He inhaled a light scent of spring on her skin, that tone of coldness that spreads in the forest, when the winter is still lurking around the corners, yet ultimately retreating. He immediately thought of her as a wild spirit dressed in greenery and with a crown of lily of the valleys on her head.

"Did you use perfume?"

She giggled in response – his nose was tickling her neck.

"You noticed?"

He sniffed again, feeling engulfed by the fragrance. His hands encircled her waist and pulled her closer to him.

He moved away from her neck and gazed into her eyes.

He took her hand and gave it a light kiss, while still holding the precious person in his embrace.

She felt floor slipping from under her feet.

"Where are we going?" She asked softly, trying to tickle his ear with her warm whisper.

"I want to feel closer to you. Much closer." He said, mischievously, causing her to feel a small tremble in her chest.

He briskly walked through the room, and just as she was preparing herself to be put on the bed, he walked past it. Swiftly, he opened the door, and walked out of the old villa that sheltered them for the past few days. He walked down the small steps, and sat down on the wooden bench, whose layer of white paint started cracking and falling off years ago.

She looked up at him in confusion, noticing that he already sat his gaze upon her.

Then, a rush of cold wind brushed past her, ignoring the thin layer of clothing she had on, traveling down her collar and into every crinkle of her blouse. She shivered, and involuntarily tightened her hold on her male companion, trying to squeeze herself into his coat.

A sound of pleasant laughter broke the silence. He shifted a bit and opened his coat in an invitation. Soon she found herself to be wrapped in his coat, and it was just as warm as it looked.

"Is this your idea of close?" She asked, continuing to sit on his lap, and rejoicing in the fact that his chest carried a very comforting heat.

"Hmm, I guess you were thinking of some indecencies."

His happy voice made her decide to stay in his embrace, and not go back into the villa as she planned.

They were aware they looked funny – a grown male, sitting on an ancient bench that looked as if it would break next time you sat on it. His stomach was bulging out in an extraordinary manner. Only if you looked closer you could see another pair of feet peeking out from under his coat. The man had a very luscious beard, it was of different colour than his hair, and you could tell he took great care when it came to it, because it could be featured in a shampoo commercial any day. Only if you looked closer still, could you notice that, in fact, the man did not have a beard. Instead, it was a second head, that rested on his chest. And it was this second head that possessed such fine long hair. Another thing you'd notice is that one of the man's faces was that of a man, while the other was clearly feminine.

But, that's only if you were observant enough. If you were like most people are – ignorant and in a hurry – you would glance at the two-headed, four-legged creature and deem it weird, and then walk away to continue your daily struggles.

"Maybe I was thinking something indecent. I am an indecent person."

"You are." he agreed, "A very indecent person."

"Hmph. And yet I'm not as wicked as someone."

"Wicked, my love?"

"Yes, wicked. Dragging me out of the house, without a pinch of consideration for the fact that I do not like cold. Tricking me into thinking we will be doing some indecencies and then just keeping me outside, in this freezing weather. So wicked."

"I am not preventing you from going back into the house, love." He said slowly, yet his embrace tightened, as if scared she really will walk away.

"Hm…Since you carried me out of the house, you should carry me back in. Thinking of escaping the responsibility for your actions? That's wicked."

He grinned again. "Aye, love, I am so wicked. But only for you."

He carried her inside, and there they indulged themselves into the range of indecencies that keep humanity from ever disappearing.

When he was taking in the scent of her body, he suddenly noticed the spring scent on another spot on her body. He was lifting her legs up, to put them on his shoulders, while he caught the trace of the fragrance on her right calf. He gave her a curious look and brought his face closer to the leg to verify.

"You even put it there?"

He moved his nose to her left leg, when she said:

"It's only on the right one."

"Oh?" He smiled. He liked finding out her quirks. They continued their previous activity, without returning to the topic.

Not long after, he noticed that each day she changed the place where she applied the perfume. She still kept using perfume on her neck, yet she never failed to put it on another, seemingly random, spot on her body.

Once he found it on the hips, another time it was on her left shoulder, then he caught the scent while kissing the inside of her elbow. It became the game they played, for him to find out where she put the perfume on.

He loved it. He loved roaming though her body, going through every spot of her smooth skin, looking for the trace of green woodland on her body. It made him go crazy for her. Her little mind games that she played, he adored them. He loved mysteries, he loved riddles and puzzles, and he loved weird things that didn't belong to their places. She knew it, she knew his character all too well. She knew all that and she used it to make him fall for her even harder. And he realized she did it on purpose, and he still loved it. He was willing to fall in her thread webs, even if it meant never escaping. He loved her. He never wanted to escape.

One day, he returned to the villa and found her resting at on a coach. He stopped to appreciate the way the sun played on her hair and how the windows cast shadows on her skin. He noticed she was only pretending to be sleeping. With a smile, he took her body into his embrace.

Suddenly, he felt the body stiffening.

"I'm home, love." He said, wondering why she became nervous.

"Mmm. Wicked lover is home at last." She murmured, and then wriggled her way out, quickly escaping to the kitchen.

"Do you want me to cook something for you, love?"

"Nah, I was home all day, I'm not hungry." She answered, rubbing her chin.

He paused, letting the coat slip out of his arms. She had a habit of rubbing her chin when she was hiding something.

"I thought you'd go out to that art store with your friends. You were telling me about it for a while, love. I think you said you were planning on going there today."

She quickly glanced at him and went up to the cupboards, turning away from him.

"Nah, change of plans. We decided to go later this week."

She took out chamomile tea and started preparing the teapot.

"I stayed home." She repeated.

He nodded and went to change clothes. He didn't say anything even though he knew that if she makes chamomile tea – it's to calm herself down. He used to prepare it for her whenever she was feeling flustered.

Yet even later at night he didn't question her. She had the right to keep things to herself. What right did he have to push her to tell him all her secrets?

But he'd lie if he said he wasn't hurt or surprised when again, when they hugged, she became very still, as if afraid to make any movements.

It repeated again and again. And when he, at last, questioned her, she said:

"It is because I'm afraid to make any movements."

"Why, love?"

"I don't want to scare away the treasure moment of hugging you." She said, with a somewhat forced smile and while rubbing her chin.

He was also afraid. Scared of what was to come. Because he had a premonition that what was coming could be too much for him.

He was laying beside her, carefully observing her sleeping face. Suddenly, he realized that he was very still, because he didn't want to wake her up, and because he didn't want to scare away this "treasure moment".

"Is this what she was thinking of before?" he thought.

It was that night that he noticed - she stopped using the perfume. Abruptly.

He realized it when he was kissing her neck. When the discovery hit him, he frantically started searching through her body, for the scent that he became so addicted to. The scent of happiness.

And yet, he couldn't find it.

"Maybe, she just forgot about it."

But, it wasn't so.

He suddenly noticed that the body under him became very rigid. He thought she was cold, and snuggled closer, yet, when he tried to kiss her neck once again, she resisted. She struggled out of his embrace.

He sucked in the cold air.

Silence.

He reached out to her, and again, she avoided his hand.

"My love, what's wrong?"

"I'm sick." She said. Then nothing.

After that she refused to respond to his questions if she's unwell, and just went out of the bed. She slept on the couch.

When he was near, she always escaped.

He thought she was uncomfortable of him.

He moved out of the bedroom and said he will sleep on the couch instead.

She nodded.

Later that day, he noticed she was changing the sheets after him.

He thought she despised him and his touch.

Several months ago, they had bought two special cups for couples, but she accidentally broke her own, and since then, always used his, teasing that he should feel honored her lips graced his cups with their touch.

But, now, she didn't drink out of his cup anymore. Instead, she kept one of the plain cups separately from other, and always drank from that one.

He noticed that she went out during the day and was always at home when he returned. She also started drinking chamomile tea even more often than before.

Their relationship grew cold, though one-sidedly, because he continued showing his affection for her and only stopped doing things that were making her uncomfortable. The thought of separating seemed ridiculous to him, and he was sure one day they would be okay again.

And, one day, she suddenly returned to her previous self. She hugged him, she took him by his hand, she rubbed her head on his chest affectionatelly.

He tried to discuss with her if something was wrong, yet she ignored any topic that referred to the past few weeks.

"Love, you can't ignore that something's changed, please!" He said, desperately.

But she kept slipping away.

When they were laying in bed that day, he was unrestful. Here she was, so close, yet if felt very bizarre. A week ago, she started using a new perfume. It was strong and crude, and kept violating his nose. He felt she used it to mask out another scent, to cover it up, and he didn't like that.

He didn't feel they were back to "normal". They couldn't be.

He moved his arm and touched her. And, like he expected, yet also like he feared, she shivered, and her body stiffened.

"Why are you keeping this up?" He whispered weakly.

She moved her body to face him and opened her eyes.

He noticed they were no longer gleaming happily as they did before. Instead, they were boringly glancing at him, tired of what they were seeing.

"I met someone." She said.

His body went limp, and he felt a sting going though him. She met someone.

For a moment, he forgot how to talk. Or maybe, he just didn't want to. It was so painful he could only bear to listen her continue.

"Now that I met that…special someone…I don't think we can stay how we were before."

He didn't move. He didn't retract his arm. He only laid there, with his eyes closed, and kept listening.

"Ever since I found out…Now that I think about it, we were destined for each other. I can't imagine us not being together…"

"Who?" He asked, feeling oh so very miserable.

"I…What good will it be even if I say?" She answered in a strange manner. "I…"

She paused.

Even now, he didn't want to make it difficult for her, so he asked another question:

"Is he handsome, my love?"

He felt sour saying this. He remembered how, before they started dating, she insisted on painting his portrait. And that once they started dating, she kept repeating that it was probably because of his looks that she fell for him, and that he definitely has to take care of his face, else she will run off with another man.

She was a painter. She loved beautiful things, and most of all, beautiful people. It was not unusual for him to find her admiring a certain male or female, because of a "special look" they possessed. He sometimes asked if he also had that "special look", as she used to say. She always answered that he is the most special of them all.

Later on, he understood that by saying "special look" she didn't necessarily mean an attractive person, but rather an interesting twinkle in their eyes, an aesthetically pleasing nose, or a beaming smile. Sometimes, it was the aura of a person that she was after.

He understood that, yet he couldn't help asking her if her "special person" was handsome. He knew she wouldn't appreciate the question. It was as if accusing her of being a cheap person, that was solely looking at faces. He knew it would hurt her, yet he still asked.

"Is he handsome, my love?"

He heard her sharply inhaling the air.

"Handsome…Hard to say, even for me." A hesitant voice responded. "Yet I would never be able to run away from him."

It became very stuffy in the room. He was trembling.

"He…He is my ultimate lover." Her voice broke the short silence.

His heart was dangling on the string, and now the string snapped. Inside of him, there was a never before known emptiness, and an intense cold. His heart fell into the sea of despair.

"And if, if he, if he is your ultimate lover…Then, love, my love, if he is your ultimate lover, what am I?" He asked desperately.

Silence.

At once, she hugged him. Firmly. So that he almost imagined that the large distance between them never existed. Then, she spoke.

"I was hoping…That maybe, just maybe I could get to keep you as my side lover…"

A side lover.

His deep sea of affection, the tender feelings he held for her, what were they for?

He laughed madly, and pulled himself up from the bed, pushing the female away from him.

"Do you think I could ever be a side lover?"

He felt roaring anger. It hurt to be discarded by her. It hurt when she said another man was her ultimate lover, and not he. But what was that pain comparing to the anger that he was drowning in now?

How can she hope that she can still keep him as a side distraction? How can he bear it?

He offered her his purest part, and she felt it was dirty enough to deserve being offered a title of a "side lover"?

He looked at her, feeling it was the last glance he'd send her way. Her silhouette, blurred by tears, looked somewhat sad.
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He could not comprehend it. Did she expect that he accepts the "honour"?

He stormed out, knowing that if he didn't get out now, he would do something he'd regret later.

He ran, and accidentally, yet without a slightest feeling of regret, was knocking things down. Once outside, he walked up to the bench.

At first, he wanted to give it a good kick, and take out the anger that he couldn't bring himself to take out in front of her. Looking at it, memories flooded him. He hesitated.

Ultimately, he threw himself on the bench, letting go of the pain that welled up inside his heart.

Alas, the bench, weakened by rough weather and violent time, collapsed under his body, that was shaking like a leaf under the unruly wind.