Archive of Our Own

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The cloak of love is only a shadow. The naked empirical ego, self-love, the oldest love, remains at the core.. 

Karl Marx 

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Xian stops in his tracks immediately, a threat was just captured by his vision, a warning to not walk further. This sudden stop caught the attention of the 'danger' itself, merely a man, taller than him, dressed neatly, smoking, leaning to the red-brick wall. They exchange gaze.

Initially the Chinese man just wanted to wind down, to this little space on the back of the building, that he had self proclaimed as his private space. Not expecting anyone, let alone a stranger. The hidden place that has the full view from the top of the hill, a bird's eye view of the city, had become unsterilized.

But knowing this man is coming from another race, an alien to him, assumptions of him are growing. Xian can't help to put on a guarded expression, though he is an active student who seems to have met many people, he has never interacted with a foreigner. He wasn't that sociable at heart.

"What? Do you want to smoke here too?"

As plain as it seems that this man is a Caucasian, adding up that he's Russian too. Xian begins to think the man in front is some scholar, or a teacher from the Soviet Union at his University, probably.

Though the dirty blond expresses openness, or simply unbothered, Xian feels nervous, he feels like he doesn't know what to do in this situation, let alone the language barrier. He could leave, but the man was talking to him, what did he say? Or this foreigner was just shooing him away.

Despite all the mixed feelings in his stomach, his gut tells him to not leave. Xian put his weight down to sitting onto the paving block platform, he doesn't mean any harm, he's coming with peace. His thoughts are already pilled up but one in the top is, this white man makes him curious, and he wants this curiosity to be quenched. 

The strange man opposite him, lowers his posture into what modern day would call Slavic squat. He finds this Chinese-looking man increasingly interesting.

They locked into a two sided stare, only a split second and Xian is already giving up, to speak first, so he opens his mouth. But a realization holds his voice back, he regrets this decision and folds his lips inside thin, licking them with his tounge. As if he doesn't look nervous enough, being stared without a break by a pair of eyes so different in color. Rather than talking, one thing Xian wants to say to this Russian, is, to not smoke.

Xian gives a hand gesture that he believes imitates smoking, and shakes his head, he feels like dying doing this, while the his counterpart finds this attempt ridiculous.

His impassive Russian face can't keep the tingling feeling inside, he has to break it into a wide grin.

"What the fuck?!" A sudden cursing in english, with distinct Russian accent.

Xian stares back, with more confidence this time, a hint of surprise in his eyes. He prepares his best voice to not sound too Chinese, but low, "you speak english?"

"Yes."

Xian secretly inhales heavily, "No smoking here."

The intruder is just confronted for smoking, but he puffs it once again. "Okay." 

Xian darts his gaze somewhere and looks forward again, "I have to go."

He gets up, and walks away.

"What is your name?" 

"Xian En."

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Xian left the Russian for his class just to meet the same guy again. Only the difference now is that, he left early so he can take the seat he wants, and this strange man shows up later, walking past him and looking gleeful. Xian's surprise almost sparks into excitement, while his expression tries to remain unaffected. There are also few other Russian looking students, like the non blond one with thick eyelashes, and they look like from a different world, of course, but in a good way.

This is a special collaboration class, part of the new Sino-Soviet program. It was limited but not mandatory for Xian’s metallurgy studies, in some way, he found himself drawn to the older brother propaganda he had heard so often, and that things were changing. He wanted to experience Russian teaching, not spend his whole life only inside the Chinese fish tank. And he knew he would see new faces, and probably, new friends.

Xian observes that this particular Russian guy actually get along with the other students of his kind, or maybe they have known each other because of this program. While for Xian, this is just a new class, so regardless of race all these people are new to him, but somehow, naturally, he only blends in with his people. The same goes for the foreigners, who doesn't seem to interact with any of the Chinese students. It's like a wall facing against each other.

Xian pretends not to know this Russian, and the same Russian acts almost the same, as if both have forgotten each other, or because none of them wants anyone to know out about their secret meeting earlier. Curtains are draped over each of them, one of iron and the other one is of bamboo, and both are shut. But from the way the pair of dark eyes looking at him, the man knows that Xian's attention is on him.

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As if they had promised each other to meet again at the same place and time, they meet again. Part of it is true, because Xian has been looking forward to seeing him again, outside of the class. Now he has already secured the place, waiting, and the Russian man arrives later. His anticipation grows as his eyes looking upwards to the figure that has just arrived, and he finds the same face again.

Xian is in sitting position, and actually working on an assignment that is due today. While, this tall man stares at him below, one hand reaching into his pocket. Somehow Xian's attention is fixiated on the silver wallet the man's fuzzy hand pulls out, which turns out to be a cigarette case. He thinks it's somewhat fancy, engraved with a particular coat of arms, a hint of subtle prestige, but weathered as if it has gone through wars. It has built in lighter that the owner just attaches and detaches, a motion that feels like a mini show to Xian.

"You don't wear your... glasses?"

The Russian opens the conversation, to a trivial matter Xian didn't expect. He tries to stare back at the speaker, in the eye, without looking impolite. 

"It's only for class." He said short, afraid his Chinese accent dissolving the words. The Russian lits his cigarette.

Xian's fingers clenching the air, on that scribbled paper. "So, Ilya..."

"You already know my name."

He have thoroughly thought what to call Ilya. "The professor calls you that." 

It triggers the owner of the name grinning. 

Xian can not acting all studying again now that Ilya is infront of him, with him, he gives up his attention and time for a personal interest. The man across him, using the silence proceeds to do as he pleases, smoking, seems like he's already opposing his new Chinese acquaintance by doing so. 

"Do you live in camp around here?" Xian's voice was 2 pitch lower somehow.

"I'm not a soldier, I don't stay in camp, I stay in the dormitory."

"You're not a soldier?" 

Ilya puffs his cigarette. "Never. Only my dad and my brother are soldier."

Xian feels that his assumption was not entirely wrong, and he satisfied. Oh he just wants to know anything about Ilya, and why his body looks well built if he's just studying. Xian's mother is already proud that her son is taller than most men his age, in his Chinese town. But Ilya, to say he's built different, he was built in Russia. 

"What about you?" Ilya looks at Xian.

"I live here." 

"Really?"

"Yeah I was born here, why?" Xian somehow feels paranoid as if Ilya investigates the whole background of his family.

"Your face is different."

"What do you mean?"

"You look more beautiful than people from here."

Xian's immediately struck, he can't smile, but his mouth parts slightly. He likes what he just heard. Though it would be too wrong for him to think that this Russian is hitting on him.

Xian's feeling just then flowed nicely into a beautiful smile. "People say that too, about not from here."

"How do you feel in here?" He asked again.

Ilya pulls out the cigarette from his lips. "I feel strage, everywhere I go I see Chinese writings. How can I understand that."

The Chinese man laughs, "I can't read cryllic too."

The fact that Xian has Russian subject, while he's sure that Ilya doesn't really have to understand Chinese.

"What do you eat around here? Is it different?"

"They feed me rice." Xian chuckles.

"Why you laughing again?" Ilya almost raises one of his eyebrows.

"I'm sorry it's just cute?" , "... Funny?"

And they stare at each other, awkwardly. Xian believes that this is just the multicultural thing, it's interesting to know what foreign people think, and it's entertaining to see how they express it. Do they even have the same understanding of a particular word? How this translates into a Chinese mind, and a Russian mind.

Xian clears his throat, "It's good to see new people..."

Ilya feels he's wasting his Russian cigarette because his mouth does more of talking than smoking, "My mom said that I better join this to make new friends."

Xian's corner lip twitches knowing one new information. "Do you like it?"

"I don't know I'm just four days here."

Slowly, the Chinese man grabs his belongings and rises. He taps and brushes his long unwrinkled pants, he is about lo leave. 

"Okay, enjoy staying here?" Xian says hesitantly, unsure if it's correct. Then walks away. 

"Sheyn."

That accently mispronounciation stops him in a second.

"Do you want to come to my dorm?"

'Sheyn' almost turns back, at least his face. "Why?" 

Inside, he begins to curse himself, for answering too fast, and replying without thinking thoroughly.

"It's boring. Maybe I can do something if you come."

He smiles widely.

Why does eveything feel funny when the Russian talks to him, is it the heavy accent that giggles him, or simply because his dopamine couldn't help to spike whenever with him.

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Sheyn was very aware that he have rejected Ilya's invitation, and secretly he wanted to make up for it. Asking Ilya to teach him Russian was somehow what he thought to make the man less bored, if boredom was the issue. Sheyn had just unfavored him, and now he was asking a favor from the same man. Though it was only 'mandated' for this moment to come, like one of the agenda's mission for China to learn from Russia. This is also something Sheyn never thought he would do, it feels like asking a random person to do something for him.

Of course the native Russian speaker was available, and willing, something to squeeze in aside his other lab practice and work field. But turns out Ilya wasn't a good teacher, rather just became Sheyn's translator. Concentrating was already hard for him, because to look at his new teacher in the eye was difficult with that jade color, as if looking at his country's most treasured stones. Sometimes Ilya winked to scatter Sheyn's attention, so he turned back to his Zhongguo reality. Being tutored by Ilya was almost useless, if the goal was to actually learning, but if it's getting closer and to know him, it was a success. 

Aside being the man of science, that means reading a lot of science book, Sheyn also a bookworm for another book topic, such as philosophy, and fiction, he would feel shy to admit it's his hobby. One time when the two hanging in the library, Ilya was surprised on discovering a section of shelves filled with Russian writers, but all in Chinese mostly. Ilya wasn't much of a reader, but he knew that his coutry produced a lot of great works. What he found interesting was, for Sheyn to explain a whole book like a telltale to him, the man would turn to a nerd full form. Once, the Chinese mentioned the tale of Liang-Zhu, which more of a folklore about initially, 2 male students, but the tale was nonsensical, he said.

One day when the two arrived at the same time in class, Sheyn picked his usual seat, and Ilya took the closest one from him. Sheyn immediately shot his most spiteful glare, if he could, but he only put on a questioning look, pretending he didn't know what this Russian was doing, and disapproved it. Though it was known this seat setting was actually good for both of them, for the academic purposes, and for their respective spiritual needs. And this went on until everyone knew they were the closest intercultural students. All these were just the multicultural thing, Sheyn wanted to keep believing that.

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Outside class, Sheyn is a registered member of the student union, he gets stipend for participating, and mostly because of his academic peformance, though at heart he was never an organisational student. Even more when the news of his friendship with the Russian spreads like wildfire, he is suddenly tasked with a quest so mythical and rare, that he has to do a photoshoot with the very Russian man. To promote the Sino-Soviet campaign, for the motherland.

Sheyn has told every plausible excuse he can come up with, and negotiates with every person he thinks holds power to shift this weight off him. He doesn't want to tell Ilya about this at all, because this is never going to happen. But all Sheyn's efforts have to go in vain because this time the devil himself shows up, telling they two have very important thing to do, and if it's not done, it is the collapse of both nations, which is that photoshoot service.

The two already seated nicely side by side in the photoshoot room, Sheyn doesn't know if his university has something like this, and he never been in one before, he feels super strange. Ilya looks good as ever, but this time he wears something that if Sheyn perceives, looks like Stalin suit. Sheyn himself was requested to wear something that look more Chinese, which is the Chinese tunic in a dark olive colour, with all 4 complete pockets, something he almost never wear. Their outfits seem just similar to each other.

"I thought they will draw us together." Ilya talks first, he looks happy.

"Why do you want to do this?" Sheyn's voice is low and whispery but the tone was firm.

Ilya stares at him, "do you really don't want to do this?" 

Sheyn turns his face to be unseen by his counterpart. "No... it doesn't matter."

"You're beautiful and look really good, okay." , "It's just a quick photoshoot."

Although it sounds commanding in everyway, but Sheyn can't help feeling flattered. A smile escapes his depressing expression, but it was not seen by Ilya.

The situation gets even more tense for the Chinese man, when the person that comes to direct them is Russian, which means he can only rely on Ilya the whole session. Sheyn already feels puzzled hearing the speaker talk very fast, and his co-model responds in the language he is most comfortable with.

"Just follow what I do," Ilya said.

"What?" Sheyn doesn't feel reassured at all. 

It begins as normal when the pose is only standing side by side. Sheyn doesn't really have anything in his mind, still processing the whole uncanny situation, and that actually helps him to have a clear mind when tasked to put on a specific expression. The overly bright lightning, dingy background drop, and standing camera infront complete with its photographer, it's really happening. When Ilya's hand pulling him closer on the waist, then it rests on his right shoulder, Sheyn starts to feel weird, but his face doesn't change. Then Ilya tells him he looks too relaxed, and needs to be more ferocious.

Pose after pose, and one pose taken for numerous times, it makes Sheyn feels as if he's a girls doll to play around with, because Ilya's taking all the lead and he just gives in. As if the Russian has already explored all his counterpart upper body, leaving all fingerprints to the fresh ironed fabric. Secretly Sheyn questions himself why, in a way, he likes this touch, a touch from a stranger man. But it's all just for the people, and for the motherland, he wants to keep believing that.

Ilya tells Sheyn that the old man told them to hold hands, the Russian doing so, without approval, reaching Sheyn's free hand and slides in. They're supposed to look toward the future together-kind of, but beyond his dark eyes staring forward, his mind is overanalyzing Ilya's hand. Sheyn has been holding himself to not turn his head to the side, because that would mean looking directly at Ilya, in this distance so little. 

But he wants to know, he glances up slightly tilting his head, gazing at this Caucasian face, close to see every pore, the texture looking coarse, and the brassy part of the hair strands beaming the spotlight, so this is how he look up close. He sees this Russian man animatedly talking, he does seem talkative here, could be because of multiple things. They stare at each other, scripted, but the smiling isn't.

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Ilya asked Sheyn, that he should go with him to the town to tell about all the Chinese writings in there mean. Sheyn couldn't help but became a local guide for the Russian tourist, he was more than happy to assist him. But Sheyn imagined it would feel weird to walk side by side in town with someone who didn't look like from there, so the Chinese requested Ilya to wear a cap.

Their university was located in town, it was close to public place and attraction, the architecture was already modernized and shops looked like from Europe but with Chinese signgage, not everything was with pointed red roof. They walked along the sidewalks decorated with a waving red flag, Sheyn hid both of his hands on the back of his hip. Sheyn was wearing something that Ilya had seen before, just his usual wardrobe, loose shirt of plain color. While Ilya, almost looked American with his stripped collared shirt tucked in his waist, but the addition of a plain olive field cap on top of his head was there to confuse people. 

Sheyn went on telling Ilya about the shop they had just walked by, there were a lot of distractions, the road was busy everyone minding their own business and no one would even notice with whom he was walking with. They ate together, knowing what what was on the menu made Ilya wanted to eat a little, although he thought there weren't many choices. They bought some bread-like food, and stopped in a tea shop that also served coffee, but Ilya asked for coke, if available. 

When they saw elders playing a game table that looked like chess to Ilya, the native Chinese explained about what that was, and drifted to talk about gambling culture in his country. Then somehow the topic changed to sports and Ilya told Sheyn that he should try skating and visit Russia during winter, shortly after the Chinesse man just explained the benefit of meditation. The red sun that hitting them reminded Sheyn to take the Russian to the red square, but mentioned the name of the place as 'Red Square' made Ilya thought it was the one in Moscow. 

Later they stopped at a park, sitting on a wooden bench in a quiet atmosphere, and empty surroundings, but within the sight of a patriotic sculpture standing over them. Ilya told Sheyn about the situation in his country, comparing every aspect, and he said it again, that he would take him sightseeing if he visits his homeland. The man also said that, the people on the other part of Russia, would have faces similar to Shyen's, central asian or mongol-like type.

Then they began to talk about Mongolia, and Ilya asked if Russia expanded its territory and took over Mongolia alongside China, would Sheyn give up voluntarily and move with him. The man asked felt ridiculed, and with a near-laugh smile replied that it was not going to happen, it was not Genghis Khan Conquests anymore. As Sheyn talked, he felt a rugged hand lied on the back of his own, he was aware that they were sitting with their hands resting on the wooden surface, but had their hands been that close since the begining, was the skins touching each other. Sheyn did not want to acknowledge that, not changing his face, and kept babbling about Mongols even to the part he thought he shouldn't have said.

When the words ran out and Ilya didn't respond Sheyn verbally, his thick fingers grasped him and his words, but gentle as if an embrace. The Chinese felt his face warm for the whole day he thought it must have because of the sun, but he was also talking enthusiastically, smiling, and he knew he was happy to keep Mr Rozanov company. His dark eyes glanced briefly at Ilya's arm, enough only to see the visible vein and the small burn scars. When the Russian said even more silly things of bears and pandas, meaning China and Russia were the same kind, Sheyn broke the silence and expression of his for a wide smile. Ilya kept making him entertained his jaw felt like about to break, but it was all for the pink blush along the middle of his face to be ever present.

When the day has ended, Sheyn accompanied Ilya back to his dorm, he did not want to hear news about some foreign man found lost or dead. And when they have arrived in front of the door, Sheyn bid his farewell quick, and the Russian thanked him in Chinese. As walking away he told himself that he was already tired today and he would want to be longer with the Russian if wasn't so tired, so this hard feeling of parting away with him reasoned. But he was convinced that he would take Ilya to the opera next time, to take him to another shop, to places he had and had not been to, to take him out as much, he just wanted to give a full China experience to the Russian visitor, he believed.

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Sheyn promises Ilya that he will come to his dorm today, and since he already knows the way to get there it will be easier. But he is occupied the whole day and just be able to visit at night, so he thinks this visit will be quick. What's long that he preps himself, freshens up, make sure he doesn’t look tired, picks his favorite clothes, and looking at the mirror repeatedly, for some reason. After knocking, he waits for some moments for the occupant to open the door for him, he knows that Ilya wouldn't be sleeping early.

Ilya answers the door only with his undershirt and slack pants. Sheyn immediately feels overdressed, he could've just wear the shirt he used all day, luckily the black Lenin coat layering outside hides it.

"Whoa you, finally!"

"Sorry." Sheyn grips the bottle in his hand harder. "I just wanted to give you this, this is from my mom." He finally let out the sentence he have rhearsed.

Ilya looking at the bottle-shaped object wrapped in a paper. "What is that?"

"It's a local drink, maybe smilar to vodka." Sheyn tries to keep his cool being stared by Ilya in that state. 

"Thank you." The bottle then moved from Sheyn to Ilya. "Do you want to come in?"

"..."

"..."

Sheyn immediately takes off his shoes when entering the room, it looks bigger than he thought, and he pretends not to spread his eyes everywhere. The scent, color, atmosphere and everything is, unfamiliar, but somehow it feels really Ilya, this dorm merely a Russian communal apartment to him. Olny a brief moment in there and Sheyn already miss the reeks of incese in his home, he hopes he is not entering a lion's den.

"What is the name of this?"

"Jiu."

"Should I open this?" Ilya lifts that huge bottle a little.

"No, you can keep it or drink whenever you like."

Ilya then disappears to another room, leaving the guest alone in the center. The room have a sufficient lightning everything looks bright and clear, Sheyn walks closer to a large window on the wall with no curtain, it's dark and almost nothing can be seen from inside. When he spots a standing clothes rack, he feels reluctant to take off his coat and put it there, to reveal the cream checkered shirt he actually wears, it's from his father.

Then he sits on a two-seats couch, that has an ashtray on its wooden coffee table, and some clutteries, such as a box of cigarette that is red with Chinese writings on it. Sheyn feels his lower body succumbed by this old looking couch, with its cracked leather surface.

Ilya returns with two small cups in each of his hands, Sheyn looks up at him and realizes there's something dangling on the man's collarbone which is a necklace with a cross pendant. But for him, the cross shape somehwat unusual, and begins to think if he ever pay attention if Ilya was wearing necklace all these time. The man stops before him, and Sheyn's attention moves to those porcelain cups, seemingly a Chinese tea cup with a pheonix and flower pattern, Sheyn holding his chuckle, no, he likes seeing his Russian gets Chinese-ed. 

Ilya casually drops his weight and makes the couch pad shifts, so does Sheyn beside him, the black haired thinks this is too close. To avert his attention, the guest chooses to immediately focusing on what's served for him, he reaches out to this one cup, taking it loser to his face, almost drinking it, until he realizes something.

"What is this?" Sheyn asks without turning his face.

"Vodka."

The Chinese immediatelly glares at Ilya inchies apart, like shooting a dagger to him.

"I brought vodka from Russia, you have to try vodka!" Ilya animatedly moves trying to convince his counterpart.

Sheyn really doesn't know what to do in this situation. He then pulls the cup away from his face, lowering it, almost putting it back on to the table. He stares at the liquid inside the porcelain again, and thinking of what he have done to himself. He didn't even drink jiu occasionally, but he was that confident to say it's similar to vodka. Now this is vodka before his face.

Meanwhile Ilya beside him relaxes his back to the sofa, not hunched onwards his posture like Sheyn that's nearly panicking.

Sheyn takes it too much in one sip he didn't prepare, and by the time he realizes this is nothing like jiu, his throat is already burning. 

Ilya sees the Chinese doesn't process the vodka correctly, "the other cup is warm water." 

Sheyn immediately gulps down the other cup he was told. 

Only a matter of time he knows his blood will be rushing to his face, he turns it to the man on the back, "You Russian, is killing me." 

It only makes the very Russian happier, and that crooked smile comes to surface. 

As far as Sheyn can remember, he actually can hold his drink, so if he doesn't gulp down another cup accidentally, he thinks he will be just fine.

"Today is Chinese New Year, so I got some other things to do."  Sheyn talks as looking forward, not to his counterpart.

"Did you enjoy?"

"It was okay." Because he goes to the temple today to inquire about the thing that have been on his mid, which is, this man beside him.

The conversation goes dry, and a click of lighter heard beside him, Sheyn can imagine Ilya is already lighting up his cigarette.

"Do you have girlfriend?" 

"You're drunk."

Sheyn scowls. "Okay I will ask another question."

"I don't have, and is good because I will leave her like now." Ilya elaborates.

Shyen only hums, of course if Ilya have a girlfriend she would be from Russia.

"Do you have one?" 

“...”

He never finds a girl he liked enough to court, but to answer blatantly will require Sheyn to be drunker than this, or even deeper answer about his sexual interest needs a couple more cups of vodka. 

"Or maybe two?"

He smiles, feeling sorry for the long silence. "No."

There is the same duration of silence like before, but now Sheyn can smell burning tobacco from behind him. Without thinking twice he turns his face back, to see if it's true. It enables Ilya to catch the sight of Sheyn's face, the man immediately takes his blunt away.

"What is wrong with your face?" Ilya seems concerned, but more of holding a laugh. 

Sheyn tries to embrace his weakness and acting as natural and mature. "Is it red?"

The two stare at each other, Sheyn's mouth isn't closed and he knows his lips are red too because the heat goes everywhere on his face. He just hopes he doesn't look like a red face monkey.

Ilya grins widely, looking very entertained. "Is it because of the vodka?"

Sheyn turns his face again so Ilya can't look at him anymore. "No, it's any alcohol."

"You're drunk yes,"

"It's just my face, okay, my mind is still clear."

Ilya’s smile stands even longer, and he shakes his head.

There is a long, heavy sigh visible from Sheyn’s figure from the back. He tries to relaxes his body, though he feels he has a fever because everything feels hot. He then turns back almost completely, face full exposed to the Russian who seems very calm with the blurring smoke around him. He reaches closer, for his fingers to carefully take away the cigarette from the man's lips, afraid of touching that reddened pink, or to burn himself. Ilya lets his comrade do whatever shenanigans until the object is put away on the side of the ashtray.

Before they can exchange gaze with each other, Sheyn shifts so he can comfortably reach Ilya's shoulder, leaning in closer and just to see his reaction for his every action. Ilya entire body isn't moved at all, only eyes locking to that pair of onyx right infront. Sheyn feels he can lick his own lips so many times because the tension is eating him, but he can only swallow his own saliva. Then so he puts his lips on the Russian's, like a peck with no sound, but he knows Ilya agrees because he welcomes him, warmly, and it’s mutual.

Sheyn backs a little, just so he can capture the face he just kissed in the right view distance. He feels like he can't contain what he's feeling right now, like a mix of emerging war and fireworks inside him, although everything is just as serene as the man before his face. His dark hair then receives a gentle brush from the back of his ear, also his micro bangs atop his temple, a tender act to calm him. Sheyn unconsciously closes his eyes, and smiles faintly, this view derails Ilya from reality. The light from the bright neutral lamp glistens that right shade of pink on Shyen's cheeks.

"You're so fucking beautiful that I'm afraid to break you." 

The words are coming but Sheyn isn’t in a position where he prepare his Russian translation, instead just looking clueless. Though he might know the meaning if he hear it once again. 

The speech is a diversion so the Russian can bring Sheyn's body closer to him they almost clasping, the dark haired cooperates eagerly, to top the man bigger than him. Ilya's both hand taking a hold on the Sheyn's full body, one on the nape to trap him for not distancing an inch, and the other one creeps down looking for an entrance to get under his clothing. And that's when Sheyn feels a touch has arrived on his spine, he pulls away from their makeouts, looking at this very surreal reality. 

"My father is American."

Ilya freezes, and Sheyn's face looks almost too innocent. 

"Why are you telling me this."

Sheyn is stunned with his own interruption too. "... just, if you want to know."

"So you're an American spy?"

He smiles, "No, I'm just a student like you, my mom is his mistress."

"Okay, my dad is a war criminal."

"What?"

Ilya is firm with his own confession after Sheyn's, but that only before he stops the farce by sucking his counterpart's unguarded mouth, in one hit with a tongue. Sheyn gasps, he isn’t prepared, nor experienced, but he follows the tutor's guidance, like being taught Russian toungue twister. The pace goes slower, the enjoyment of every nano seconds. Sheyn can't feel his own body, all he feels is just boiling tea pot. 

As if not wanting to let go, Ilya clings to Sheyn's lower, lushy lip, by wrapping the lump with his teeth, then clenches, the bitten winces. The Russian explores further, nibs Sheyn's chin, jaw, and leaving a trail of saliva on his uncovered neck surface, the man breathless, unable to swallow the air. Ilya is a biter, he bites all wet, knowing that he can't tear the delicate skin, but he's hungry. Sheyn feels the whimper is just on the top of his windpipe, yearning to lash, but he channels his stress by biting his lips, and clutching his arms on Ilya like a padlock. Ilya grinning widely to his ears, overjoyed upon discovering the China experience.

Sheyn knew a danger when he saw one.

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Sheyn has been seeing Ilya less often, or just rarely sees him now, the last time they met each other was for the class, not the class of Mr. Rozanov's Russian Course that was private for his only pupil, not the session of the only two having quality time together. It begins when Ilya informs him that he is being moved temporarily closer to the site he works at, and after his return, Sheyn can tell that he is increasingly busy, and the Chinese comrade doesn’t want to be an obstacle because he demands his attention and time. Somehow Sheyn finds Ilya constantly looking tired, sometimes distanced himself, or even irritated. This attitude makes Sheyn keep the relationship reserved, he wants to know why, but he just lets Ilya know that he is available if he needs him, but such hospitality doesn’t penetrate The Great Wall Ilya has assembled.

When Sheyn arrives at the class, he doesn't see Ilya, the seat near him is empty, then he gazes over the entire class, he doesn't even see one Russian. He doesn't want to validate his doubt just yet, but the information he already knows is far too clear for him to be dismissed. As he quietly seated himself while mesmerised by his own thoughts, the lecturer comes in and prepares for an announcement. Since the Russian students are going back to their homeland, today will be the last session of this class, and further information regarding the removal of Russian model in the University will be held on a greater scale. The lecturer keep talking, but from that point, everything just sounds like a background noise to Sheyn.

He thinks Ilya was just bombarded with work, but the artillery behind it was political, it was all part of the last Sino-Soviet projects that needs to be speed up before the time of his departure. Sheyn then recalls that this class has become less frequent, because it was the shift of interests, no more playing friends and comrades, like a playdate end in the warm evening. But who is he lying to, he is aware of what he saw in the People's Daily, the Stalinka that was never compatible with the China soil, the Great Bridge over the river that was left before complete. The honeymoon that has turned sour.

Sheyn isn't thinking of meeting Ilya again, hell, he doesn't even know what to think. He doesn’t even remove his glasses yet, walking mindlessly to his personal retreat, like he is the one that going to be exiled from his coutry. Or this is a bad omen, the worst time in China has began and the first act has already been played.

But the man is there, the sophisticated Russian, and Sheyn has to stop his slow walk, just like the first time they met. Ilya looks unusually fresh, hair styled back with just the right amount of curls to enhance his western feature, he glances at the Chinese. While the man himself thinks of just run into him, hug him tight, and blurt his feeling. But the current restrained (bilateral) relationship, coldness from Ilya that feels like a winter wind shooing him, could he tell him to not smoking like the first time they met, to break that ice once again.

While it's plain to see what is happening on Sheyn's face, Ilya maybe too good at hiding his feelings, or that he is just already far exhausted. Sheyn almost doesn't know what to say his first word, asking if he's okay? Asking when are you going to leave? Is USSR safe? Why are you here? Ilya turns his face away and inhales another dose of tar.

"Can we meet again?"

When the smoke's coming out from his mouth, Ilya swallows it back, less than a second, and without looking back at Sheyn. "It depends."

"Depends on what?" 

The conversation becomes hard for him, or both. Sheyn starts to curse himself for picking the wrong question.

"Do you want to go to Russia?"

"No!" Shyen's tone was almost high. "I mean..."

"Good, I don't want to go to Russia too."

Sheyn feels difficult to argue with Ilya's words. "You know as much as I want to leave this country."

Ilya stops responding to Sheyn, and so does the air around them grow cold again. Sheyn has not moved any closer to his counterpart since the first sentence he spoke, and each line feels useless he thinks it might be better to leave.

But the Chinese comrade can't give up, even if this looks like a farce, even if Ilya have to yell at him. "You think you can go to somewhere else instead?"

The pair of jade he has forgotten its fracture, glances at him again. "Like where?"

"I don't know." Sheyn answers without pause. Then his attention goes to that Chinese cigarette just resting at Ilya's fingers, consumed by its own ember, wasted and falling to the ground.

"We can go to some forest and start a farm."

Sheyn gazes up at Ilya that turns his face away from him, his smile blooms. "You know the farmers are the revolutionaries, we would eventually go down to the streets and creating another masses. Or die from famine."

This time Ilya turns his whole body to Sheyn.  "No, no, you nerd runining it! Our place wouldn't have something like that. It will be very far, and only us know."

Ilya is almost yelling at Sheyn as if the man has just insulted his intelligence, but his comrade isn't affected, he stays collected with a smile that starts to make him look despairing.

"Until then, I hope you can find that place, even if I'm not with you."

Sheyn says with thin smile still lingering, looking at Ilya trustfully. It was a smooth, long Russian sentence Ilya ever heard coming from that Chinese speaker, but he said it casual. Ilya isn't amazed, in a way he looks purely stunned, like Sheyn was just cursing him. His cigarette hasn't turned to a stub just yet, but he puts it out on the ground.

"Do you even know the meaning of what you said."

"You taught me."

Sheyn has been waiting for this, for Ilya to drag him away from standing to be cornered between their collided bodies, and a cold bricked wall. Sheyn doesn't return the gesture just yet, hands still floating in the air. Then he feels a burning sensation and heaviness in his eyes, because of excess water, he's able to control this Russian by saying one sentence in the language, but why not his tears. Ilya is already almost suffocating him, but Shyen only, gently, places his weakened hands on the man's back.

There is something he wants to say, something long impending, but it's harder to spit out other than anything else, the choice of three different languages he's capable of, not making it any easier. There is too much in the present moment and Sheyn only chooses to be succumbed by Ilya's warmth, he buries his face on the man's shoulder. Suddenly Ilya pulls away, but Sheyn doesn't want to look up at the Russian, not before Ilya lifts his jaw and his face is shown easily. He stares directly at Ilya, close, with watery eyes, reddened cheeks, he knows he looks pathetic, and his displaced glasses can't hide it.

How could Ilya not feel delirious, he starts touching Sheyn's face, caressing from temple to jaw, then fondles that lush lips. And he can't hold his urge long, to not clean his fingerprints on his dear comrade by kissing it wet, but the tears also coming to wipe, he tastes salt. Sheyn cries but he doesn't look sad, in fact he feels weird why he feels happy, in a way, as if Ilya has took it away from his mouth.

"Please, send me letter." Sheyn with hoarse voice but smiling, then fixes his glasses.

Ilya looks as serious as ever, almost concerned. To think, Sheyn hasn't seen him smile, and he doesn't crack even the slightest grin could mean many things. And that he doesn't answer the request. But the dirty blond man lets go of his comrade, then pulls the cigarette case out of his pocket and removing the lighter from its slot.

Sheyen's hand is suddenly taken by Ilya, for him to put that lighter inside his grip. "Keep this."

His dark eyes stares at the object. "But, why?"

"I didn't say it's for you, you will have to return it to me."

Sheyn smiles sheepishly, looking at Ilya as if saying he is a jerk he always has been. And that ridiculed, silliness, makes Ilya smile too.

"We will meet again, yes." 

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The end.

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In his room, Ilya was woken up by Sheyn, who hovered over him, hand playing with the cross pendant between his fingers. The Chinese man was surprised that his comrade opened his eyes, he wanted him to stay asleep and just ignore him. For being caught red handed watching Ilya while he slept, Sheyn could have made an excuse, because he had intially tasked the Russian to check his assignment. But who was he to order him when he had just returned home after a long day of work, the poor guy had fallen asleep on the bed and the textboox was near. 

Honestly Ilya didn’t want to react at all, aside from his head felt like spinning, his comrade looked ethereal from this angle, he wanted to stay forever. But he slowly took away the pendat off Sheyn's fingers and he just gave up to its owner.

"Do you know dog tag?"

Sheyn thought for a bit, why was this, he had just woken up and the first thing came to his mind was a military accessory. "I think I know."

"This, is what would be in my mouth when I die." Ilya put the cross in between his front teeth, he thought of biting it like a gold medal. 

Shyen almost pulled himself away and left Ilya, "you fucker."

"Yes I'm your fucker."

Sheyn wanted to correct that misinformation blatantly, only if he could. But Ilya was reaching up his right hand to Sheyn, and as a good comrade he knew what this gesture was. Then he leaned his body down until their face close, in the right distance, so a gentle kiss from him could be laid on Ilya. The Russian man continued the motion, only for a bit, and pulled Sheyn by his arm. Without defence the black haired gave up and had to join his comrade on the bed, it was awkward at first, but eventually he was wrapped in his arms. And Sheyn questioned himself, why was he here, inside him, but he let himself to be consumed by the warmth and slowly closed his eyes. 

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Dear Ilya Rozanov,

wo ai ni.

Xian En