivan. When Ivan reached to wipe the tear off, Francis flinched. Francis apologized, and allowed Ivan to dry his tear.
They sat there for a few more minutes, soaking up the beauty of their surroundings, and eventually left. That night, Ivan dreamed about how beautiful Francis was while singing. Walking home, Francis cursed himself for flinching. How could he remain on guard when around Ivan? As far as Francis knew, Ivan could be trusted. But he honestly did not have it in himself to ask where Ivan came from, knowing where he, himself had been.