Chapter Text
The vinyl player spun soft tunes reverberating throughout the walls of his shabby soviet apartment as Sergey folded his clothes with tender care. New Years with Roman and his family was quite something, the something that was a rusty shard of shrapnel that dug itself into the flesh.
Seryozha, his forest brown eyes, were the spitting image of Roman. A forbidden fruit would only propagate the finest produce, taunting from its high branch of society down to the deviant that was Sergey. He was Aesop’s fox who would longingly spy upon the grapes, Roman’s soft gaze pushing him to tear him from his family branch. Deviants, the perverted and pidors were destined to forfeit this lust for an alternative lifestyle, to adhere to the expectations of a typical Bolshevik revolutionary. Long ago were such counter-revolutionary heresies such as homosexuality openly accepted amongst Russian society, Lenin turning the cheek to ministers that seemed to swing in another direction.
Roman would never forgive him for his feelings.
He had to leave.
How could he not?
Roman had chosen family.
Sergey could never give Roman a family, nor could they give each other the reassurance that they’d be safe from the prying eyes of the corrupt authority.
He reached into the back of the closet to put away his denim pants (a sweet bit of contraband he picked up from his time at the acting institute). As he fumbled through the last of his clothes the model plane of Roman’s plane cut him. As the blood wept from the cut so did the salty tears, and visions of Roman discarding him, their photos, and seashells from their little outing, all before that fateful day. How he remembered the emptiness slivering around him like a python as he tugged the pine tree into their apartment. It reminded him of an open home, everything was polished and too clean, an unsettling feeling coming from the picture frames filled with generic family photos.
And how could he forget dinner? How it showed that he never got to stop acting. That smothering with the heterosexual mask, in his own home, next to his boyfriend. The too-wide smiles that hid back sneers and eyes wide as the corners of his mouth stretched his cheeks.
She was going to find out eventually. Did Roman not deserve it after practically packing his belongings and tossing him out? Not to forget when he could hear the orchestra of pleasure crescendoing from the double bed they used to press against one another during cool winter nights for warmth.
The kids model plane brought various memories, all too heavy on his conscious to process tonight. He desperately hid the plane amongst his clothes, discarded amongst old memorabilia, and shut the closet.
With a throaty sigh, Sergey drifted away from his misery and collapsed onto his bed. Tired eyes soon fluttered away into a quiet sleep.
Roman occupied his thoughts like the plague. From when they first met as colleagues up until now. The dark abyss of slumber would transform into those soft eyes that could lull him into calm security, strong arms that would wind their way around Sergey and calloused hands that would weave through his light brown puffs of hair.
Knock. Knock.
The polite sound startled Sergey into action. He peered through the closed blinds of his apartment. The dull sun shone back at him through the smog over Moscow, alarming him of the time.
Dammnit! He had slept in, missing his first-morning class, he couldn’t afford to have Mrs Pavlichenko rip into him again, he was already at rock bottom after the weekend. Reality struck like an old creaky grandfather clock once again as he leapt out of bed and scrambled to make himself look half presentable. Quickly glancing in the mirror would reveal puffy eyes, holding back the floodgate of emotions that brewed inside him like a thunderstorm. Ugh, that fucking plane.
Sergey scrunched his eyes tight and rubbed his forehead.
Nervously, he took a deep breath and straightened up, staring at the door.
The old beaten wooden door slowly creaked.
He could kill him.
In that moment time ceased to exist. All that was, was Roman opening the puffy red dam that held the last of Sergey’s dignity, a whirlwind of hatred mixed with mourning washing across his face.
Roman’s expression dissolved from one of caution to kindness as he witnessed the internal conflict painted into Sergey’s brow. Arms unexpectedly appeared and wrapped tightly around the smaller man.
“I’m sorry,” Roman began.
Sergey sniffed, then dramatically tore himself away. He couldn’t be serious.
“Really?” Said in a sarcastic tone yet the wobble in his voice was quite noticeable.
Roman’s eyes gestured behind him, a kind of is it alright if i come in?
He couldn’t believe he was letting him in, head bowed in shame. What the hell was he thinking?
Sergey clicked the door shut. The atmosphere hence became chilling. Leaning against the wall, Sergey crossed his arms and dared to look into Roman’s eyes.
“Sergey, I want to tell you something-”
“Roman,” he paused, disappointment breathed out through a sigh, ”go back to your wife.” Sergey interrupted. His gaze was caught by the firebird poster on his wall, a smile threatening to weaken his defences even more. He mentally slapped himself for his incapacity to compose his emotions.
“No, Sergey I wanted to say-”
“Please!” The desperation in his voice became apparent. His emotional scars hurt enough without being pried open. If Roman convinced himself he could pull the stitches out holding Sergey together without retaliation, he would be met with an icy defence.
“...Sergey…”
“Roman please,” Sergey frowned.
Ignorance was integral for survival, that's what Roman taught him previously. It diminished his passionate flame to a dull flicker, ignited by Roman initially. His candle had been burnt at both ends. Now a clump of dried wax stuck to a plate.
“I applied to go to Afghanistan.”
Like a deer caught in headlights, Sergey’s eyes, wide as dinner plates, turned to face Roman’s ghoulish features. It told Sergey perchance he wasn’t the only one affected from the incident.
It was unfair.
Unlucky.
How Roman could smuggle a hurricane of hope and displeasure into his life all at once. He was a forbidden fruit, there to taunt him, never consumed.
“No… No you can’t do this Roman,” he stuttered in disbelief, his head shook in shock. Roman slowly crossed the border between them, warm embrace lightened the chilling air.
“I have one more day to reconsider…”
Finally, they locked eyes.
Blue met with brown, piercing another's soul.
“You must.” Sergey watched as his hand trembled on Roman’s cheek. How did that get there-
“I belong in the sky Sergey,” Roman breathed heavily, tears started to force their way out, Roman’s hand snaked up steadying the shake of his own.
“Just like how you belong on stage.” Their eye contact never faltered, raw emotion bared out to one another under a warm spotlight.
“No,”
“Sergey-”
“We belong together, Roman,” he intertwined their fingers, stubborn hopefulness squeezing Roman dry. Dignity gone to the wind, Sergey clawed for anything that could tie Roman to him.
“And how will we do that Sergey,” his voice raised in anger, one hand tore away from his grip. Homophobia still had a grip on him, reminding Sergey that this is a horrible idea.
Well fuck it, he’d been through worse.
“Nowhere at anytime will anybody accept us. What is the point? It’s all useless.” Roman whipped his head back, forcefully removing himself from his old friend.
Sergey snatched back the lost embrace, eyebrows crooked in seriousness.
“Hope, Roman. That is the point.”
Roman watched as Sergey leaned down to kiss his hands, his thumbs carefully traced his knuckles.
“Sergey…”
“Please…”
“Okay…okay”
Afterwards, they both fidgeted in Sergey’s cheap metal dining chairs, two entities basking in silence, unsure how to approach the other. Eventually they were sharing vodka despite the time of day as they discussed their greatest hopes and fears for a new life. Sergey found himself trapped once again, head propped up against his hand as he devoted all his focus to study the way Roman’s eyebrows creased as he laughed and his slightly chipped tooth from when he had crashed his bicycle into a tree as a kid. Swept up once again in his orbit.
Roman felt himself helplessly smiling, lost in Sergey’s gravitational pull without anyone to pull him away. Of course he made it into the drama program with that smile. Perhaps… maybe his blind determination could take them places, one that accepted their love. No, it’s a stupid idea isn’t it.
“Germany!” Sergey suddenly cut in.
Roman, skeptically hummed along. “Hmm, what about Germany?”
Sergey spread his palms out on the table and smiled once again.
He had that look, the one where he was about to ramble on about his favourite band or the best actor of the last 50 years.
“Our love is legal there,” Sergey began. He looked into the distance, Roman following his eyes.
“A paradise, far different to the snowy grey communist blocs outside.”
“So sunny communist blocs?”
He rolled his eyes, holding back a giggle.
“Yes!”
“Won’t the East Germans just send us back here?” Roman questioned Sergey’s hope, reminiscent of the history of their relationship, being a difference in rank in the military.
All socialist countries had the same idea of homosexuals. Bourgeois people who saught out the end of the socialist revolution. It perplexed him. If this was true, where was his money and power? He had to hide himself from the KGB in fear of losing his job, imprisonment or worse, being beaten and humiliated. He was a simple working-class man who had fallen for an otherworldly beautiful working-class being with a dream of a normal life.
“Paragraph 175 ceased to be enforced in 1957 and then decriminalised in 1968. Roman, we are completely legal there.” He drummed his hands on the table, unable to keep his excitement in.
“Sergey…”
“Roman…”
“We will still have to keep our heads down.” Roman softly added.
“But legally we are free! You see my friend has relatives there and kept on telling me stories of their adventures when they went to visit their family. There are secret social groups for people like us! Imagine Roman, we must go.” Sergey’s hands fidgeted, Roman slowly covered his jittery hands and brought them to his lips.
“Well, how do we get there, darling?”
Sergey became unbelievably red, eyebrows raised high into orbit. He was actually entertaining his idea.
“Well…,” he nervously stuttered,” The institute is thinking of doing a cultural exchange with German students. Perhaps you could ask to be transferred to one of their military bases in Berlin…? I mean if you want.”
Roman kissed his hands once again and stroked his thumb against his soft palms.
“Then I shall fly to Berlin for you.”
New years now seemed so far away.