• "I love you.."
    Were his last words. His eyes closed, his body falling limp in the Russian's arms. "Yao..." Ivan said as he held the chinese man closly to his chest.
    "Yao! I'm sorry! Please come back to me!" He yelled out as tears formed in his violet eyes. He had killed many men in his lifetime, all meant nothing to him. But now, this meant everything.
    With all the wars he has been through, his heart went cold and he felt nothing. Now, his heart felt pain, sadness, and anger. No, only pure anger laid in his heart.
    If this fighting had never started, if he hadn't come face-to-face with Yao, if only Yao could have pulled the trigger before he did. The chinese male could still be alive, breathing, and Ivan could have been the one with blood all over his body, dead in the snow.
    Yao's blood coverd Ivan's coat and the pure white snow was truning into a deep red color. "Why couldn't have been me? Why you, Yao?" He yelled again, putting Yao's limp, bloody body onto the ground.
    He grabbed his gun, pointing it to his head. He bent down, his lips touching Yao's. Without moving them, he pulled the trigger on himself.
    Two limp, bloody bodies, of two lovers, lay on the snow, lips never to be seperated until someone found them.