"Doctor, he's lost a lot of blood... Shall we operate?"
"No... No, he will be fine as is."
"Are you sure? I mean, the shrapnel is still in there..."
"He's too unstable to operate on at the moment, just keep him monitored."
"What shall we tell his wife?"
"Just tell her... She should be alright, he will survive."
As they had arranged, Iosif got to Davet's house in the early afternoon, arriving a little early. He sat quietly in the driveway, sighing as he looked at himself in the mirror. He'd made an effort today, for once. He'd trimmed his beard, and cleaned it up around the edges, he'd washed and combed his hair; however still leaving it in a semi-messy style, which he preferred. And although it grieved him dearly, he chose to dress up a little more than usual. He opted for a flannel shirt, which was patterned with crimson, viridian and black plaids- however, he refused to do up the top few buttons, the scars that banded with gently tanned skin exposing themselves in the breach between the fabric. He also wore a pair of blue jeans, with a brown leather belt and some brown leather shoes that matched the belt. Despite the huge contrast to his usual attire, Iosif was happy with the way he'd chosen to present himself, but he did feel as though the combination of clothes and appearance made him look like an archetypical lumberjack.As if on cue, at 2 pm, Davet stepped out of his door, walking to the car and getting in. He was dressed nicely, wearing an grey, casual blazer, under which he wore an alabaster sweater, with some black jeans and a pair of black lace up shoes.
"Good afternoon, you look quite handsome when you choose to present yourself nicely." Davet laughed quietly, noticing the shift in Iosif's presentation.
"Oh, well, I thought I'd make myself look somewhat love-able." He chuckled as he started up the car once more.
The two shared a serene car ride through the snow-covered streets, both partaking in an interesting exchange about whether or not the snow would melt soon, but they both knew that chances were, it wouldn't. At least the snow was a constant; they knew that no matter how much their lives changed, the winter snow would never leave their little lake-side town.
They spent the next few hours at the quaint little restaurant on the edge of town. If was a panic-inducing moment for both of them; Davet didn't want the handsome man to think he was greedy by eating lots, and Iosif didn't want the cute guy opposite him to think he was fat. In the end, they got over it, and they both ordered steak. Eventually, the questions started.
"Iosif... Who is Anastasia's mother?" Davet asked the taller gentleman, taking a sip of the water he had ordered.
"Oh... I'd rather not talk about that right now..." A gentle sigh escaped Iosif's lips as he spoke, the memories of his failed marriage flooding back into his mind.
"Oh... Sorry about that... I'll not ask again." Davet smiled, awkwardly looking to the side.
"No... It's alright. I guess I'll just say that... Well, some love stories are born to die, I guess." Iosif sighed wistfully, gently rubbing the back of his neck, the tension of the conversation rising. The topic was obviously a tender subject, so Davet decided that the train of thought has to reach the end of its line.
"Alright, we'll leave it at that."
