Chapter 28
Mikhail was dashing through the supernaturally bright morning, a scream tugging at his heart, but his mind clear in a way he had never known before.
It was Fei collapsing into his arms all over again.
Only this time, though the Chinese wasn't even there, he knew exactly where he stood. As if it had been there all his life, behind an invisible curtain, suddenly drawn back.
Holding him in his arms in the pub, Mikhail had thought this was completion. If there had been a fight, if he had to fight for Fei and didn't survive, that was the right way to go, fine to leave this world.
But then Fei kicked in … touching him like that … melting into his arms … looking at him in a way he couldn't even have imagined in his wildest dreams … taking him to a place where he had never been before. What had been pale, barely outlined, burst into glowing colour. The random frazzles of his life fused into yearning sense.
Gaining the prize for his master plan of re-structuring formerly crime dominated regions, for his supposedly alibi studies of Politics & Economics - now even Alexej had to acknowledge he was not merely some academically lightweight sporty playboy nitwit! It really was a piece of genius, brilliant PR for his family, kind of a moral money laundering scheme …
What would his Chinese colleague - he chuckled at this - make of it? He couldn't wait to show him …
Managing Macau for the last year, where he had first caught sight of the Triad Leader. He had been interested immediately, had thought at first this was because Liu Fei Long was a rival … why oh why had he so stubbornly refused to learn Cantonese, then? Always insisting on interpreters, as if … in a mad vision he saw themselves in a cosy breakfast scene, some twenty years later, a marital idyll - but between them, bowing, smiling, maddening, a Chinese interpreter … interpreting "I love you" back and forth - ok, so his Cantonese and Fei's Russian allowed for that level of communication, but for everything even slightly more complex … and then, in a flash, he realized that this was a Fei thought, it was Fei's kind of humour! He was already thinking Fei thoughts, knew him so well already!
He took a jumping short cut over a particularly tangled, ancient looking grave site, leaving a print. On!
Mastering tempera in his own painting … that last one had brought the break through, had begun to live, to speak to him … he wanted it to speak to his love!
He passed a row of benches, several old people in faded black much like what he was wearing soaking up the warmth of the sun, just barely turning their heads to look after the glowing, golden haired young man, half in the afterworld already …
… having to lie face downward on a green surgical cloth for what felt like an eternity, so many people fighting for his life, and far worse, sounding sorry for him … him, whom all had always admired, envied, even feared.
It was all fine if it had brought him to this moment! He wanted to live forever now, with Fei.
Mikhail Arbatov moaned out loud, crashing even faster through the wild overgrown cemetery, hurtling back from Alexej's fraternity, through the clear spring light, all mists burned away by the sun's growing power.
They hadn't even had proper sex yet! They had never really talked. They had never woken up next to each other! Fei had already been gone this morning … unspeakable anxiety threatened to black him out.
He wanted to show him all of his pictures! Even if he thought he knew his taste from History of Art, he wanted so bad for him to say something about them! even something terrible! For it would be terrible to lay himself open like that …
He was streaking along effortlessly, gracefully … running came so naturally to him it couldn't stall his fantasies …
… waking up next to Fei baby every morning for the rest of his life, thinking of a new silly nickname for every single day … watching his dark narrow eyes flutter open, unfocussed at first like when he had pushed up the eyelids in the pub … or coming to his senses and have them already sparkle into his own like a million crazy morning stars … their bodies tangled into every position described in the Kama Sutra - and a few more thrown in for good measure …
… entering History of Art hand in hand with the Chinese every single time from now on, everyone acknowledging this as a matter of course … especially on April first, his own birthday … his love proudly (but also a little shyly, he was a little shy, how could he never have seen that?) announcing "Misha's special wish" - he wanted to hear Fei call him Misha!
His laboured breathing thundered in his own ears.
He wanted another kiss from him, now.
He hurtled on, turning onto the main path, the cemetery gates in sight, passing startled joggers, riding a surreal, dreamlike high.
He saw himself holding court at the Café St. Petersburg, Fei snuggling against him, his shimmering head on his shoulder, announcing their engagement to everyone who wanted to hear, and everyone who didn't … sliding his mother's diamond ring onto his love's slender finger … the pinky one probably, he was a man …
… saw themselves arm in arm in Kowloon's street markets, jabbering high speed in Cantonese, both of them incognito, stopping at corner shops, feeding each other exotic tidbits … holding hands, kissing, for hours, days, life.
Street lights and traffic marked the end of the cemetery park, bringing him back to earth, but not much. He ignored red lights and dodged cars with squealing brakes, drivers honking and cursing. Misha ran on.
He wanted to share his baby's first time in the snow, sledging over vast Siberian plains under the Northern Lights, both of them swathed into the same furry wrap … their body warmth defying the cold of outer space, their two clouds of breath intermingling, revelling in the delicious smell and that breathless, muted, infinite feeling only a starlit snow landscape gave … connecting to the universe … defying death.
He desperately wanted him to be safe.
- to be continued -
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