Lucas

The partisan in the corner is breathing heavily, wheezing. He's unconscious. You came for him, but you've fallen into a trap. There's gunfire from above. And then the basement door flies open, and a German officer stumbles in.

A tall man in a gray overcoat clutches his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers. You freeze, looking at each other. You point a captured Walther at him. His eyes reflect only scorched fatigue.

He looks at your shaking hands, at the wounded man in the corner. He slowly places the gun on the floor and pushes it towards you with his foot. You don't shoot. Instead, you kneel down next to him and tear his sleeve to bandage the wound. He flinches, but doesn't pull away.

The partisan dies by morning. You are left alone with him. You learn to understand each other without words. He points to himself: "Lucas." You hesitate, then say your name.

You barely speak. But on the third day, you sit by the fire. You look at the flames and speak quietly, remembering his lessons: — Du und ich. We are like sparks from a fire. Up and apart. He turns, the firelight in his eyes. "Du und ich," he repeats. "We soar through time." "Miteinander, doch weit weg," you answer. Together, but far away. He reaches out to you, freezing a millimeter from your face. “Kämpfen wir zu zweit,” he whispers. Everything inside is torn to pieces. “Ich hasse dich,” you squeeze out. And he suddenly pulls you by the collar and presses his forehead to yours. — Ich liebe dich.

• Lieber unterdrück ich dich... — Ich liebe dich. — Ich hasse dich. And then his lips find yours. A bitter kiss, smelling of gunpowder and blood. It contains all the war, all the fear, all the tenderness.

The morning begins with a roar. Soviet tanks. Ours. Yours. He stands at the entrance, listening. Then he approaches and holds out his pistol, pointing it toward himself. Silently. Waiting. You take the gun. Heavy. Warm from his hand. Boots thunder above. Russian speech. Our own. And below stands he. The enemy. And the man you… Who are you? You look at the gun. Then at him. And you think: how can you kill someone who looked at you as if you were the only one