In the summertime the days stretched longer and longer. The sun rose at five or six and did not sink back below the earth until very late. Trees flourished with life, dropping their pretty buds and turning greener and greener. The sun burned hot and red in the sky; hardly disturbed by a single wispy cloud. The air rushed through the world like water through a river, sweeping away hats and rumpling girls' hair and dresses.

Yao stood in the backyard, looking out into the field that only a few days ago he had let the sparrow free. He held his hands behind his back, clasped, as old men do when waiting patiently. A light breeze whisked his hair away from his face, causing it to glide behind him like silky black ribbons. On a wooden chair, beside him, Ivan sat. Holding a beige guitar in hand, he stared at Yao, lost in thought.

Birds tittered and Yao smiled at them, casting a glance at Ivan. He recalled dimly the suggestions made to him by Sveta and Lena; telling him to ask Ivan to strum a few notes. "Ivan," he asked slowly. Conversations between the two had become furthermore stagnant and scarce; cold even. "Ivan, why don't you play me a song? I would like to hear one."

Taking up his guitar and resting his hand across it, Ivan allowed a grin to curl his lips. "Certainly," he said. He plucked at several strings with his red-tipped, thick fingers, testing out the cords. Then, clearing his throat, he began a nice, easy melody and began to sing. He stared straight ahead and his lips barely shifted; vibrating at his lilting words. It was a song that contained the entire meaning of life and its struggles. Ivan tilted his head slightly, hunching his shoulder. His voice was not perfectly tuned and nor was it in any way trained to perfection. It was rasping on several notes and often too harsh. But it was a voice that one could only comment on when its final notes had died in the air. While he sang one was completely engrossed and unable to pull away; desiring furiously to hear more of it. Yao felt that same way, closing his eyes to further his experience.

When Ivan stopped singing and the last note hung in the air, like a ripe apple ready to fall from its tree, he stood up and held the guitar by the neck, keeping it by his side.

"That was wonderful, Ivan," Yao said.

"Thank you," Ivan said, bowing his head.

"I regret not having asked you sooner."

To this Ivan did not respond. He set the guitar on the chair and looked around the open field. Far, in the distance, a young girl danced around an older woman. Her shrill voice rang out though he words were unintelligible. Her two brown braids flopped around her back and she held her tanned arms out.

"I've been meaning to ask, and I don't mean to be rude, but…" Yao looked at Ivan. Ivan made no objection. "But I was wondering when your sisters would be leaving? I'll surely miss them when they do leave."

"They leave at the start of August. Natalia is going to Paris for her studies and I assume Katrina will find a job in a rural area. She loathes big cities and tries her best to avoid them." Ivan answered. Yao nodded slowly, taking the information in. "Now," Ivan continued; "I have a question for you."

Yao glanced at him curiously.

"What do you think of love?"

Yao pondered this and involuntarily took a step away from Ivan. "I think love is a childish thing for young people who have high expectations of life." He muttered wrathfully.

"So, is that it?" Ivan approached him, "I digress. I think love is a passionate feeling between two people; be it familiars such as friends or family—or be it a lover. Or perhaps it is towards a strange, beautiful exotic bird." He reached over and plucked up Yao's hand, holding the slender fingers between his own. He bent down and placed a kiss on Yao's knuckles, causing the afflicted skin to crimson.

Yao stared, parting his lips but unable to utter a sound.

"You know already that I love you. You know that on the day I married the doomed Ira I received a letter from the military. They have asked me to return to combat on August 12th. A peculiar date, granted, but if that is what they wish I cannot refuse."

Yao retracted his hand and let it fall limp to his side. His nose became pink and his eyes glowered at Ivan. "Well, why didn't you tell me?"

"I did tell you, just now."

"But why didn't you tell me then!" Yao said, and, despite himself, burst into tears. They rolled down his cheeks glistening in the sunlight.

"I would have admitted it right before my sisters. I don't want them to know. They might already have an idea. So I don't want to give them the pleasure of being right. Also, it was quite amusing keeping it from you."

"You gather amusement from other people's pain?"

"Yes. It's a sick and diabolic tendency. I cannot help it. I'm addicted to pain like that—be it to myself or to another. Oh, if only I could resist."

Yao inched closer to him. "In a way it makes you more interesting, I suppose."

"I suspect you aren't a pure white dove either."

"Not at all," Yao said, his heart thudding in his chest, leaping out into his throat.

"No one is. No, I believe that not a single person walking this planet now, in the past, or in the future is a pure being. No entity can be unscathed and completely clean of all the dirtiness of the world." He held out his hand again and Yao took it, wiping his cheeks with the other hand. The news of Ivan's leave now subsided in his mind. Perhaps its due date was far too distant for him to quite grasp the full extent of it. Or perhaps he, too, had an infatuation with pain.

"Do you think Natalia will like Paris?" Yao said, not knowing why but conscience of Ivan's body so close.

"She will. I'm sure of it."

Ivan raised Yao's hand again to his lips and gently kissed halfway down his arm. Shivers sprung up at each faint touch of his hot lips and rocketed through Yao's body. His cheeks flushed madly.

"Do you love me?" Yao asked. Ivan stopped his kisses, now hovering above Yao's shoulder. The skin itched and burned for the touch of those lips.

"I've loved you for a long time, now. Not how I loved Ira, mark you. I love you viscously. I love you because of your fierce personality, of your words, of how you carry yourself and of how intently you can focus. Your intellect…" Ivan pressed a kiss to Yao's shoulder and then went up his necks; slowly, marking each kiss now prominently.

Yao gasped, his breath quivering in his throat. "Is that so… Oh but you hardly know me! Only now can I express my intentions clearly…" he mumbled, feeling Ivan's lips so close to his. Ivan's nose tickled his cheeks. He shut his eyes, his eyelashes fanning out and clashing against his cheeks. "Why do you torture me so?" he expression seemed to say.

And Ivan's expression said; "because I love it." He pulled away slightly and Yao stopped him, pressing his palm against Ivan's faintly whiskered cheek.

"Ivan…" He muttered. "Isn't it wrong of you to love after marriage?"

"It was only a family marriage. Nothing bound by the court or the church, Yao." Ivan muttered back, holding up his hand and showing that he had not even a ring. "Je vous aime, Yao. Oh! I can't stand it anymore. Why did I have to hold myself back! Our time is so finite now. In a matter of days I'll be sent back and unable to touch you. I'll send you to Sveta and Lena. I'll write whenever I can. If I die I die for the country and for you!"

He swooped down and pressed his lips to Yao's; their lips clashing and their teeth smothered by the underside of them. Yao wrapped his arms around Ivan's broad shoulders and tilted his head. Tears freely poured down his cheeks and the wind buffeted again, tossing his hair and causing his tears to glide at an angle. Ivan kissed as though he would never see Yao again, wrapping his arms around the thin waist. If only he knew that this would be only half the passion of a kiss soon to come. He pulled away, his cheeks red.

"Why are you crying, Yao?" he said, brushing away at the tears.

Yao smiled faintly and pressed his head into Ivan's chest, burying his tears and wetting Ivan's shirt. "I don't know. I don't know…" he repeated.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry…" Ivan repeated at the same time.

And he did exactly what his premonition told him not to: he got too close to love.