[Other Original] russian winter (one-shot)

Ethan sort of knew that something was different with Gabriel. It's why he was attached to him from the start, when he was certain of the future. It's why he held his hand and why he sat in front of him.

The walls of the restaurant were peeling, revealing an even uglier shade of light pink from the previously ugly shade of baby blue. The lights flickered, staying constant at some intervals, but fading out with low buzzing noises; a swarm of angry bees.

He was twirling his straw, watching the ice crinkle like rolled up paper and the liquid bubble up at the surface. The inhuman glow of the mellow orange lights and the yellow hues of the city outside made his face softer and rounder. His jaws naturally cut like a knife, sharp, square edges that made his face robust and experienced as if he was older. The blond stubble on his chin illuminated silver as car lights shined past. It was late, and the restaurant employees were putting chairs upside down on tables. Gabriel looked bored, his green eyes drooped, gaze focused on his cup of water. He stirred slowly.

Ethan was resting his elbows on the wooden surface. Pieces of crumbs, rolled up straw wrappers, and other debris littered the corners of the tables where the employee's towels proved hard to reach. He stared at a bread crumb and blew it to the grimy, trash-ridden tile floor. They both sat in the far corner of the restaurant in a booth, near the kitchen where the noise had slowly died down as customers left for the night. It was quiet now, and the only sounds among the place were the scratches of chairs being lifted and Gabriel stirring his drink slowly. They had previously been making small talk underneath their breaths in Russian about the cold weather and politics before Ethan had asked why Gabriel looked so sad. His eyes were watering and his hands shook. He was holding something back.

"Everything." Gabriel had finally replied in English from Ethan's question. Ethan lifted his head. Gabriel was staring intently at his glass, "Everything is wrong."

The wind stirred outside. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and the traffic on the highway kept moving, swishing back and forth. Cars honked in the distance. Ethan looked at his hands, then back up to Gabriel. He loved him. He had loved him for so long. Gabriel stirred his drink slowly.

"It'll be okay." Ethan couldn't fathom how much Gabriel was hurting right now; brow furrowed and his mouth twisting into an ugly frown, pasted onto his face at birth. Gabriel had tried to crack his lips into some sort of grin when it was summertime, but it always reverted back to an expression of sorrow and permanent pain. Ethan remembered that time when he wasn't so sad. They were at the same restaurant, sharing small talk in Russian underneath their breaths about the nice weather and politics. It was lunchtime.

It was warm in Moscow then as they walked hand in hand everyday down the numerous streets, stopping at parks and sitting at benches, feeding birds that pecked at the sidewalk. Ethan gave Gabriel long coats to stock up for the winter but in turn shared nothing with himself. They didn't care about anything. They wanted to feel alive. They wanted to feel like somebodies. And Gabriel.

And Gabriel...

"You've said that so many times. I get sick of it." He closed his eyes and tried to realign his face to match some sort of emotion. The way it twisted up in pain, Ethan wondered if Gabriel was breathing. Ethan tried to reach out for something, but Gabriel's hand disappeared underneath the table and he was left grabbing bundles of napkins sitting in a neat pile in the middle. Gabriel finally opened his mouth again, "I get sick of you."

Ethan's grasp on the napkins vanished. He found his fingers finding flaws and dents in the table, mapping the surface and getting the feel that it was fake. His seat felt uncomfortable and too saggy as he sank far into the cushion. Yellow stuffing erupted from the harsh red fabric of the booth. An ambulance sped past, its siren reverberating through the highways and local buildings. Gabriel stirred his drink slowly.

"I don't know." Ethan answered because he didn't know. The night was growing tired. The cars barely passed by, their motors not bothering to drown out the words the two weren't speaking. The silence grew, and Ethan wondered if the buzzing he heard was from the ringing in his ears or the flickering lights. The waiter came and asked both of them to leave as it was closing time. Ethan passed him the bill and they walked outside.

The cold was bitter and nipped at Ethan's face. He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and shivered quietly while Gabriel strolled out easily in barely more than a hoodie and jeans, the sleeves rolled up, not bothering to hide the red scars, stippling, and bruised vessels clustered like the moon's craters near his elbows. He didn't take a chance to stop and quiver at the sudden chill, but bravely faced the winter as if it was his enemy from long ago. Ethan asked himself why he decided to live here of all places, but the fact that Gabriel loved the cold was enough to give his partner what he wanted. He watched Gabriel in admiration as he danced around the street, shrouded in the fog of his breath, barely noticeable. He blended into the night as lights blinked in the local dilapidated apartments and blew out. He was a shadow. Ethan realized Gabriel was just walking, though it looked like he danced. His laughter echoed in Ethan's mind for a while and then a memorable beat of a waltz followed. Ethan followed him ungracefully. He was never good at dancing.

Eventually, he caught up to him beside a crosswalk. They waited patiently for the sign to change. The streetlights glared and hurt Ethan's eyes and he blinked rapidly, catching Gabriel standing there in shutters and picture frames, taking a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it, blowing smoke into the air. In the cheerful times, Ethan might have come up and scolded Gabriel playfully about his addiction, punching him in the arm and winking, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and smearing it all over the sidewalk, Gabriel granting a cry of offense but chuckling soon after. More clouds formed around him. He was hard to see.

The light changed and they were off into the yawning darkness. They walked uptown towards their apartment, trudging up the vast hills of the several streets elevated in Moscow. They were almost close to home when Gabriel mushed his cigarette underneath his foot and stood like a statue, gazing up at the sky. Clouds dotted the atmosphere. Urbanization and pollution from car motors made the stars clouded and hard to spot.

Gabriel's face was no longer glowing unnatural, but silver. Cold and pale. He was tired. The hazy starlight illuminated the dark circles under Gabriel's eyes and the wrinkles from all the frowning in his life. A look of chaotic death was upon him, green gaze glazed and lifeless. Ethan looked up with him and painfully remembered when they both lay on their front lawn, drunk and giggling school girls. Ethan pinched the moon between his fingers and promised they'd live there someday, alone together in the sky. Gabriel kissed him. It was so sappy. Ethan tried to pinch the moon between his fingers again but he couldn't spot it. It was covered with clouds. The stars too were now invisible and he desperately looked around for something to strike back the memories of being alive inside his partner. Gabriel saw Ethan attempt his hardest to showcase beautiful words to him and when Ethan turned to look at him again, he smiled, but Gabriel's eyebrows knotted worriedly. He knew the truth. It was right in front of him. Ethan stumbled, flustered, turning around and walking to the entrance of their apartment.

He noticed before he opened the door that someone was missing. He turned around and saw Gabriel watching him from a few feet away. The street lamps were reflected in his eyes, but Ethan tried so hard to imagine that it was the moon instead. Gabriel saw Ethan. He looked right at him. Ethan was opaque. He was real.

Gabriel's legs sagged and he slowly dropped to his knees. He stared at Ethan. He cocked his head. His hands unfurled from fists to relaxed lines. He grabbed his shirt, right over where his heart would be. Wrinkles and folds formed, creating some sort of code for Ethan to understand. In the strands of black fabric Ethan saw himself kissing Gabriel, ruffling his hair, giving him ugly ties as a joke, granting him a second home. He remembered some midnights when Gabriel stumbled in, dizzy dancing, tripping into bed with Ethan, smelling of alcohol, smoke, and drunken nonsense from local bars. He remembered the pieces of notebook paper strewn around the house, falling out of pillow cases and washed jeans in crumpled messes and lazy folds, suicide letters to let Ethan know that Gabriel's feelings weren't a joke, tear stains and smeared ink from a cheap ballpoint pen, large, loopy letters written in script screaming in all caps and repeated three times: "MNE OCHEN' ZHAL'." I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Gabriel spoke to him.

"Pozhaluista." Please.

And then Ethan remembered the other things in blurs. The items he had pushed so far out of his mind came back in small doses, flashes of Gabriel distraught and confused, shaking like a leaf, scratching with a neurotic behavior at an unseen itch. Ethan came home one afternoon and found his lover on the floor in spasms, mouth turned in a grin, overdosed on heroin. He watched him waste away. Gabriel died smiling. Ethan seemed to forget, however, the good things; playing cards on the living room floor, watching TV and mocking the newscasters, teaching Gabriel how to say swear words in Russian, sitting around and not doing anything but be beside one another. Ethan's eyes widened. He walked towards Gabriel. He outstretched his arms. When he blinked, Gabriel was gone and Ethan was back at the restaurant alone, stirring his drink, slowly.

I didn't realise until I read to the end where this story was going. It came across as a run of the mill break up as opposed to a lover mourning. I wouldn't have guessed it was a herion over dose without being told in the writing. Perhaps a little more information and imagery about the drug use can be worked in? In addition, the memories, except one paragraph, were all positive and even the negative one doesn't really show the damaging effects of hard drug use.

I also found it interesting that you chose to set the story in Russia with a homosexual couple, given they're pretty anti-gay, and not make any reference to it. The story could have really been set anywhere.

Other than those points, solid writing.