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I bent my head to his ear. “Imagine what it would be like to be free,” I whispered. “To not worry about the police, or the hatred, or all the lies we tell to keep them from smashing in the door.”

He exhaled, slow and soft, against my neck. “I hate telling lies.” Dimitri’s voice cracked. “But if telling them means I can be with you, then I’ll lie. I’ll lie until I forget what the truth sounds like.”

We kept dancing. The waltz spun us in circles. I held him tighter, because I didn’t trust myself not to fall apart.

I loved the feel of him in my arms so much it hurt. And it made me wonder: Could I really do it? Could I let go of this boy, the only thing that felt right in this entire world, just to keep him safe?

I glanced into his eyes and smiled. I even made it look real. But I knew it wasn’t. The fading bruises covering his face said it all.

Dimitri had to go.

The waltz faded into silence like smoke, leaving behind only the echo of our breath and the gentle creak of the floor beneath us.

For a moment, we just stood there, swaying in the stillness.

Then I cupped the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss so deep I thought I might drown in it.

There was a knot in my throat, tight and burning, rising fast like it was going to choke me.

I broke the kiss, just enough to speak, though the words scraped coming out.

“I love you, Dimitri,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “More than anything else in the world. And I’ll do anything for you.”

A single tear slipped out before I could stop it. Hot. Unwelcome. Honest.

Dimitri blinked like he didn’t understand what he was seeing. “Petyr… are you okay?”

I took his hand, weaving our fingers together. I hated how badly mine were shaking. “Where’s your bedroom?” I asked, willing myself not to fall apart.

He faltered, eyes darting briefly to the front door. Always the fear, and the instinct to look for danger before desire.

“It’s okay, Dimi,” I said, my thumb stroking the back of his hand. “It’s just you and me tonight. No one will interrupt us.”

He bit his lower lip, his breath catching like he was trying to believe me. Then, finally, he nodded and tugged me gently toward the hallway. I followed, half-floating, half-afraid I might shatter from the weight of what I was feeling.

His bedroom was small, neat, almost childlike. A stack of books by the bed, a heavy wardrobe that probably held more secrets than clothes. He went to the window and drew the curtains, his hands trembling just enough for me to notice.

“I think this is the first time we’ve ever been truly alone,” Dimitri breathed. “As long as my father doesn’t show up. Are you sure he’s not coming back from work? Because…”

I kissed him again before he could finish. Harder this time. His words melted into mine, and just like that, the world disappeared.

There was no USSR, no Party, no factory whistles screaming us back to the grind. No secrets, no bruises, and no reasons to lie. There was only the two of us, standing at the edge of something too fragile to name.

But I knew what it was.

It was love.

The kiss deepened, and I let it. Let him pull me in, let him give me this moment, this one place in time where the world didn’t exist beyond his body, his breath, his trembling fingers tugging at my shirt. I felt like I was drowning in him. And maybe that was the only way I wanted to go.

When our lips finally broke apart, it wasn’t relief that filled me. It was a knot rising in my throat so fast, so tight, I thought it would choke me. I pressed my forehead to his and whispered, “I love you, Dimitri. More than anything else in the world. I’ll do anything for you.”

His eyes flickered. Confusion first, and then worry, like he’d caught something in my tone I hadn’t meant to give away.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“It’s okay, Dimi,” I said, softer now. “It’s just you and me tonight. No one will interrupt us.”

He bit his lower lip and nodded, the smallest, most cautious movement, then I helped him undress slowly, reverently, like unwrapping something sacred.

Not just because I wanted him, but because I needed to memorize him.

Every inch. Every scar and bruise. Every sharp breath he took when I touched him like no one else ever had.

I didn’t want to rush. I wanted to make love to him like it meant something. Like it was more than hunger. More than an ache.

It was our goodbye, and he didn’t even know it.

When I laid him on the bed, his hands were shaking. I kissed his palm. His wrist. The inside of his arm where I could feel his pulse hammering. My heart echoed it, frantic, wild.

He looked at me like I was the only real thing in the room.

“Petyr,” he whispered, like a prayer.

I didn’t answer with words. I didn’t trust my voice to hold steady.

Instead, I slid down beside him, my body molding to his, every inch of him warm and open beneath me.

I moved with slow care, kissing him until his lips parted again, and then I kissed his throat, his collarbone, the curve of his shoulder.

His breath hitched every time I whispered his name between kisses, and the sound of it, his soft, broken little gasps, punched something loose in my chest.

It felt like holding a glass I knew would break. Like trying to cradle sunlight before it slipped through my fingers.

We moved together, and he let me guide him, let me give him everything I had. Every thrust, every gasp, every moan, it all felt unbearably tender. Like I wasn’t just touching him, I was giving myself over to him. One heartbeat at a time.

And all the while, I kept thinking: remember this. It’s all I’ll have of Dimitri for the rest of my life.

* * *

I had Dimitri wrapped up in my arms, my chest to his back, the rhythm of our breathing finally settling into something slow and quiet.

His skin was still warm from everything we’d just shared, and I couldn’t stop pressing kisses to the back of his neck.

Soft ones, reverent ones, like I was sealing something there. A blessing, and a goodbye.

His hair was damp, curling slightly where it met the nape of his neck. I nuzzled it, held him a little tighter, and whispered the words before I lost my nerve.

“Dimitri... I know a way to get you out of here.”

He gave a puzzled little laug. “What? You mean... my apartment? Away from my family?”

I sighed into his shoulder, the weight of it so heavy it nearly crushed me.

“No,” I said, barely more than a breath. “I mean out of Russia. So you can be free.”

His body went still. Completely, utterly still. Even his breath caught.

“What?” he murmured, the word brittle. “I don’t... I don’t understand.”

He turned over slowly in my arms, shifting until we were face to face. His brow furrowed, and his eyes searched mine like he was trying to read an unfamiliar language carved into my skin.

Then, gently, his hand reached up and brushed beneath my eye.

“You’re crying,” he murmured. “Why are you crying?”

I tried to smile. I even managed it, though it felt like glass cracking behind my teeth.

“Dimitri,” I said, and every syllable shook, “early Saturday morning, there’s a boat that will take you...”

I hesitated. The lie was too big. Too sharp. I could barely force it past my tongue.

“Take us,” I said it anyway, “to Finland. We can be free.”

My voice broke, but I pushed through. I had to.

“No more lies.”

The words burned my throat. He deserved the truth. But I couldn’t give it to him, not yet. Not when it might stop him from leaving.

I cupped his face in my hands, brushed my thumb over his cheek, and kissed his forehead.

“We will be together,” I whispered, “without fear.”