Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

『 Whenever I want you around, yeah

All I gotta do

Is call you on the phone

And you'll come running home

Yeah, that's all I gotta do 』

Till considers himself a good listener.

Well— without counting the moments whenever he accidentally spaces out or gets distracted. If it happens due to exhaustion and the lack of caffeine, he’s justified. As justified as whenever something is bugging him, or when he’s stressed, or…

He is not making excuses, alright?

The only reason he’s not passed out on the chair right now is because of Ivan’s voice, somehow keeping him intact even when its timbre has lulled him to sleep a few times by now — either in person or through the phone that tends to deepen his voice.

Till drops the black pen to the side, still careful to not damage the drawing before him as his cheeks color ever so slightly. He hums to whatever Ivan is saying about the mess his colleague got herself into, already lost to the fact that he, Till, was the one who asked for the details. Just to hear Ivan’s voice.

They meet as often as life allows it. A whole month of Ivan dropping by, either for the plans they could make together or to surprise (and startle) Till. They went out a few times when Till dragged him to places he thought would interest Ivan, though more often than not they stayed inside. You cannot bring back the past, yet Till needs to make up for what was lost — the time that gradually pushed them away from each other, the unspoken words and secrets dividing them.

Till wants to listen now. His attention naturally shifts to Ivan, and so he is met with the force that is Ivan’s love whenever dark eyes look at him, whenever their hands barely brush, whenever Ivan kisses him and smiles against his mouth, speeding Till’s heartbeat.

There’s talk. There’s… kissing Till doesn’t want to think about right now.

It’s been eight whole days without Ivan loitering around Till’s shoebox flat— the longest period of time without each other since they met under the meteor storm night. They still called every day, but it wasn’t the same. Not when Ivan wasn’t around, visibly safe under Till’s careful gaze. His heart too far for Till’s ears to hear, the warm body, once cold and lifeless, away from the uneasy touch of Till’s trembling hands. The anxiety decided to choke him on some days despite the logic he attempted to fight it with. But his emotions have always been pulling the strings, sometimes to the point when it would overwhelm him completely.

“Till?” comes Ivan’s voice through the haze.

“Yeah, sorry, I spaced out,” Till admits with a sigh.

And it’s something I couldn’t tell him because if I did, he’d drop his responsibilities and come see me, no matter what.

“Go to sleep early tonight, alright?”

But no matter how stupid you can act sometimes, I still like it about you.

“Will try,” Till dismisses, eyeing his unfinished commission. Only recently did he catch up with the work he put aside when he was sinking in his own misery, but he’s been standing on his legs again. Wobbly, but… there’s someone who can catch him whenever he falls now.

“Don’t make me come here now,” Ivan says, his tone lighter. An obvious joke.

Till bites his bottom lip before he blurts out that he fucking wants it. “Whatever,” he dismisses. It’s easier than uttering embarrassing truths that plague him.

Ivan chuckles. Till wishes he saw his stupidly handsome face right now.

“Alright. I’m gonna leave you to your devices—”

“Wait,” Till hurriedly interrupts.

“Yes?”

Patience meets Till on the other side of the phone. He stops spinning in the chair and brings his knees to his chest, a frown working its way across his face.

The thing about Ivan is that he will do anything for Till. He already died once, so what is traveling back and forth to see your partner in comparison? Or helping him clean, reminding him to eat and drink water? Talking Till through a panic attack he had during one of their meetings and being there for him? Managing to calm him even through calls at night?

It’s not right. No— it is, because Till thinks that the slow pace they’re taking and all of Ivan’s gestures throughout it add to his feelings bit by bit, assuring him of what he wants right now, what he likes. Which is why Till has been stuck on one issue recently, unsure how to… bring this up.

They haven’t been on a proper date yet.

It’s been around a month, Till has thought every single day. The unhurried exploration of this relationship is a double-edged sword that makes Ivan so mindful Till wants to scream. He’s not one for some mushy dates or public displays of affection since it’s too embarrassing, but so what if he wants some of it? To hold hands and maybe kiss when no one is looking? So what?

He can try to voice these embarrassing truths, one at a time.

“...are we still seeing each other on Friday?” Till finally asks, glancing at the calendar on the wall. His free hand thoughtlessly plays with the hoodie strings as the heartbeat rings in his ears.

Say it, idiot. Just go and say it.

“Yes. We should wrap everything up as planned,” Ivan confirms, to Till’s relief. “Why? Was there a change of plans?”

Ivan still holds onto the tendency to keep things within; perhaps that’s how he is, no matter how much he’s been learning to be himself in this new world. It’s a work in progress for both of them, one that helps Till see more of Ivan with every passing day, slowly learning to decode his behavior. Intrigued and captured — something Till disregarded in the past instead of… seeing him.

Even if it’s only been a month, Till thinks he can hear this — a quiet, masked letdown in the question Ivan asked. Apprehension of what Till is about to say, as if every passing minute with them apart only fueled Ivan’s longing.

Still, Till is momentarily quiet, tongue-tied. He sinks lower in his chair as if it could swallow him whole.

“Till?” Ivan’s voice comes after a moment. It sounds natural now. “If you’re not free anymore, we can always—”

“I am,” Till jumps in before Ivan truly gets the wrong idea. Why wouldn’t he be free, anyway? He is not the one with a busy, proper schedule.

It’s not Till’s fault that he turns into a messy pandemonium whenever he’s supposed to approach someone he has feelings for. But even if Ivan doesn’t realize this, somewhat still clueless sometimes, like he’s yet to get used to Till wanting it, liking him, he still clearly hears Till’s rushed and strained voice as if there was something more to it.

“Okay,” Ivan replies, perhaps forgetting himself when he lets out apparent relief that squeezes Till’s stomach. He then prompts, “But…?”

Bless Ivan’s patience. Till shuffles in his chair, by now slid halfway through and not far from falling off. Teal eyes shut close as if Ivan was right in front of them, and not in his own apartment. With a fistful of his worn-out hoodie, Till finally mutters, “We should… go on a… date.” Each word is quieter than the previous one.

Though Till has no time to internally die when there’s a sudden loud crash on Ivan’s side.

Till’s abashment disappears immediately as he moves in the chair to at least sit horizontally. “Ivan? Are you okay?” he asks louder now, startled but also worried.

Everything is fine, Till tells himself when he hears more shuffling, just so he doesn’t spiral in the wrong direction and doesn’t think of… memories he doesn’t need right now. Instead, he tries to make some sense of it, but before he can call out to his boyfriend again, Ivan’s less calm, less put-together voice comes in:

“Could you repeat that?”

He still sounds stoic and warm, in Ivan’s own unique way, but now there’s color to it; excitement paints the timbre of his voice, an unspoken disbelief and impatience. The quiet telltale of a fluster Till doesn’t hear that often, usually being the one to fall into the pits of hell over the simplest things Ivan says or does.

“You—” Till cuts himself off as a wave of embarrassment floods him at the prospect of having to repeat what was already challenging to voice. That, and Ivan’s stupidity causing an emotional whiplash. “You fucker, I thought something just happened to you!”

“Sorry, it’s— it’s just a broken plate,” Ivan replies instantly, almost eager, as if nothing happened. “What you said—”

Till feels a vein pop on his forehead when he jumps in to say: “Clean the goddamn shards before you hurt yourself, Ivan—”

“I just need to confirm—”

“Ivan!”

“—you really said ‘date’?”

“YES,” Till exclaims in the heat of the moment, his voice too close to cracking. Even if those abyssal, intense eyes aren’t trained on him now like they would be, Till still buries his face in the knees, hiding his flushed skin from no one in particular.

There’s just static until Ivan finally inhales and exhales, barely caught through the phone. Yet despite its quietness, Till can hear it against his ear. Feel its stutter and warmth. Till’s imagination tries to supply the image of Ivan right now, his peace of mind disrupted by no one else but Till — with the pursed lips that in Ivan’s case mean his brain being overrun with thoughts, in a weird instinct (or the past habit) trying to mask a smile and slowly failing, the snaggletooth almost digging into his bottom lip.

Even though Till doesn’t want Ivan to see his expression right now, he wonders… Is this how Ivan feels when he wants to look at Till? Often bordering on annoyance when he grabs Till’s wrist and seeks his eyes with that look in his gaze?

Or does Till simply miss him?

“I can cancel the shoot,” Ivan’s sudden whisper takes Till out of his thoughts. His voice is more leveled now, as if he’s dead-serious. “I can come over tomorrow.”

“Stop,” Till scolds. Ivan’s irresponsible side still tends to catch him off guard; it’s rather rare when it shows up, always centered around Till, always annoying in its temptation. “Your project is almost wrapped up, that’s what you said earlier. We will wait until you’re done with your work, got it?”

“It will probably be late before I can come,” Ivan muses, almost dejected, like a child. Till smiles faintly to himself, his head turned so his cheek rests on one of the knees. “We will have less time.”

Till chews on his bottom lip — a habit he’s been meaning to cut off. Here goes nothing. “You won’t be coming,” he tells Ivan, riding on the energy he regained from scolding this ridiculous man.

“What?”

“Because I will,” Till musters in faked confidence and forced courage, hoping Ivan doesn’t wreck another tableware as a result.

Ivan recovers faster this time, though, when he says, “No, it’s okay, Till. I can…”

Till’s brain completely shuts out whatever his boyfriend is spouting now. This fucking idiot. I want to do things for you, too.

“But I want to,” Till lets out like a stubborn, self-assured child before he can stop his impulsive mouth. He immediately flushes a deeper red.

“...Okay,” Ivan says softly after a brief pause, the smile in his voice audible. It always makes Till’s heart skip a beat. “I didn’t know you were so eager.”

And then he goes and ruins it.

Till frowns, the tease in that deep voice clear. Yet he still instantly falls for it, unable to resist the playful taunt. “I’m not,” he denies here and then. Ivan is riling him up, reeling in Till’s reactions more than a regular person should. And it’s working.

“Really? Because I know that I am,” Ivan reveals and quietly laughs when Till makes a strangled noise, bordering on a groan.

Whenever Ivan openly voices his… feelings related to Till — or anything in general — Till doesn’t know how to react. If they’re in person, he can try and cover Ivan’s mouth, otherwise he can tell him to shut up, which he occasionally does. Yet whenever he relents to it with more aggression, he catches himself, this habit, of freaking out at Ivan. It’s a tendency he grew up with in the past, given what sort of child Ivan was, and then Till’s… new feelings joined the mix.

But Till told Ivan repeatedly to speak his mind freely. To lay it all on him, his acceptance implied between the lines. Even if growing up and wearing a mask shaped who he is today, another lifetime of experiences brought a vast change, even before he found Till. Still, the weed isn’t completely plucked out yet, and even if it will never be, Till sees more room to work on it.

And so Till has been suffering for Ivan’s sake, living through heart attacks because apparently Ivan’s thoughts have no chill.

“Whatever,” Till grumbles, pretending Ivan’s honest happiness makes him feel absolutely normal. “Just— just think of something to do there, I guess,” he adds.

“I thought you were the one asking me out?”

This time, Till cannot help himself and his nature. “Shut up,” he bristles. He is going to lose his mind on Friday, isn’t he? “I don’t know what to do over there,” Till defends himself.

A part of it is still an excuse Till doesn’t know how to tackle. In truth, he realized that he doesn’t know what Ivan would… enjoy. A dinner? A movie? A play? A museum? Maybe the latter could work, though Till wouldn’t put it above Ivan if he already checked out everything that interested him in the area.

Till likes talking to Ivan. Till likes listening to Ivan. But Till also wants to do something new — for Ivan, and for himself. Sue him for wanting to go on a date.

Ivan hums in understanding. “We don’t have to plan it,” he proposes.

Till thinks about it. Frankly, he enjoys spontaneity since it tends to surprise him with things he could overlook if he were to suffer in the making of a plan. It wouldn’t be anything new to him, but Ivan? That Ivan who has one of the most detailed calendar apps Till has ever seen in his life, going far beyond his job?

“You sure?” Till asks after a beat, wanting to double-check. Ivan likes to agree with anything Till sets his mind to, from rescheduling their phone calls to the takeout orders that could turn into something Ivan actually dislikes, making Till itch to shake him violently. Just another thing Till keeps his eyes on — Ivan expressing what he wants.

(And Ivan knows the reasons for this question. Even if Till doesn’t notice it, these are his acts of kindness, because that’s who Till is — kind in this indirect manner.)

“Yes,” Ivan confirms, his voice warmer.

Teal eyes fall half-lidded. The timbre of Ivan’s tone is a direct murmur that Till fell victim to whenever it made him fall asleep. And yet it’s always a comfortable feeling, drifting away with that voice wrapped around him. If Till didn’t know any better, he’d pass out after days of poor sleep schedule, yet the unfinished work on the desk stares at him intently. He took upon himself more projects than he would normally, even working in advance.

After all, on top of the regular bills, he has to pay for the travel and the date, no matter what they do and how much it costs. Ivan may have money, but if he tries to treat Till on the date Till asked him out on (the wording… almost crashes Till’s brain), then he will lose his mind.

“We can think about it and see how we feel on Friday,” Ivan prompts when Till’s reply doesn’t come.

Frankly, Till had almost forgotten about the turmoil he had gone through because of his cursed shyness. He pinches the bridge of his nose and stifles a yawn. Perhaps he should make one last cup of coffee to help his uncharged body. “Okay,” he replies, then adds after an afterthought, “See you in three days?”

“See you on Friday, Till,” Ivan warmly says back.

They hang up. Till extends his arms upwards and stretches his body, sighing when he hears a satisfying pop. Yet before he turns his full attention to the work that was halted, with his elbow resting on a knee and his face propped by a hand, a small, tentative smile softens his features.

He can’t wait.

『 And when I, I wanna kiss you, yeah

All I gotta do

Is whisper in your ear

The words you long to hear

And I'll be kissing you 』

Chapter Text

『 I used to hear a simple song

That was until you came along

Now in its place is something new

I hear it when I look at you

With simple songs I wanted more

Perfection is so quick to bore

You are more beautiful by far

   Our flaws are who we really are 』

In hindsight, Till should be tired. He might have slept for around four hours tonight, yet it doesn’t change the fact that the amount of sleep from the past four nights equals… ten hours total? No doubt it will all catch up to him probably sooner or later, though he can’t find it in him to care. Not when the nerves and subtle excitement Till lets himself feel without any additional eyes on him give him a rush he needs to be prepared for the day.

Their date.

When they were talking yesterday, Ivan couldn’t tell him the exact hour he’d be done with work, but convinced Till not to rush. His reassurance, though, did fuck all to calm Till’s galloping thoughts. If he were to stay at his flat longer than necessary, Till is sure he’d actually lose it. Who even invented waiting, anyway?

So that’s where Till is now: on his legs since around 7 in the morning, running on two shots of espresso and actual breakfast; Ivan has been bugging him about it, so maybe Till started caving in a little bit. Only because he doesn’t want to hear Ivan’s reprimands. There’s nothing else to it.

Showering, packing some travel necessities like his sketchbook or earbuds since he did his hair too nice to squish it with his favorite headphones, and baking cookies somehow still took less time than choosing clothes for the day.

(…so what if he baked? Christmas is around the corner, so why not? It’s not a big deal. Ivan likes sweets, and it’s a courtesy to bring a gift. Whatever.)

It’s a miracle when Till finally dresses up without running out of time. He may still have the next train one hour later than the one he settled on, but Till is on a mission. Once he imagined what kind of face Ivan could make once he saw Till earlier than scheduled at his workplace… The idea appealed to Till. Ivan made the mistake of sending photos relatively often, so finding the exact address wasn’t particularly difficult. And… something about surprising Ivan, who’s usually the one to catch Till off guard because of how reactive he is, makes Till feel satisfied and… eager.

Ever since Ivan reappeared in his life, Till found himself slowly looking forward to the upcoming days, as if he was gradually finding his footing.

Frankly, he doesn’t remember the last time he felt so much anticipation.

Till calls the taxi driver, determined to not run into the station at the last minute if the public transport screws him over. Then, with the final check into the contents of his backpack for good measure, Till heads to the entryway yet stops himself from reaching for the shoes when he catches his reflection in the mirror.

Is it too much?, Till wonders, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. He decided to wear his two-colored paperbag jeans: one trouser leg black, the other gray, both slightly rolled up for convenience. They are kept in place by a black leather belt from under which rolls out his set of chains. Going up, there’s a fishnet long sleeve under a shirt Till may or may not have bought with someone in mind: a light lavender shirt with marble patterns, ranging from various shades of gray, blue-lilac and black. Its wide sleeves reach just past his elbows and give him the freedom to move since he isn’t the biggest fan of tight clothing. That’s why he also left the two top buttons undone, though relented into putting the shirt in his pants to keep some semblance of elegance since it’s a… date. He supposes his legs are more on display this way too…

In spite of himself, his cheeks color slightly. Teal eyes wander up, past the small necklace and ears embellished with various piercings, one adorned by an ear cuff with a chain. His hair also recently saw a grey dye and a fresh cut, which was long overdue. Till tried to fluff up his wild strands today, close to their roots, but he isn’t sure if it just looks stupider now.

Well, he cannot afford to worry about it now. There’s no time.

Soon Till is at the station, messaging Ivan a little lie about having just taken a shower. They didn’t exchange many texts today; a regular ‘good morning’ that Till for once didn’t wake up to since he was already on his legs, a blurry, cropped selfie from Ivan on the set. It doesn’t change for the duration of the trip, either, and before Till knows it, he is stepping out of the train. A slight breeze tousles his hair further, though other than that, the temperature is decent — relatively chilly yet not unpleasant, the snow having already melted before it even covered the city. Till doesn’t complain; the sight of snowing just the other day filled him with an unpleasant feeling. He isn’t sure he will be able to enjoy winters for the unspecified amount of time.

Less than half an hour later, Till enters the building from which Ivan has been working. With the jacket slung over his forearm and a quick talk with the receptionist who hesitantly gave him a free pass, Till headed to the second floor. He turns right, unsure about the direction, and as he attempts to scan the nearest doors for their numbers, he suddenly walks into someone with a yelp.

Thankfully, the collision didn’t knock anyone to the ground. “I’m sorry,” Till rushes to apologize at the same time as the lady in front of him does.

That should be it, right? Well, for some reason, the woman does a double take once her eyes drift away from him; the gaze clearly set on his frame, which stops Till from moving either. Her slim eyebrows are slightly furrowed, appearing to be lost in thoughts, as if she… had something to say?

“What?” Till blurts out, which maybe isn’t the nicest phrasing he could’ve settled on. He just doesn’t want to accidentally miss Ivan, okay? He didn’t prepare himself for some random stranger interaction.

“Sorry, but…” the woman trails off, her head tilted to the side. “Are you perhaps Till?”

An audible ‘huh’ probably leaves his mouth unwittingly, teal eyes blinking at the lady. She appears to be older than him, likely in her thirties, dressed in casual office wear. One of her hands holds onto a clipboard.

“Yes?” Till finally replies, as if it was something he was asking himself.

Can you blame him? The longer he looks at this woman, trying to figure out where they could have met before, the more convinced he is that he has exactly no idea as he doesn’t recognize her. Which may be his fault — Till rarely pays attention to what is going on outside of the music blasting in his headphones whenever he’s outside. Some random interaction with a stranger in the past is likely to be thrown out of his memories.

Unless…

Could it be? She might have attended one of his gigs in the past and liked it enough to remember him. Is this his first fan interaction in an entirely different city—?!

“You must be here for Ivan, then. He is still changing.”

…nevermind. Is he an idiot? He’s been using this… unfortunate stage nickname, Vani, that Ivan teased him about. She shouldn’t know his name.

But wait, what did she just say?

Till scrunches his eyebrows as he finally registers her words. She knows him, but he doesn’t know her. They are both acquainted with Ivan… Could Till have seen her in Ivan’s photos? Is she his friend? But wouldn’t Ivan mention her to Till if that was the case? So, a coworker? But again, why would Ivan’s coworker know what Till looks like?

The woman must be seeing his confusion very clearly, given his trademark, thinking scowl. She smiles, unperturbed, and explains, “I’m Dahlia, Ivan’s manager. It’s nice to meet you.”

She offers a hand that Till shakes thoughtlessly, stuck on the fact that Ivan’s manager is aware of his existence. Maybe it’s not that strange when Till thinks about it, but why would she know what he looks like…?

Before the question leaves his mouth, Dahlia speaks up first. “Also, you’re going the wrong way.” She points behind him. “I’m heading there as well.”

She doesn’t move, which tells Till about the intertwined between words implication of going there together. It’s obvious, given their destination is the same, yet even when Till’s legs move to walk, he still feels stuck about the part where this lady apparently knows him. Maybe he’s slow sometimes, but can you blame him in this situation?

“How did you know it was me?” Till finally blurts out, unable to hold it in anymore, and feels himself color.

“Oh, I saw the photo,” Dahlia says, matter-of-factly, as if it explains everything.

It doesn’t.

Till almost chokes on his own spit. “What photo?” he asks in a strained voice. He doesn’t like where this conversation is heading.

“On his wallpaper,” she replies, again, like it is an obvious and established fact. As if Till knew which exact photo it is or that such a photo exists in the first place and it’s set on Ivan’s fucking wallpaper. “I’m a bit nosy, so I asked Ivan who you were. He opened up faster than I thought he would. Hope you’ll forgive me,” she adds with a slight chuckle.

Till holds back the strangled noise that almost comes out of him; this is the first time he meets someone who knows about their relationship. It wasn’t a secret to begin with: Till has never been concerned about being seen with another man, even if it only boiled down to one fling he had in the past; he also didn’t have many chances to experience dating a guy around people. Ivan doesn’t care either, given how he doesn’t spare a glance at other people when he’s together with Till.

They haven’t been touchy in public anyway, boiling down to Till forcefully zipping up Ivan’s stupid jacket so he doesn’t fall sick, or Ivan gathering a crumb of a cinnamon roll from the corner of Till’s mouth that one time they bought something to eat before going to Till’s flat. Despite that, an article or two already popped up online with a picture of them in the background, close to one another but not particularly intimate with each other.

As long as they were left alone, it didn’t matter to Till since he didn’t have a reputation to uphold as some underground singer that didn’t give a damn about what other people thought of him. And yet, when it came to Ivan… Till couldn’t help but think about it, enough for Ivan to notice at one point that something was bothering him. Ivan was quick to disregard it, however, and all of Till’s ‘buts’ were soon drowned in a wave of kisses.

This relationship hasn’t been a secret, so they didn’t keep it to themselves. It shouldn’t be a surprise that Ivan’s manager is at least aware of her client’s romantic life.

The thing is, what sort of nonsense did Ivan tell her? What photo? When did he set it on? How many people have seen it?!

“What the hell did he say?” Till voices without a filter on, oblivious to his blunt and casual speech toward someone he’s just met, and older at that.

Dahlia doesn’t seem bothered by it. She unexpectedly snorts at the question, deepening Till’s inner frenzy. Blue eyes glance at him from under blond bangs falling on her forehead when she says, “You’re just as he described you.”

Till cannot believe what he is hearing. Does the date need to be canceled due to the state of Ivan’s brain once Till smashes his head against the wall after what was exposed? Till doesn’t even know how bad it is.

“What—”

“Oh, there he is,” Dahlia says at the exact moment Till opened his mouth.

Teal eyes follow her line of sight until they settle in one place.

One person.

Ivan walks out of one of the rooms ahead of them, closing the door while looking at the phone in his other hand. There’s a bag slung over his shoulder and a coat thrown over his arm, the hair a bit ruffled, wearing a simple pair of jeans and a clean white t-shirt. It’s casual, but it doesn’t change the fact that Till completely forgets about the conversation he’s just been having, the name of this woman wiped out of his memory.

They haven’t seen each other for longer than usual, Till tells himself crazily. There’s no other reason as to why his heart desperately tries to escape his chest with each stronger beat at the sight of his boyfriend he may or may not have missed. It’s definitely not a reason for the expectant glint in his eyes as a sense of calm, safety, serenity floods his senses.

Not that Till reacts this way each time. Definitely… not.

(Not as much.)

And it only gets worse once Till’s phone vibrates, Ivan’s already pocketed as the man turns in their direction, likely to head towards the staircase. There’s warmth to Till’s cheeks once their eyes finally meet, just as something pleasant settles in the pit of his stomach.

It’s everything Till expected to see due to his surprise— no, even more than that. It’s the way Ivan completely freezes in one spot, how the quiet shock befalls on his face, the expression sort of… cute. Yet it’s nothing next to the intensity the dark eyes hold, locked on Till and nothing else, as if his manager didn’t exist. Bewilderment and awe in them, infatuation and radiance, urgency and love teetering on worship.

Eyes on Till, like they always have been— never looking beyond him, the center of Ivan’s existence.

It’s almost too overwhelming, a continuous embarrassment caused by Ivan’s scrutiny that could knock Till to the ground. Yet Till walks towards it with persistence life drilled into him, squeezing the straps of his backpack in expectation.

Fuck, I did miss him, Till finally lets himself admit openly once they are in front of each other, the itch in his fingertips to reach out, to touch and feel too prominent.

“Till?” Ivan asks as if he just imagined Till in front of him, or as if he stumbled upon him before they had a chance to find each other during the meteor storm.

It’s one of those (still new for Till) moments when Ivan’s brain seems to visibly break, the look in his eyes almost lost and empty. His reaction is funny enough for Till to deflate.

“Yeah, that’s my name,” he sarcastically replies with a roll of his eyes, albeit his softened voice and the smile tugging at the corners of his lips betray what he’s actually feeling. He’s probably losing this fight already.

The first time Ivan tears his eyes away from Till is to look at his wristwatch. He stares at it for a few more seconds than it should be necessary — maybe trying to decide if it broke or if he’s reading it wrong.

“How are you already here?” Ivan finally asks.

“Surprise,” Till prolongs the words, his voice deadpan.

Silence falls between them again, and only then does Till realize that they’re completely alone. Thinking about it, he recalls seeing Dahlia in his peripheral walking into the room where Ivan emerged from, but he doesn’t know when exactly it happened. Ivan took all of his… attention.

And speaking of the man, he is staring… again. The look he offers shifts, slowly rolling down Till’s body and then back up, brazen in the way it stops at particular intervals. Abyssal eyes glint with something new — the wonder Till has been subjected to before, yet now mixed with an intensity that is stronger than what Till usually sees. It’s a different kind of… intense.

Where is his damn shame?! Till bristles within, probably failing to stop the blush creeping on his face. He did want to look nicer than usual — which wasn’t a difficulty when they’ve mostly stayed indoors — and a part of him expected, even wanted, Ivan’s reaction. Yet in his typical fashion, Till miscalculated it all. Is it maybe too much? Is my hair still unruly? Am I coming across as too eager?!

Till decides to bite down all the questions before accidentally opening the floodgates in a public building. “Okay, let’s go,” he grunts instead after clearing his throat.

Ivan doesn’t protest when Till grabs him by the wrist and drags towards the staircase without looking back. Only when they fall in step shortly after does Till let go. When he glances at Ivan, he’s almost relieved that the man isn’t staring anymore; Ivan briefly looks down, as if he didn’t know how to walk down the stairs. Dumbass.

“I was planning on picking you up,” Ivan finally speaks with a quiet sigh.

“A bit of spontaneity won’t hurt you,” Till huffs. Maybe Ivan likes his plans more than surprises, but if he was okay without planning out the day, Till figured it was fine.

“And I still need to change,” Ivan adds as if he didn’t hear him.

Till rolls his eyes. Despite all of this stoic lament, he knows that Ivan isn’t pent up about it — his eyes betrayed him earlier. Besides, he should loosen up and stop acting like he’s wearing a garbage can when his casual clothes are nothing compared to Till’s old, baggy pants or hoodies. Ivan looks fine.

He always does, a nosy little voice says, but Till quickly kills that thought. “Well, too bad,” he replies just as they reach the ground floor. “You get me one hour earlier.”

“I’m not complaining about that,” Ivan says instantly. Even without looking at him, Till can hear a smile in his voice.

“No? Because you sound like you are.”

“I can prove otherwise.”

Till opens his mouth to ask, what the hell does that even mean, but when he turns towards Ivan, the man is suddenly right next to him, close enough to suggest that—

It catches him off guard so much that he trips on his own goddamn legs in the quick moment of trying to escape, flustered. Only Ivan’s hand on his arm prevents Till from planting his face on the marble floor of the lobby.

“Idiot, you scared me,” Till bristles, yet his pounding heart points towards something entirely different than a simple scare. Ivan’s cheeky smile seems to know it too, so Till decides to steer away from the topic, pointedly looking away. “Have you eaten anything yet?”

“No. After I change—”

“We’re grabbing lunch. Now,” Till decides before Ivan can finish that sentence, forcing them to a stop.

Next, he unlocks his phone and basically shoves it in Ivan’s face which would easily startle a regular person, but the man does not as much as flinch. While on the train, Till made an effort to look up various places so they’d have some sort of… plan. He left a few tabs open, picking one restaurant to showcase first. Nothing fancy though nothing rundown either, and most importantly, a less than ten minutes walk from here.

“I don’t know if you’ve been there, but it has great reviews,” Till supplies.

To prove his point furthermore, he clicks on the menu button, slowly scrolling down the display. Till waits for a reaction, whatever it may be, yet it never comes; he looks away from the phone in silent question. And there it is — Ivan, this weirdo, is staring at him instead.

Till shoves his elbow into Ivan’s ribs with a frown, albeit lightly. He sounds exasperated when he asks, “Are you even listening?”

“Were you looking up places?” Ivan responds with his own question, the look in his eyes painfully soft.

He did tell Ivan to look into things on his own. Shit.

“I mean—, y-yeah, I did!” Till sputters and moves away so he can head towards the entrance again as if he were caught red-handed. “I’m thoughtful, alright?”

“Yes, you are,” Ivan agrees once his long legs catch up with Till, curse him.

The way Ivan says it, though, makes Till want to shove him again. Instead, he fake-coughs into his fist, thinking of changing the topic entirely, his whole ears reddened.

“Anyway,” Till starts when he recalls a certain piece of information. “What the hell is on your wallpaper?”

Ivan blinks at him, once, twice. They both can be weird sometimes (fine, it happens to Till, sporadically…), yet while Till tends to express his confusion directly, Ivan is the opposite: he will take in whatever it is Till says or does without question. It’s no different right now — Ivan fishes out his phone and unlocks it without hesitance, as if there wasn’t anything bad on it…

…Definitely not fast-asleep Till on his bed, the remnants of drool in the corner of his mouth, silver hair in disarray that can rival sea urchins’ shape, Ivan’s hand slipped into it as if it wasn’t unwashed for maybe three days.

…

“IVAN!”

Till disregards his surroundings completely as he exclaims. He jumps towards Ivan, trying to snatch the phone, yet Ivan’s long limbs have the advantage; his damn boyfriend simply uses his arm to easily hold the device far above. Their height difference isn’t even that big… and yet.

“Change it!” Till orders as he fumes at the unfairness of his life, his whole face piping red.

“No,” Ivan, this bastard, denies with a sly smile, unmoving.

“Who else besides your manager saw it?” Till continues, scrambling at Ivan to try and reach for the phone.

Ivan, who seems to really enjoy it — Till attempting to climb him like a tree.

“Who knows,” he replies enigmatically with a tilt to his head and a hint of pink on the cheeks when Till looks back at him, finally realizing the small distance between them when confronted with Ivan’s attractive smile just before his eyes.

There are profanities thrown around: at everything, at Ivan, and nothing in particular when Till steps away as if he was touched by scalding water. He still sharply tugs at Ivan’s idiotic, ugly, too-fitting t-shirt, yet it does nothing. If anything, it earns Till a laugh out of Ivan, who hides his phone in the bag and puts on the coat. Even as they finally walk out, with Till on the brink of killing this man, Ivan is still unbothered; no, it’s like Till’s annoyance and flusterment in front of him or better, towards him, opens the heaven gates.

In the end, Till is the one to drop the topic, but not without threatening Ivan to get to his phone later. They head out to grab something to eat — the food is tasty enough for Till to let out a breath of relief once he sees Ivan hum in content. Which, damn Till and his unsubtle ass, isn’t quiet enough to bypass Ivan’s ears.

They eat and chat about things they could do later. Till may not be that into movies, but Ivan seems interested in the recent release he’s been looking forward to. He doesn’t say it directly, but Till notices it; the subtle changes in Ivan’s behavior he’s been slowly picking up whenever they’re together, something he failed to do in the past. So Till ends up telling him to check the screening hours before his boyfriend can dismiss everything to do anything Till wants. It also gives Till time to pay for their food quickly enough; when he turns around, Ivan is already waiting with Till’s jacket, but he seems… lost in thoughts, almost unblinking while staring down.

But then it’s gone, as if Till imagined the whole thing. “You didn’t have to,” Ivan says in regard to the payment.

“I told you I would,” Till huffs and accepts the jacket offered to him.

“Cinema is on me, then,” Ivan announces.

“Not if I’m faster.” Till snickers.

They stroll towards Ivan’s car parked nearby, occupied by their meaningless bickering. Time tends to fly by when they’re together, Till realizes, once they reach Ivan’s apartment building in what felt like a singular minute. It always happens whenever they’re together — Ivan would visit for an entire day, and in the blink of an eye, Till would be kissing him goodbye by the door whenever Ivan didn’t stay over, an unpleasant feeling twisting his gut once anxiety reminded about itself.

Not now, Till thinks to himself once they enter the building. He doesn’t need to sour their first date with his attachment issues and the ever-present fear dwelling in his body that plunged its roots deep inside in another life. It’s the hypocrite living within him, too, one that encourages Ivan to share himself with Till more openly — with what he feels, what bothers him, the good and bad.

But then, there’s Till — adverse to worrying Ivan after the state he met him in. Still shit at hiding it from Ivan, therefore not really trying to do so once Ivan’s comforting voice would come through the phone, avoiding questions but being there with him, even in the dead of the night. If Till quietly clung to him once they met, in the pretense of cuddling, his boyfriend never mentioned it.

Without realizing it, Till already reached the second floor, leaving Ivan behind. When he turns around, the man walks upstairs in a leisurely pace— once again, looking completely spaced-out, eyes unmoving, unblinking.

What the fuck is he doing, Till wonders, kind of amused.

“Did you lose one of your braincells?” he finally asks.

Ivan ends up looking him in the eyes, at last, mirroring a smile on Till’s face. “It’s your fault to begin with.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sometimes, the prospect of fully understanding Ivan’s mind remains an unfathomable chore. It doesn’t help when said man walks past Till, who doesn’t exactly know which door leads to Ivan’s apartment. All Till can do is trot behind his boyfriend with an exasperated groan as no answer ever reaches his ears.

No matter. Till quickly grows distracted by the relatively short corridor they’re walking through, far different from Till’s sorry-ass building for broke students— or self-employed artists like Till. Marble, checkered floor, pearl-white walls, a source of lights that don’t flick every few seconds as if it was uttering its last breath.

Till was already aware of Ivan’s financial status, yet it hit him only just now. What will he see behind the door that Ivan is unlocking now? Will he be greeted by mahogany furniture and marble counters, chandeliers, and weird but probably expensive art? This simple curiosity brings Till to expectancy, and so he walks in right behind Ivan, teal eyes set above his shoulder. Yet all he can do is step into the flat, noting the lack of crazy rich, over-the-top interior toned in colors before Ivan pushes the door behind him.

The next thing Till knows is the warmth that settles within him as Ivan obscures his entire vision, having scooped Till closer to kiss him. Despite its suddenness, Till responds in kind; he pushes forward until Ivan’s arms around his waist pull them against each other. The familiar heat that radiates from Ivan, the well-known scrap of his snaggletooth against Till’s bottom lip, the fast heartbeat Till can feel under his fingertips while he circles Ivan’s neck wipe his mind into a blank state. Each time Ivan’s mouth moves, urgent yet decisive, Till learns of the sheer amount of yearning within Ivan their separation created.

His own quick response, as if instinctive, speaks louder than whatever was already growing within him throughout the distance they spent away from each other. Till can only wonder how did he last so far before they walked in here.

Ivan breaks the kiss after what feels like a second and an eternity, but then his lips peck Till’s before the man can protest; a hand cradles one flushed cheek, the other one treated with a lingering kiss. Till feels the slight shiver that shakes his body as his arms lock around Ivan more firmly. Their outer clothes only add to the flames running through him, but he only holds on tighter when Ivan leaves a kiss on his mouth again.

It’s a moment where Till discards his embarrassment and pride, a victim of the longing in his heart, a defenseless fool against the feeling of liking someone and missing them more than he gave himself credit for.

Teal eyes lazily open when Ivan pulls away, greeted by the gentle abyss looking back at him. Long, unfairly beautiful eyelashes fan over the rosy tint of Ivan’s cheeks, lips curled into a smile. His nose brushes against Till’s.

“Hi,” Ivan whispers in the small space between them.

“...Hi,” Till mumbles just as quietly. His ears redden so much he can feel them pulsating while locked in the stare with Ivan, someone who often gathers him in the languid, gentle scrutiny.

For once, it doesn’t matter as much. Not when the feeling of kissing Ivan is fresh in Till’s memory, even in the face of mortifying embarrassment finally letting itself know. Still, he buries his face in Ivan’s shoulder — and as if it was a natural ordeal of the universe, Ivan leans into him, nuzzled against the crown of Till’s hair, holding him close.

Time seems to slow down around the silence surrounding them. Till closes his eyes, the warmth and comfort so prominent he wonders how quickly he could fall asleep on Ivan right now. Somewhere in the corner of his memory, he remembers that one time being disciplined by Urak after a sleepless night— how his body felt completely spent, how Ivan appeared out of nowhere before Till could crash against the floor. How it took a few conscious seconds for Till to fall asleep thoughtlessly, Ivan’s body an anchor.

Perhaps Till was simply used to Ivan’s presence back then, even when he wasn’t aware of it. Ivan was his shadow when they were children, often saying out-of-pocket things or instigating fights. Sometimes, though, he wasn’t around. Sometimes, Ivan just remained silent, like he didn’t exist. Till couldn’t feel the big difference; if anything, he would just finish the art piece he had in mind or other creative tasks, knowing that Ivan would come back to linger later.

Now? His impatience runs deeper whenever he has to wait for the next time they can see each other, falling asleep to text messages wishing him ‘good night’ sometimes sent way too late— as if Ivan stayed up longer than he normally would. Till can’t help the anticipation building within him; he will start a day with a headache, but there will always be a ‘good morning’ text waiting for him. Two words, sometimes more, that would elicit a smile on his face and maybe give him a small kick if he struggled to leave the bed.

Without Ivan’s eyes on him, it was easier to act like a fool. Otherwise, embarrassment would be eating him alive, yet Ivan always seemed to understand it on a deep level. Just like now — Ivan’s gaze twinkles with amusement and glee when Till grumpily squishes down the feeling, leaning in. Ivan must know when it shows in the kiss Till gives him, as sudden and packed with force as it tends to be. The nose scrunched, and a blush spread to his neck. A threat in his eyes when he leans away with a beating heart.

“Okay, we should…” Till trails away, pointedly looking away. “We should get inside and— Ack!”

His yelp is muffled by Ivan’s shoulder where he has just been forcefully pulled towards, breath punched out of his lungs. The arms around him don’t budge as Till squirms in them.

“Ivan!”

“Just a minute,” said man gives a script-like answer.

“That’s bullshit,” Till quips. “It’s never ‘just a minute’ with you!”

“I’ve learned new ways.”

How many times did it happen already? At least once every time they met?

Ivan can act like a child that needs to be firmly told no if it wants to do something irresponsible (skip work for Till) or plan-intruding (not going out for a coffee Till desperately craves because Ivan needs to cuddle him and kiss him on Till’s bed). So, separating from Ivan whenever he decides to glue himself to Till is never a small feat. Partly because of his unfairly bulkier body but also because, deep down, Till doesn’t want it to happen.

Still, Till finally manages to break free, his hair sticking out like an unruly dandelion above his displeased look.

Ivan calls it cute. Till kicks him in the shins.

Not long after that, Till leaves a bathroom with silver hair tamed to the best of his abilities after refusing Ivan’s help. Ivan soon materializes in front of him with clothes folded more neatly than Till’s entire wardrobe. Perhaps Till has been too preoccupied by what happened in the entryway and by the idea of finally going out together that made him almost jump out of his socks (because no, he didn’t leave the shoes on despite Ivan’s reassurance that he didn’t vacuum yet. Which, is bullshit. Till’s floors look worse after just one evening.)

“I left you a glass of water in the kitchen,” Ivan nods toward the direction where Till could find the mentioned room. Then, he adds with a smile, “I don’t mind if you snoop around.”

Till almost misses it — the wording Ivan uses in reference to the first night Ivan stayed in his flat and got told off by Till. Crinkled eyes are the only clue to Ivan’s deliberate choice of words, a sly implication.

“Keep your nasty secrets to yourself,” Till huffs and stomps away… somewhere.

The bathroom door clicks behind him, the echo of Ivan’s soft chuckle locking away. Till, just maybe, considers rummaging through Ivan’s stuff in search of something incriminating, but does he even need to do that? Ivan would probably show Till anything he wants.

Till returns to the spacious living room, connected to the kitchen (thrice bigger than Till’s) with an island on which Till spots the promised glass of water. He downs it in one go before finally paying attention to his surroundings, the distant sound of a shower in the background.

Looking around, Till’s initial impression is confirmed. The apartment is definitely bigger for only one person to live in, yet it’s not nearly as fancy as the picture he painted himself. Perhaps it’s due to the minimalistic decor with a touch of coziness. Till walks up to a huge bookshelf occupying the entire length of the light-brown wall, with a big armchair and a lamp near the corner. It contains two small pillows and a blanket folded on its backrest. The mental image of Ivan appears before Till — long legs crossed, a book in hand, and the head propped on the other, resting against an armrest, under a dim light with a blanket thrown over his lap.

Till smiles to himself. If his heart stings with softness, no one needs to know about it.

He gives in to his temptation and jumps on the long, L-shaped couch though. Its cushioning is as comfortable as it looked, so if Till didn’t notice that his shirt was coming out of his pants in bigger folds, in need of a fix, he wouldn’t get up. The TV is large, placed on top of a wide TV stand; there are magazines and a plant Till doesn’t know if it’s real or fake, and the coffee table made from solid wood, spotless. The walls, though, are mostly… empty. Perhaps Till should draw him something?

If Ivan wants, of course. Till is completely fine with it.

It leaves only three rooms. One has its doors closed, and despite temptation, Till decides to step past it. If he walked in, it would as well mean defeat after he berated Ivan earlier. Instead, Till peeks into something akin to a work office and a guest room in one — a big desk, a camera on a tripod, and some other photography equipment Till has no vocabulary to name, as well as a free space in front of turned off reflectors and something circle shaped, maybe a folded backdrop. Ivan mentioned his own solo work, yet Till still gawks at all the expensive stuff.

In the end, Till wounds up in the threshold of Ivan’s bedroom. He doesn’t cross it; teal eyes lock on the king-sized bed covered by a beige, fluffy-looking bedspread and a few pillows. This is where Ivan rests every night, buried in the fine cotton…

Till remembers how Ivan glowed in the morning sunlight when he stayed with him for the first time, peaceful and beautiful. The mental image forces Till to look away, a blush rushing to his cheeks. What the hell is he thinking about?!

Still flustered, Till barely pays attention to anything else in the room. Some books, some plants, a small desk, and a giant wardrobe that must hold all of Ivan’s clothes yet still doesn’t seem big enough to keep everything the model owns.

His feet never cross the threshold, but backtrack to the safe zone. Till doesn’t have the mental capacity to ponder the innuendos of modeling industries while his stubborn brain repeats like a broken record, it’s Ivan’s bedroom, it’s Ivan’s bedroom, it’s Ivan’s bedroom, it’s—

The man who’s been annoyingly on Till’s mind in the past few minutes suddenly appears before him. They almost crash into each other— or rather, it’s Till who speed walks without any care for his surroundings.

“Jeez, you’re finally…” Till trails off once he actually looks at the man before him.

Ivan’s outfit is classy and toned in colors. Although it’s only a bit more elegant than what Till has already seen in person, he is caught staring, which is… ridiculous. It’s just stylish, dark grey pants with checkers of a lighter color in which a black, long-sleeved turtleneck shirt is put in, looking… too fitting, somehow making Ivan’s chest more broad. The man opted for a simple wristwatch, the only piece of jewelry being one small earring similar in color to Till’s eyes he seems to never take out. His hair is moderately slicked back just so the strands fall to the sides.

It’s a simple outfit — nothing more, nothing less. So why does Till feel like he’s stopped breathing altogether?

“Till?”

At the sound of Ivan’s deep voice, Till nearly flinches. He finally exhales and smells Ivan’s cologne by accident, anchored in the present and not in— not in the reality of Ivan wearing these simple, stupid clothes that manage to make him look even more handsome, that stupid turtleneck, that—

That ridiculous look on his face, as if proud, happy, and unbelieving of what he has done, and these idiotic lips forming a small smile. Till finds himself in the reflection of obsidian eyes, seeing a mirroring image of how Ivan looked the moment they met in the agency.

With the heart in his throat and his face embarrassingly red, Till wants to kill him. Or kiss him. Or both?

Instead, Till rushes to the entryway, taking a second to try and calm his heartbeat. He puts the shoes back on and meets Ivan’s stare once he straightens.

“What?” he basically barks out with fake hostility.

All because Ivan still wears that dumb smile on his face. “Nothing,” he replies ultimately, not poking the unstable bomb that is Till. “How about a coffee?”

The mention of caffeine puts Till’s mental state back on track. He’s been running on the lack of sleep, one espresso, and adrenaline since the day started, so the proposition is more than welcome. Ivan fishes out a long, black coat and a simple scarf, ending up looking even more… attractive.

Till quietly looks away and strikes up a conversation. It’s clumsy, just like his awkward nature that doesn’t know how to small-talk, but Ivan bounces off Till’s words with ease. Once they finally walk to their first destination, Till eventually asks about Ivan’s supposed workroom, genuinely curious about the equipment. Photography is a different kind of art after all, and any form of artistic expression piques Till’s interest. So he listens until Ivan suggests photographing Till, voice innocent but the glint in his eyes familiar. Cheeky.

Till elbows him.

That’s how they reach the coffee shop Ivan led them to. The place is relatively small, with a few tables and comfortable-looking chairs, the decor cozy. Only two are occupied, though, the shop mostly filled with quiet music and hushed chatter. The worker smiles towards them, welcoming, but also showing recognition. Ivan must be a regular.

“Do you want to stay inside?” Ivan suddenly asks, making Till pause in scanning the menu.

Till considers it. The offer is tempting, though the decision comes to him relatively easily. “Let’s take a walk. You should show me around,” Till prompts with a smile.

Ivan’s lips turn up in response, looking so fond Till has to immediately glance away in a pretense of picking his beverage. “I’m paying, so don’t even try anything or I’ll beat you up,” he adds.

“Nothing I’m against.”

“Ivan,” Till cuts in, frantically glancing between his stupid boyfriend and the worker who, thankfully, is cleaning something with their back to the two of them.

Ivan doesn’t look apologetic in the slightest; if anything, Till gets the impression that he’s being goaded into taking it out on the man who enjoys playing innocent while acting like a slight bully. What’s worse — it works. Till’s temper usually gets the best of him, so it’s no different now: he slaps Ivan’s arm, even though it wouldn’t do any damage with two layers of clothes and prominent… muscles.

It’s the fact Till doesn’t need to think about right now, lest he wants to lose the excuse for the reason his cheeks are red — the average cold outside wouldn’t have painted them with deep crimson, after all.

Till makes his decision: a creamy dark roast with a hint of dark chocolate. Ivan picks the smallest, cheapest option of white chocolate mocha (an abomination, if you asked Till), which is partly ignored. Till gets him a medium with a double syrup, knowing how Ivan usually sweetens his already sweet drinks furthermore. Seeing Ivan’s unguarded, pleased expression is enough of a gift for Till, but once Ivan leans closer, whispering directly against his ear a thank you while they wait for their order to be done, that’s when Till applauds his own genius decision. Even as he steps back with a shiver running down his spine, taken off guard, he quietly yet frantically saves the feeling of Ivan’s lips on his earlobe in the deepest corners of his memory.

Their orders are prepared relatively quickly. Till jumps at the occasion to run to the counter, happy that Ivan remained behind, even though his burning gaze on Till doesn’t go unnoticed. He waits for a second longer before he’s handed both beverages and then turns with a smile, only to… find Ivan zoning out, again. Why does he constantly look down?

…

His understanding of the situation is sudden. Something crashes inside of Till. “You— you bastard!”

Has this fucker been staring at my ass all this time?!

Till’s entire face colors at the realization, the cups dangerously shaking in his hands. Ivan’s expression is blank as if he still hoped that his boyfriend remained oblivious, with who knows what thoughts running through his head…

Till storms past the man and to the door after almost dumping Ivan’s coffee on his coat. He can hear Ivan trot behind immediately, but Till refuses to look back, embarrassed. Faint laughter carries Ivan until they’re side by side, which is better, knowing where… the dark eyes have been straying.

“Are you okay?” Ivan asks innocently.

“Yes,” Till hisses. If he squeezes the cup even more, there’s danger in spilling it all on himself, and the reason for it wouldn’t be just… embarrassment. “You have no shame.”

“I’ve never claimed to have it.”

Till gives in to his violent thoughts and bumps into Ivan, uncaring if the latter drops the beverage he paid for himself. But Ivan anticipated it; he secures the cup in both hands and snickers once Till’s action almost costs him his own coffee. Till grumbles a few insults before giving up.

Fine— there’s some pride to it; he put a lot more thought into today’s outfit. Why shouldn’t he want his… his boyfriend to like it or be affected by it?! It’s only logical! It means he prepared well for the occasion! They’re dating— Ivan is n-not forbidden from doing that! Even if the staring has been more… intense and different from the looks Ivan would give him, always full of wonder, even when he’s in an oversized hoodie and washed-out sweatpants, which Till doesn’t mind…

Stop, Till internally screams at himself before his heart has a chance to throw him into cardiac arrest. He will not think of it nor admit to it, and thankfully, Ivan’s mouth remains shut for that moment.

The first sip of his coffee distracts Till from that recent discovery when it turns out to be extremely tasty. Ivan is the one to prompt the topic of his recent project, updating Till on the final developments; all the while they stroll ahead, seemingly without a destination. The sun is yet to set, close to the horizon. Ivan chose less occupied areas, farther from the biggest city bustle.

The work talk diverges rather quickly once Ivan — direct with his words and right to the point — has nothing else to add. At least that’s what Till hopes for once he recalls the music artist he discovered a few days ago and listened to everything while drawing. It’s difficult to control his mouth once it starts rambling, seemingly more than usual. Ivan enables him too much. The only time he pauses the ongoing ramble is when they pass by a flower shop, with big windows showcasing all the colorful, pretty flowers. Yet once he continues walking, mindlessly falling back, he doesn’t shut up again.

Till suspects the reason behind it. Despite the… incident that Till left behind, Ivan could as well breathe for the embarrassment to continuously wash over him, each wave slightly larger than its predecessor. It’s an attempt at diverging attention from where they are and what they are doing. People sometimes look their way, probably because Ivan is a captivating person, which— doesn’t help, being constantly reminded of the reason why this person is next to Till, for Till.

It would be a lie to declare that Till doesn’t give a shit about passersby’s probable attention on the pair of them and the meaning of their outing. Ivan has already told him multiple times that he’s fine with it, yet Till’s stubborn brain couldn’t help itself. But more than this, said attention simply amplified his… embarrassment. The nerves that come with a first date, the wait time for the day to arrive. To finally be in the moment you thought about daily, yet lost how to cope with it, paralyzed by growing within glee.

Till knew he’d feel like this. He knew, and yet it’s almost scary how it makes him happier than he thought he would be. What else should it be if not fear after living in the misery caused by recalling his past? In this life, existing like an outsider, his happiness revolved around small moments, like petting a stray cat or hearing a great song for the first time.

It didn’t tie to people from his life until Ivan walked back into it.

Till discards his empty coffee cup later than Ivan, who apparently loves chugging sugar. They fall into a comfortable silence where Till allows himself to finally breathe and enjoy the date. While he took it for granted in the past, now Till appreciates this quality Ivan possesses: the ability to listen closely and share a quiet moment despite pushing Till’s buttons periodically. It doesn’t happen as frequently now; is Ivan holding it back? Or does he feel no strong need for it, having Till’s frequent focus?

Lost in his own thoughts, Till almost misses it — the way Ivan’s hand brushes against his own, the contact probably too lingering to suggest an accident. Deliberate or not, it makes no difference. Till still yelps and flinches unintentionally from the unexpected touch, surprised more than anything.

They stop, and it dawns on him— he just jumped away from his boyfriend’s hand.

“Shit, sorry,” Till says immediately before it’s taken the wrong way. “I didn’t mean to react this way.”

Ivan hums, looking at Till, his damn eyes revealing nothing. Till almost shrinks under his gaze; if he could, he wouldn’t mind dissolving into a random water puddle instead of listening to his own timid heartbeat.

“You don’t want to?” Ivan asks, his head tilted, inquiring.

“No— I— It just surprised me,” Till rushes to explain, stumbling over his words. Ivan’s silence is inviting, ready to take in whatever it is Till wants to express. No hurt to find, only patience. “I’m… I’m nervous,” Till finally mumbles out thanks to it.

Still, he curses internally. For the flood of thoughts in his head, that’s all that came out of his mouth. How is he supposed to do it? How does he spell out for this idiot that he’s just embarrassed precisely because he’s with Ivan? That he feels like melting? That Ivan looks so handsome that it could make people (Till) faint? That the sensation Till can finally pinpoint is of a dumb teenager falling for a person whose existence is enough to bring out a spark in you?

Similar, yet different from what he felt for Mizi. The sparks came from a safe distance back then, and he held onto them. With that, he could survive.

There’s something in the way Ivan looks at him that Till cannot pinpoint. Ivan nods in understanding, ready to leave the topic behind, yet the ‘okay’ he replies with sounds… unsure.

With Mizi, there was close to no relationship. With Ivan, it’s always been there, and it always brought a multitude of emotions. This is why Till is rattled now — from the annoyance, from the need. Of explaining it, of kicking his shins, of berating him, of… Ivan.

This dumbass hesitates. For fuck’s sake. Do you still falter because you believe that the things you want are too much to ask for? When I’m just an overwhelmed, inexperienced wimp?

I will never stop trying to correct that annoying mindset of yours.

Till gives in to his impulse before he can back down. Ivan is not looking at him anymore when Till forcefully grabs his hand, the yank strong enough to make both of them stop. Dark eyes are wide when they meet teal again, but Till’s frown only deepens, the flush spilling on his skin like watercolors.

“Till, you don’t have to—”

There it is.

“I want to, and so do you,” Till grits out, his grip tightened as if to reaffirm, the face now scarlet.

Ivan squeezes his hand back, speechless yet enamored. It’s Till’s cue to quickly look away and nudge them forward so they can continue walking. As they do, the silence drives him crazy; he is self-conscious about his sweaty palm that was cold mere moments ago, now warmed up by the close contact and damp from nerves. Far from ideal. But as Till psyches himself up to steal a glance at his boyfriend, he finds Ivan… nuzzled deeper into his scarf, his obvious smile halfway hidden. It’s different from what it used to be in the past — genuine instead of fake. Till likes seeing them more frequently now. He just wants Ivan to feel… happy. And be the cause for it.

Butterflies in his stomach, Till looks away before he’s caught. That’s when he finally notes the thumb stroking his skin, a motion Ivan always ends up doing either consciously or not. As if offering a soothing comfort, somehow recognizable in Till’s past memories even though he wasn’t conscious in all of them. It stops only for the moment when Till not so gracefully shifts his hand, trying to slot their fingers together. Ivan immediately cooperates— and then his thumb moves again.

Even if they’re doing it for the first time in public, there’s nothing new in the way their hands tend to find each other. It can be a passing touch, a gentle brush, or a prolonged hold that lasts even after Till wakes up from his nap. Ivan is the one to usually initiate it, but Till doesn’t mind — not when he likes Ivan’s hands. They’re bigger and softer against his roughed-up digits and bony fingers, running warmer than Till’s own body circulation could allow for. Safe.

“Till.”

If not for their joined hands, Till would’ve jumped into the orbit like a startled cat. Without waiting, Ivan continues: “How about we ditch the movie?”

“Huh?!” Till blurts out illegibly.

How else should he react? Aside from the obvious interest Ivan showed in the screening movie that Till wanted to fulfill, not even against the idea, the sudden change of plans is odd. If those words came out of Till’s mouth, it would be more believable. Is his spontaneous spirit rubbing off of Ivan…?

Their eyes locked, Till thinks he finds the answer to that question. Ivan’s smile is wider, the fang peeking out more visibly, eyes sparkling with unspoken secrets and hidden ideas Till isn’t sure he should be scared of. But Ivan doesn’t wait — he rearranges their hands so that he can now hold Till firmly, then tugs him in a different direction.

“Can you at least tell me where the hell you’re dragging me to?” Till grumbles in exasperation yet lets Ivan do his thing. He wouldn’t be able to break out of that iron grip anyway.

“You will see in a minute,” Ivan replies enigmatically.

What Till does see is a giant building with “City Sports and Leisure Centre” displayed on it. Ivan steers them right towards it.

“We are not going to the gym, Ivan,” Till immediately protests. What the hell is wrong with him?

“No, we are not.”

“Neither are we going to the aqua park,” Till blurts out, immediately coloring. If he sees Ivan’s mostly naked, stupidly sturdy body, then he will somehow drown himself in a pool for kids.

Ivan steals a glance, snickering, as he teases, “Why not?”

That jerk. Then, obtusely, “No one wants to see you there.”

“I can think of one person—”

“Ivan!” Till yells in horror, ignoring passersby.

His boyfriend snorts — he completely ignores Till violent yanks of their joined hands, only sparing one last peek at Till’s flushed mess before looking forward again.

They pass the entrance to the aqua park which Till may or may not have reacted with a loud exhale to. Instead, Ivan drags them in a straight line to the… ice rink entrance.

“Ivan, I haven’t done this since I was a kid,” Till warns but ultimately relaxes, knowing that the new date activity isn’t above the bonds of his sanity.

“Then we can refresh your memory.”

Till groans with a roll of his eyes, but he isn’t against the idea. In fact, he rather enjoyed these few times he went ice skating after he learned how to not immediately fall down on his face. It should be fun.

…or so Till thought.

“Fuck,” he swears exactly twelve seconds into his rented skates touching the ice rink. Both of his hands clutched onto the barrier before he could score his first fall as an adult. What the hell were these kid bruises for, then?! And if that wasn’t enough…

“Let me help you,” Ivan offers, perfectly in balance.

Fucker, Till internally seethes, which means his entire face betrays just that. Ivan only smiles at him innocently, his hand outstretched. Where’s the fairness in this?

“Let me try myself,” Till huffs stubbornly.

He slowly lets go of the barrier, one hand at a time, and despite his tense legs, manages to stay still quite easily. It boosts his lost confidence tenfold; he moves in the way he can recall from the depths of his memory, yet it only takes three steps before he heavily staggers and, with a yelp, latches onto the first available object — Ivan’s arm. And yet it doesn’t stabilize him in the slightest, but if he has to fall, then he will drag Ivan with him—

Ivan circles his arm around Till and holds him close without staggering himself. Till grabs the black shirt in a tight grip, the scarf discarded by Ivan in the locker rooms and his coat fully open. And with Ivan being a stable anchor, Till finally stops thrashing like a beached fish, fully leaning on him with wide eyes.

“You did it on purpose,” Till accuses.

Ivan tilts his head with a small smile. His other arm rounds Till’s waist as well, bringing a fresh flush to his cheeks. “How so? I didn’t trip you.”

“No, but you brought me here,” Till quips with a frown, “so you could do shit like this.”

Up close, Till can see Ivan’s lips upturn a bit more, his big eyes minisculely narrowed, a playful glint uncovered. Even when Ivan tries to mask it, Till is slowly getting better at analyzing his expressions which have taken on a more honest upfront in this life, especially around Till.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ivan feigns innocence anyway.

Till gives him the look. “Let go,” he demands then. He will not be Ivan’s damsel.

“Are you sure?” Ivan has the gal to ask. What’s more annoying is that he means the question, despite the implication of Till’s skills. “Do you want to grab my arm?”

“No,” Till declines out of pride, but once on his own and experiencing another heavy stagger, he grabs Ivan’s waiting arm due to the lack of possibilities. “Fine.”

Ivan fake coughs into his shoulder further away from Till, yet his toned-down laugh is still hearable. Till digs his nails into Ivan’s coat, hoping it’s strong enough for the man to feel it. Not that it would make any difference — Ivan wouldn’t bat an eye either way.

The task of skating is distracting enough to have most of Till’s attention. The rink is relatively big and therefore spacious for all kinds of maneuvers. Four full laps in, Till feels more confident in his movement; his legs are less tense, so his wobbles are more sporadic. During Ivan’s dedicated assistance, Till’s enjoyment finally became obvious. Be it a cool song suddenly blasting in the speakers and almost knocking Till down on ice from how violently he perked at it with interest, to some kid upfront tripping on her friend, creating chaos and causing Till to not so quietly burst out laughing. To aimless conversations with Ivan, interrupted by Till’s swears and grunts as his muscle memory comes back piece by piece.

And to Ivan being by his side, eyes on Till whenever the latter looked up, pink tinting his cheeks from the cold air and his styled hair swept by the movement, his smile small but clearly happy. During one of the moments when Till catches this sight, his heart twists almost painfully. When he looks away, he still reels in the feeling of making Ivan feel this way, reels in the genuineness Till has always wished he could see in Ivan yet failed to make attempts at making it a reality.

There’s no need to keep holding onto Ivan’s arm when he moves less rigidly. With their tempo still rather leisurely, Till lets go… only to reach for Ivan’s hand, so much warmer than his, and yet it doesn’t flinch but envelops him wholly. Despite the heartbeat in his ears drowning whatever song is playing now, Till steals a glance, and there it is — that smile from before they came here, soft and beautiful. Knowing how obvious and flushed he is, Till still zones out, which doesn’t necessarily cooperate with his legs. He gets so distracted he trips on his own foot, startling Ivan who still manages to catch him.

“Fuck,” Till rasps out, clinging onto Ivan’s arm again.

Ivan lets out a breathy laughter, and if that wasn’t enough, brushes some of Till’s hair back. It gets some teens yelling nearby for Till to remember where he is and how pliant he’s growing from Ivan’s familiar touch. Till grabs his hand more clumsily now and tugs them forward more carefully, looking away. That’s how they do a few laps; it’s enough for Till to get by on his own by now, and yet he loosely holds Ivan’s hand in the pretense of being supervised.

But even that comes to an end. Ivan lets go out of nowhere, causing Till to look at him in confusion. “You wanted to try skating by yourself, right?” he asks.

Right. But are you, perchance, also stupid?

Till feels lighter on his feet. Without any source of physical support, he is… decent. This discovery takes away his attention from Ivan whom he almost smacked. When on his own, Till gets it — it is fun. Even when his stamina is shit, and Ivan doesn’t break a sweat, there’s enjoyment to it.

The thrill is soon ripped away from him, though. Once his eyes don’t have to be glued to his feet on all occasions, Till notices how many people stare his— no, Ivan’s way. Not at both of them, two men having a date, unless they pass as two friends now that they’re not holding hands and the flock of people constantly changes. The majority of glances are stolen by… women.

Now that Till is aware of this, he sees eyes on Ivan everywhere. Ivan, who is objectively handsome, parading in his semi-tight shirt on display, skating with grace, tall, mysterious, and all that crap. And then there is some guy in edgy clothes next to him, not too long ago skating like a chicken thrown into cold water, only adding to the impressive difference.

The instant annoyance Till experiences is different. He used to direct his anger at Ivan and his bothersome popularity while he was left in the corner. The gifts meant for Ivan and passed to Till would be thrown at Ivan no matter what it was, Till’s teeth clenched as he seethed. This too familiar feeling, in that very moment, doesn’t exist. Being in Ivan’s shadow doesn’t matter when he is not jealous of this attention anymore.

It’s the audacity people have. Who said Ivan is available? Are they all blind? Ivan came here with Till, not any of them. This idiot is even oblivious to the stares women lock on him, his whole attention on whatever Till says, on how Till skates, just on Till. Actually, this behavior only adds to Till’s insanity development. Something about Ivan not even noticing what is happening is driving Till crazy with each new person he spots catching interest in his boyfriend.

Suffice to say, Till doesn’t know what the hell is happening to him either. And it only gets worse once he hears the two girls they’ve passed before, among all the noise:

“...ask… his number…”

FUCK! OFF!

It’s too obvious now. Ivan must have noticed the shift even earlier, but only now does he ask if something is wrong, and Till is a bomb five seconds away from exploding at this point, the question unhelpful. They do the fastest lap since stepping or rink - either that or Till loses his touch with reality. Still, the girls from before grow closer and closer, remaining in the same place by the barriers as before. When they stare at Ivan head-on, clearly ready to do what they intended, Till knows he has had enough.

He staggers. With the way he is fuming within, ignoring that he is blowing it all out of proportion, he doesn’t even have to pretend to fall. One of the blades lands on the ice harshly, still catching Till off guard despite the reckless thought at the forefront of his attention. It’s no surprise that Ivan remains vigilant — he catches Till with practiced ease, no matter how harsh the falter, gripping Till’s arms, positioned between the solid ice sheet and Till’s body.

“Are you okay?” Ivan asks with a slight furrow.

The question can be understood both ways, making it impossible to discern whether Ivan is asking about the almost-fall or Till’s mood change.

So, ironically, it annoys Till even more. Being the cause for a misunderstanding, having these staring people, his boyfriend being an oblivious, misinterpreting dumbass—

Till grabs Ivan by the lapels and yanks him down to his level before kissing him clumsily but firmly, discarding all of his dignity. It doesn’t last more than three seconds but it’s enough to refresh Till’s memories of the moment they stepped inside Ivan’s flat, their briefly connected lips a sweet memory of it. Yet the public exposure is too strong to be forgotten about. His grip on Ivan’s coat loosens, releasing him from this bent position as Till leans away, somehow still seething but flushing like a ripe tomato. Dark, wide eyes are set on him, the mouth that didn’t even move against Till’s parted. Unmoving, as if his internal system crashed and stopped responding — nothing compared to the surprise he felt when Till grabbed his hand for the first time earlier.

“Huh?”

He looks so stupid, Till thinks helplessly, ignoring a different adjective aggressively popping into his head. It’s not unwarranted, given Till didn’t expect himself to do this either.

“Let’s go.”

“What? But Till—”

Till skates away before he can hear the full extent of Ivan’s breakage. In the corner of his eye, he can make out the two girls rooted in the same place, finally taking the hint. Which is good given what Till had to do in front of everyone, now paying in consequences. Frankly, he must have lost his mind just then. His skin feels so hot he briefly considers taking the jacket off, but that would only be asking for a cold he wouldn’t have time to nurse, and—

Ivan caught up with him.

“What brought that up?” Ivan persists, like a stubborn child.

Till steals a glance. Just as the change in his deep but slightly strained voice, Ivan’s cheeks have gained some color. Dark eyes have lost their cool and appear as frantic as Ivan could express. It’s one of the few faces only Till can bring to the surface, sometimes the only one to even see. That thought gives Till a strange sort of satisfaction he couldn’t name before, only now realizing that he wants to exclusively witness different sides of Ivan, that he likes when Ivan’s poise… slips away.

When confronted with this revelation, Till immediately looks away; he will blame it on the need to see where the hell he is skating. “Can’t I just— just kiss you?!” he less than secretly blurts out for anyone nearby to hear. God.

“You can, always,” Ivan assures within a second as if his life is at stake. The black holes of his eyes are still trained on Till. “But we just started holding hands outside.”

That is… true. Normally, Till would feel aggravated at Ivan’s flat tone of voice and blunt, direct words — they would earn Ivan a new bump on his head when they were kids. A lot has changed, but Till still often falls for the way Ivan sometimes is, despite knowing that not everything is meant to be a jab at him (especially nowadays, after… everything). Ivan’s observation simply makes him think.

Till doesn’t care about stares as long as people don’t pay attention to them— to him, concerning the romance. At the same time, Till needs everyone to leave them be. To leave Ivan be.

“People stare,” he ultimately grumbles.

Ivan looks away from Till for the first time, his gaze clearly wandering. Whatever he finds, Till isn’t sure when his stern words bring Ivan’s attention back: “Not now. They stare. At you.”

Silence.

Impatient, Till looks over to Ivan — just in time to witness his boyfriend almost skating into someone in front of them, startling Till in the process. It’s definitely a first.

“Watch where you’re going,” Till attempts, but Ivan is zeroed in on him. The cogs turning in his brain are extremely loud. Till immediately regrets his words.

“Till.” Ivan skates closer so that their shoulders lightly bump, not hard enough for Till to lose his balance. “You—”

“Ugh, not a word,” Till groans, coloring. But it’s too late — he dug his own grave.

Even when teal eyes look anywhere but at Ivan, Till can clearly hear the smile in his voice when he finishes the sentence, “Jealous?”

“I’m not, shut up,” Till immediately denies, confident that what he felt was annoyance.

But fuck, is he?! Till didn’t even think of that word before Ivan said it out loud, which… shouldn’t be true. He was never a jealous type. Never. He was only pissed off, not possessive or anything of that nature. Over Ivan? He wouldn’t be. Right. Right?

This inner conundrum is cut short when a hand — undoubtedly Ivan’s, Till wouldn’t mistake it — suddenly grabs his chin. Till only has a split moment to see Ivan looming over him before diving in for a kiss. It’s more careful than what Till did before, yet still firm and confident when his lips move, and the thumb caresses scarlet-like skin. Till, caught off guard, almost, almost leans into this more and more familiar warmth with each time they kiss… But thankfully (or not), he loses his footing, and oh fuck, they’re in public, they’re on thick ice around people—

Ivan breaks the kiss the moment Till staggers. However this time around, he fails in stabilizing Till — still connected with Till’s hands fistful of the shirt god knows since when, and Ivan’s out of character scramble to get ahold of Till, their only saving grace turns out to be the barrier. Till has half a mind to brace himself for impact, which is still way better than hitting the ground, but Ivan manages to switch their places. Till slams into Ivan, who hits the barrier instead. No casualties.

Ivan stares at Till in slight shock before he bursts out laughing. Till leans into the arm around his waist, deflating a bit. Like that, Ivan looks messy with his shirt mangled and rose cheeks, unable to control himself. Till can feel Ivan’s quick heartbeat under his fingertips, unsure if it’s not an echo of his own heart ringing in his ears.

“Dumbass,” Till scolds but cracks a smile anyway. In that moment, he cannot bring himself to care, not when it made Ivan laugh hard enough Till can count on the fingers of one hand how many times it happened since they reunited. It’s a sound Till wouldn’t mind hearing daily, just like his favorite songs, which he tends to listen to in a loop. It’s music.

“We almost cracked our skulls,” Till adds to distract himself from the rush of startling softness flowing like blood in his veins.

Ivan catches his breath, the smile all teeth and crinkled eyes. “I wouldn’t let you hurt yourself, Till,” he replies, his voice still semi-winded and raspy.

Just like he didn’t let me hit the barrier, Till’s brain supplies unhelpfully. Always looking after Till. Always.

“Stop talking.”

Is his voice menacing enough that the threat went through? It’s unclear when Ivan listens anyway, letting Till grab his wrist and pull so they can continue skating. Various emotions corner Till whenever he thinks of the past, of Ivan: anger, regret, helplessness, heartache. It tends to be too much to handle, yet now, neither resurfaces. Something tender takes root in his chest with the recollection of Ivan’s presence by his side instead of the unbearable anguish this knowledge causes, gnawing and twisting his guts. No— For once, it brings him solace. Till feels it when Ivan pushes himself in front of him, skating backward, holding his hands, face to face. Till feels it in the light peck Ivan leaves in the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t have to worry,” Ivan murmurs. “I belong to you.”

Stupidly corny, too direct, weird, like Ivan. And yet, Till’s heart gallops.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, hands tightening around Ivan’s.

Till feels it as they navigate through the sheet of ice, intertwined, together.

『 I used to hear a simple song

That was until you came along

You took my broken melody

And now I hear a symphony

  And now I hear a symphony』

Chapter Text

『 All that I know

Is you caught me at the right time

Keep me in your glow

'Cause I'm having such a good time with you

Baby, don't you know?

That you're my golden hour

The color of my sky

You've set my world on fire

And I know, I know everything's gonna be alright 』

With darkness above, all city lights seem to glow. The early Christmas decorations, probably set up at the beginning of December, pop out in colorful hues. Despite the drop in temperature ever since Till and Ivan were inside, the stroll back is more pleasant. Maybe it’s due to Till’s nerves dissipating with time, being there in the moment and enjoying it to the fullest. He has been laughing at some photos he took on the rink, half of them blurry but therefore funnier — Till losing his balance while trying to take an unannounced selfie with Ivan in the back, Ivan’s face from below that still turned out to be looking too good from that angle, Till with half of his hand in the camera after Ivan stole the phone from him… But also a good quality photo of Ivan’s handsome profile when he looked ahead, and a photo together Till snapped quickly, embarrassed, turning up awkward with half of his face outside the frame, Ivan’s mouth open because he was saying something.

Till is not good with photos. He takes them sporadically with the basic phone camera, usually of something he needs anyway. He has never been one to use them to commemorate friendships or important life events. There was no need for it — unlike now. A part of that need comes from the natural want to remember this day, and the other part born from… fear. Till spent this life haunted by the faceless Ivan before he could even understand his dreams. Ivan, who was suddenly taken away once before. When will this deep sense of panic hidden within disappear from his head completely? Will he be able to rid himself of it? How does one heal from the past?

Just then, bringing Till’s attention back, Ivan points forward. Teal eyes blink the ghosts of the past away as they widen at the sight — the park they went by before, lit up by the lights woven around tree trunks and branches, by the chains of stars connecting lamp posts on both sides. They stop at the entrance, as if Ivan could read Till’s mind just as Till scrambles for his phone to snap another photo, mesmerized. It takes another minute or two of staring before he realizes that Ivan’s attention is solely on him. With a fresh flush covering his cold cheeks, Till glowers at the attention when their eyes meet; ebony eyes twinkle with the present lights, the smile gentle, a sight to take in with his silhouette illuminated by the beautiful decorations.

Is this what Ivan is seeing in Till now, too?

He wishes Ivan just kissed him, having lost the courage to close the gap.

“Let’s go,” Till murmurs, looking away.

With a curt nod, Ivan reaches for his hand. Till buries his face in the scarf, content and warm. There were no fanfares or crazy activities, but that was enough. Till didn’t need any of it when the simplest experiences shared with Ivan brought him joy. Taking a walk, drinking coffee, and relearning how to ice skate again were more fun than he expected. But despite the exercise, Till felt the cold when they stepped out, which led to Ivan taking his scarf off and… wrapping it around Till, ignoring his dishonest protests. Now the warmth comes with Ivan’s scent, right under his nose, as if Ivan was hugging him closely.

Traitorous thoughts.

They walk hand in hand, oscillating between comfortable silence and spontaneous chatter. During it all, Till discreetly checks the time on his phone and deflates a little. They may need to pick up their pace soon if Till is supposed to catch his train, even if the thought doesn’t fill him with particular joy. The day just went by in a blink of an eye.

While grumpily mulling over it, Ivan suddenly stops. Till didn’t even notice when his boyfriend took out a phone with his free hand. “Ivan?” he prompts, unable to find anything in Ivan’s blank expression.

The man in question quietly sighs before his eyes turn to Till. “Sorry, but I need to make a quick call,” he explains apologetically.

Till almost cracks up. Does Ivan think that he cannot do anything else while spending time together? Quite preposterous, Ivan-like.

“It’s okay, dumbass. I’m not gonna hog you all to myself,” Till tells him.

“You won’t?”

Till narrows his eyes. There’s a chance that Ivan is asking a serious question, judging by his expression, but it doesn’t erase the possibility of the underlying bait. Either is probable and equally possible.

“Nope.”

“What if I want to hog you—”

“Just make that call, damn it!” Till interrupts. The composure he has felt along, with a sense of control, disappears.

Ivan tells him to go ahead after confirming that his colleague is on their way to give him some keys to a different studio they forgot about— whatever the details. After hearing that it could take up to fifteen minutes though, Till frowned, displeased. There he is, going back home soon, and Ivan suddenly has to leave him as if he wasn’t the most Till-centric person to has ever existed—

—except before going, Ivan leans in to gently peck Till’s lips and once more in the corner of his mouth. After what happened on the rink, he must have taken kissing in public as a green light, even when it gives Till a small heart attack every time. He isn’t against it, but fuck if kissing Ivan even in private didn’t flip his stomach and, most often than not, made him look feverish.

They separate on that note, with Till grumbling something unintelligent under his nose, contentment replacing annoyance. He is grateful for Ivan pacing himself all this time— but is he always? Sometimes, Till wonders if they would’ve stayed in one place forever if Till wasn’t the first to do something about it. Aside from the main issue when it causes his pulse to be close to sending him to a hospital, he sometimes wishes Ivan gave himself more freedom and stopped putting Till way ahead of himself. As if still taking from Till whatever he allows, not overstepping.

Till nuzzles back into the scarf, breathing in. Despite his hands pocketed as he slowly walks the path, the difference is unmistakable. It’s warm, and yet Ivan’s hand felt warmer in his. The thought causes him to look back without thinking about the possibility of being caught, but Ivan is already gone, probably hurrying so it doesn’t even reach fifteen minutes.

The thought makes him smile, just a little bit.

So it’s maybe five minutes in when Till hears some noise, like footsteps, but not exactly. When he looks to the side, it’s not Ivan, because why would it be when not even half the time has passed, but a… dog? A medium-sized pup runs to him with a leash still attached to the collar, no owner behind. Till blinks once, and then the dog is suddenly pawing at him, the tails wagging furiously.

“Hey buddy,” Till greets with a smile.

The white fur is soft under his touch, so much so that he can’t help but intensely pet his unexpected visitor with a growing grin. How could he not? Animals easily soften his heart in a speed record.

“Where did you come from?” Till continues, now squatting to be on the same level. He laughs when a long tongue almost reaches his face, the dog even more ecstatic with the attention.

Just then Till catches some younger girl running in their direction, clearly out of breath. And if it wasn’t already obvious enough, the dog perks up and runs up to her, only to sprint back to Till before she manages to grab the leash. Till bites his lip, too close to laughing.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, having almost reached Till. This time around, she succeeds in securing her dog. “Did he do anything?”

“No, it’s fine. He was friendly,” Till assures, his hand drifting back to the soft fur.

“He always is,” she confirms, then sighs. “I think he saw a cat and caught me off guard. Sorry for that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Till repeats, not entirely knowing what else to say. Talking to a dog was somehow easier.

The girl doesn’t linger, though. Soon enough, Till is left by himself once again, eyes following after the departed pair. Fixated on the cute dog for a while longer, it causes him to space off, yet not for long. Just as before, Till hears a similar sound that takes him back to reality. He expects to see another dog without even considering—

Ivan. Ivan is back, but that’s not what grabs Till’s immediate attention.

There are flowers — a relatively small bouquet consisting of edelweiss, yellow tulips, white orchids, and two kinds of blue flowers Till doesn’t know the name of. They’re neatly tied in a thin, pink ribbon, dominant in shades of blue and simple white. Till looks at them with wide eyes before drifting upwards to the person offering them.

Ivan’s breathing is slightly uneven, his drawn-out breaths coming out in irregular puffs of air. As if he ran from Till, which would explain his quick disappearance when Till looked back, and then ran to Till. With… flowers.

“Huh?” Till manages out dumbly. He still hasn’t processed what is happening. “What?”

“They are for you,” Ivan supplies. “Originally, I wanted to pick you up with a bouquet at the station.”

It should be obvious, but somehow it isn’t. No one has ever given Till flowers. Guys don’t receive them— nothing strange there. But if he were to, then maybe as a congratulatory gift or a present for some grand occasion, and neither applies now. Till takes the bouquet mostly out of a reflex rather than a conscious decision, unsure what to make of it.

“When did you…” he trails off, stunlocked and probably flushing as they speak. Is it a romantic gift? From Ivan???

“Just now. I called them earlier.”

“But…”

Oh. Till gets it now. There was never a call— Ivan just made that shit up so he could magically manifest pretty flowers and brandish them in front of Till. Is it because he glanced at the flower shop earlier? Or did Ivan just remember that Till is fond of flowers…?

His grip on the bouquet tightens. An unclear emotion settles within him while Ivan does nothing but offer a small smile, standing there in front of Till, all mushy, stupid, and annoying in the way it has an effect on Till, making him want to smack Ivan in the face with the flowers so it distracts him from the foreign, tender, but scary feeling welling inside him.

“That’s so cliché. Why the hell would you get them?” he asks aloofly despite holding the bouquet close to his chest, enveloped in its pleasant scent.

“What’s wrong with it if you like them?” Ivan is already prepared to counter Till.

“Who said that I do?”

“So you don’t?”

“...”

Fuck this man. Fuck him for being sappy and considerate, and fuck me for falling for it.

Till does like flowers. They both know it.

The pretty plants stare back at him helplessly; Till focuses on them with a clenched jaw, somehow in the process of deflating, while there’s fire eating him from the inside. With a groan, Till loses himself in the moment of weakness — he steps closer and tiptoes just so his lips can reach Ivan’s cheek, on which he leaves a quick kiss.

“You’re too corny,” Till quips under his nose.

It’s a futile attempt when his voice has already softened. He can’t help it when Ivan looks satisfied with himself — all of his little scheming worth the while if it could flush Till.

Yet it’s not just that. It’s worth it because it made Till happy in spite of himself. It’s odd— how Till wouldn’t have noticed it in the past, but now it couldn’t have been more undeniable, how all of Ivan’s actions circle him, consider him.

Foolish man, Till thinks to himself once their hands find each other. Finally, it’s warm again.

But Till? His heart is even more foolish.

Perhaps that’s why Till isn’t fond of running out of time today, even if the train he’s supposed to take is the last of the day. They still need to return to Ivan’s apartment to take his belongings instead of heading to the station. This is why he cannot allow himself to miss it despite not actually wanting to leave. If Till had to be selfish, he’d hijack Ivan’s agency first thing in the morning to stay together for longer, though with flowers in one hand, the other enveloped by Ivan’s, he is content. In no circumstances is he going to voice his inevitable dissatisfaction.

So, pray tell, why is Ivan making it more difficult?

“Can you speed up a little?” Till lets out, exasperated. He’s basically trying to pull his taller boyfriend forward, abandoning the leisurely pace they walked with before. Is this Ivan’s sabotage plan?

“Why the rush?”

The audacity of that question. Till looks over his shoulder, even more annoyed when he fails to discern its true nature: genuineness or sneaky deceit.

“Are you messing with me, or did you really forget about my train departing in less than an hour?” he questions, only to receive a quiet, blank stare. “So you did,” Till concludes with a groan, unsure about his Ivan-judgement.

Because it doesn’t make sense for Ivan to forget. It’s Till who would read the train timetable for Sunday instead of working days, then misread the time and wait on the wrong platform with his hair sticking out in all directions from rushing over. Ivan should have the entire schedule ingrained in his brain, but at the same time, he doesn’t show any hints of scheming…

Till mulls it over, still walking more rapidly, only to be suddenly thrown back when Ivan’s heavier body anchors in one place. He doesn’t fall only because Ivan was dragged behind him, being now the wall Till hits instead of the pavement.

“What the fuck, Ivan—”

“Why don’t you stay the weekend?”

Till turns around, his mouth parted dumbly as he stares up at Ivan. Silence lingers between them; Ivan anticipant of the answer, Till dumbfounded.

“But I was supposed to go back,” Till finally says something.

“Why?”

Why, indeed? Nothing rational comes to his brain. Till thought Ivan would hinder him and cause to miss the train, only to drive Till back in his own car in the middle of the night or something. After all, until this day, Ivan used to be the one to loiter around Till’s small place — sometimes till crazy hours. Ivan stayed entirely overnight maybe twice since they met; it’s another form of letting Till choose what he wants to do, trying to be selfish in smaller, less affective areas. Till always wants to slap his head for it.

He just didn’t consider the… possibility of staying over the entire weekend. With Ivan. At his place. Together.

Is this the selfish leap in Ivan’s world? How long did he mull this over?

“So you don’t want to?”

If Till hadn’t already been flabbergasted by the sudden proposal, still stuck on the first question, he’d have noticed the obvious taunt, the trap Ivan set to catch him in. Instead, Till is still stuck with the thought of Ivan doing something self-indulgent for once, and that’s how he ends up yelling, “I do!,” horrified that he comes off as an unnecessarily mean, callous partner.

But as soon as he does that, he immediately colors because Ivan’s smile is mischievous, and Till fell for it like an idiot. What the hell!

“Ivan!”

“Then you should’ve said so,” Ivan muses, pretending to be an angel while resuming their walk.

Till, unfortunately, doesn’t have enough physical power in his body to stop them. “You asshole! Now I’m definitely leaving!”

His words have the opposite effect: Ivan chuckles softly. It doesn’t happen too often, yet today Ivan has been… more frivolous. Visibly happy. Till’s threatening aura falters at the sound of it. It doesn’t stop him from seething through clenched teeth as he shoves his elbow into Ivan’s ribs. It almost makes Ivan stop, yet the small frown from the pain Till caused is long gone, squished by the joy he’s feeling. Till’s hand is recaptured shortly after, his fast-beating heart in Ivan’s grasp even before that.

“You left your things at my place,” Ivan reminds.

“I will take them and leave!”

“Hmm, I’ll just lock the door behind us.”

“That’s kidnapping!”

Ivan briefly bursts out laughing. It’s difficult to stay mad, or even pretend to be, in front of everyone and himself when Till sees all the ways he can affect Ivan. Till just… needs to have the last word, okay? He didn’t lie when he quite loudly proclaimed that he wanted to stay, though…

“I have nothing with me,” Till murmurs when their steps match again, his struggle to break free discarded. The words don’t make sense — Ivan showed up drenched in the rain once after he told Till that he’d come no matter what, and then ended up with a cup of tea, showered, and in borrowed oversized clothes. Or rather fitting him well, unlike Till…

“It won’t be a problem,” Ivan replies as expected since Till has just been whining from newfound nerves, but… he says it like it’s an enigma. It’s weird. Suspicious. Yet before Till can question it, Ivan grabs his attention back. “How about a movie once we return?”

Till immediately forgets about staying grouchy. Like an open book, teal eyes light up at the proposition, even more so once he meets Ivan’s earnest gaze. As tedious as watching a movie alone is, doing it with good company is different. Not to mention the expectancy in which Ivan looks at him, one that’s worth a movie enjoyer, keen to hear the answer.

“I’m in!” Till proclaims with a grin.

Ivan’s face lights up with a smile Till looks at a few seconds longer than one would consider necessary, then tightens his hold on the hand that squeezes back in return. This time around, Till has a different objective in mind while he drags Ivan forward — his boyfriend keeping the pace now.

⋆

Till pokes at the colorful petals absentmindedly. The moment they returned, Ivan took out a pair of slippers for Till, which could be considered sweet, given his low blood pressure, if not for the fact that Ivan knew the size of his foot without the topic ever coming up. He was busy pointing out their design, though — fluffy, light yellow with a cute corgi print on top.

“I am not a child,” he said with a hiss while slipping his feet in.

“The size is for adults,” Ivan replied flatly, fishing out a basic black pair.

No shit, Till thought, annoyed, but complied. His feet were warm, and he didn’t mind the dogs, okay?

Ivan took the bouquet from him and deposited it in the flower pot on the dining table where Till is currently sitting, watching Ivan finish making some quick noodles before they can depart to the living room. The date isn’t… over, technically. With his elbow propped on the table and the cheek in his palm, Till watches Ivan by the stove. They never changed out of their clothes— well, Till didn’t have a choice. Technically.

He doesn’t think about the weekend he will likely spend in borrowed clothes— not at all. But Ivan?

Till furrows his eyebrows, sharp eyes honed on the exposed forearms, heat crawling to his cheeks. Ivan rolled up the sleeves once he stepped into the kitchen instead of changing into something more comfortable like a normal person would. And just like that, with Till delegated to the table by the flowers after he insisted on helping and then dropped a plate once he turned around and saw Ivan, he is left to wait while his boyfriend is cooking in his rich apartment and sexy clothes—

“Sorry for the wait,” Ivan breaks the silence they fell into a few minutes ago.

Till pretends he wasn’t just violently staring, losing it just a little bit, and focuses on the food. He immediately sighs once the first bite brings the taste of chili.

“Good?”

“Mm,” Till makes a noise with his mouth full, completely missing the way dark eyes fixed on him.

“Is there anything you’d want to watch?” Ivan asks after a minute or two.

“Dunno.” The question must be a courtesy because they both know who will be the one deciding. “What do you like?”

Ivan goes quiet, the fork he was about to raise to his mouth lowered back down. He looks uncanny and too serious in the face of one simple question; Till waits until he eventually learns that Ivan enjoys thrillers or dramas, but also historical documentaries, all packed with reasons under Till’s genuine interest. Up to the moment when he pauses, giving Till a curious, reticent look.

“Are you okay with horror?”

If he hadn’t just swallowed the last bite of noodles, Till could’ve choked on them by accident and revealed the answer to that question. Does Ivan seriously think that someone as jumpy and reactive as Till enjoys giving himself free heart attacks?!

…except, he doesn’t want Ivan to think he is a wimp.

“What movie exactly?” he asks with moderate caution in hopes that Ivan doesn’t detect his aversion in loud amounts.

It’s not difficult when Till wears emotions on his sleeve, but even if Ivan spots the apprehension, his eyes light up regardless. The rare display of eagerness is notable when Ivan tells Till to leave the dirty dishes behind and go to the living room now. Once they sit on the couch with a laptop that Ivan magically pulled out of nothing, movie titles flying out of his mouth while he presents the picks, Till fails to keep up almost immediately. He has half a mind to pay attention to trailers, snippets, or anything, eyes flicking to Ivan from time to time, rarely undetected, and…

…screw it. It’s not just the mere ‘I don’t want to look like a wimp’ aspect to it. There’s something pleasant in watching a person he likes openly talk about their interests, especially when it’s a man who used to bottle up everything from the world to see. Who would Till be to put a stop to something he’s been repeatedly trying to make Ivan embrace? No matter how much weed would grow for Ivan’s self-deprecation, disregard, or withdrawal, Till would continuously pluck it out. Seeing as this new life already brought in some change, in addition to Till’s harsh yet caring nagging, its effect sits right by his side.

Ivan’s smile seems more joyful, the glint in his crinkled eyes captivating. Till can’t for his life say no to his boyfriend. Even if he is going to experience an early cardiac arrest.

“Pick your favorite,” Till offers before Ivan can discover that he wasn’t listening.

Caught off guard at first, likely expecting Till to choose, Ivan relents when he looks away from the screen and considers Till. The latter only hopes his lifespan won’t be shortened after this night, but he can’t bring himself to regret it upon Ivan showing him a soft smile.

“Do you want popcorn?” Ivan asks after setting up the TV.

Till runs to the kitchen without answering, footsteps and an echo of laughter following him shortly after. Ivan prepares something to drink during the wait time when Till recalls his dying phone from excessive camera use earlier. As expected from his ancient smartphone — the old battery has already reached five percent.

“Hold on, I need to charge my phone,” Till remarks, his feet already on the way to the entryway where he left his backpack.

He didn’t take much — something to draw on, water, a charger and whatever else was already there that Till didn’t bother taking out. You could imagine his surprise when he spotted a filled paper bag occupying the most space.

Till completely forgot about it.

Initially, his plan was to give cookies to Ivan while saying their goodbyes for the day, comforted by the thought that he would be able to run away from the embarrassing gesture. Till didn’t foresee staying for longer than that. Thus he pauses for a second there, eyes fixated on the bag while different possibilities run through his mind.

He could throw them out — but Ivan is not likely to miss something this big in a trashcan.

Maybe Till could just never take them out — but then he would have to throw everything out since the amount of sweetness injected in the cookies would never make him eat them.

Then… he could still give them on the day he leaves— but they wouldn’t be fresh anymore…

Or you just give them like a normal person. Have you forgotten that Ivan often spends money on you and helps you with everything? Not to mention the past—

Till immediately cuts that train of thought. The memories catch him off guard no matter where he is or what he does, even when he feels… happy. So, with a sigh, he yanks out the bag and hides it behind his back, like a child with stolen sweets. Till thought he’d be more nervous than he actually is… but he eats his words immediately.

During the time Till was staring at his backpack, Ivan managed to carry everything to the living room, currently seeming to put on the movie. At the sound of footsteps, ebony eyes lift to meet teal ones— and the tension hits Till like a speeding ball aimed at his gut.

“Till?” Ivan asks, appearing slightly perplexed when said man doesn’t join him on the couch.

Try as he might, Till fails to calm his accelerating heartbeat. The questioning look on Ivan’s face makes him want to chuck the bag at it with all his strength. Till stops himself from doing so, yet the impulse gets the best of him; he still throws the cookies in Ivan’s general direction, albeit without any force. He has half a mind to realize that they could break and look less presentable, though his boyfriend manages to catch them.

Ivan is evidently confused but curious when he asks, “What is it?”

“It’s—,” Till stammers, flush deepening. He picks at his fishnets absently, staring at anything but Ivan. “It’s an early Christmas gift. If you don’t like them, then you can trash them, whatever.”

When Ivan doesn’t reply, Till chances a glance. Ivan’s eyes are dumbly big, the man flabbergasted. Then, he wordlessly opens the bag and stares at its contents with the same expression until his piercing eyes come back to Till, now intense and soul-penetrating. Ivan carefully places the cookies next to the steaming popcorn bowl, gets up…

“Ivan? Why are you coming here— ack!”

The speed at which Ivan covers the distance between them is terrifyingly fast. Till’s breath is pushed out of him the moment Ivan’s arms crush him in a hug; even with the difference in their body sizes and shapes, it still feels too much, as if Ivan could break him like a twig any second. Till is sure that he wheezes out protests, yet Ivan doesn’t let go — his vice arms around Till’s frame relax ever so slightly as the man nuzzles into gray hair. The gesture, accompanied by the lingering cologne Till is by now familiar with, mixed with Ivan’s own scent, and the all-round warmth pacify him completely.

It always happens, Till thinks, with the face hidden in a broad shoulder, hands almost shy in how they find back muscles palpable under a turtleneck and rest there. Ivan silently squeezes him once more in return. Till remembers to breathe.

Most people would use words to express what they’re feeling, but Till understands Ivan — he is the same in that regard. In this case, the more crushing the hug is, the stronger Ivan’s emotions. He must be scarily happy, which in turn contents Till. If baking some cookies is enough to warrant this reaction, then… Till wouldn’t mind doing it again.

“I didn’t take you for a baker,” Ivan mumbles into his hair.

Till’s brow twitches. He shuffles against Ivan until he has enough space to lean away with a frown, his hair messed up completely. Is Ivan questioning his skills? “Why not? Like it’s hard.”

Till omits the fact that he spilled milk all around, slightly burned his hand on the oven, or left the worst looking cookies in his personal-possession, leaving the issue of having them for later. And that’s after he had to throw out the first three burned batches.

Ivan smiles. “Make me more, then?”

“You don’t even know if they’re good.”

“I thought you alluded that baking is easy?”

“That’s…” Till forgets his vocabulary, red all over, and frustration expanding. It doesn’t help that Ivan is right there, still holding him close. “Just because they’re tasty doesn’t mean that you will like them,” he snaps. They’re quite disgusting for the amount of sugar, but that’s not important.

Ivan forgets his path of teasing and jumps onto a completely different one. “I love them,” he offers borderline too seriously as if the idea Till proposed was that appalling.

“You don’t know that yet,” Till argues.

“I do.”

Till opens his mouth to protest, but Ivan is playing dirty — he leaves a lingering kiss on his cheek, nuzzling there afterward. Till is afraid that he has forgotten how to breathe again as his fingers dig into Ivan’s back.

“Would you want to…” Ivan’s words ghost over Till’s skin, but the sentence isn’t finished.

As if on cue, Ivan leans back. Till knows that look — another example of not asking for what he wants, accustomed to keeping it inside. The roots he learned to slowly pluck out until Till showed up and started pulling them out directly and relentlessly. Dark eyes scatter to the side, eyebrows ever so slightly furrowed, like he’s mulling it over. It could be too much to ask, or Till would say no anyway—

Till tilts his head with a small frown until he gets into Ivan’s line of sight. Perhaps the correct way of handling it would be showing patience, but Till doesn’t possess it. All he can do is keep his frustration in check and stare at Ivan with expectancy, encouragement, and almost a threat. Till knows Ivan will get the memo; after all, this behavior worries him just as frustrates, if not more.

The question goes beyond everything Till expected it to be, though.

“Would you want to spend Christmas together?”

Till is the one to fall quiet now, eyes widened and mouth parted. Christmas hasn’t meant anything to him since he was little. His innocent child self was content receiving chocolate or a cheap toy of something he had never seen in his life when his parents exchanged proper gifts that wouldn’t fall apart within days. He quickly stopped caring for this annual festival with each passing year. Now, it’s either a regular day for Till or maybe a great opportunity for a gig in a bar where he knows people. He doesn’t remember the last time he celebrated it in a… familial way.

The thought strikes him like a bolt of lightning. Is Ivan’s company familial?

“We don’t have to,” Ivan suddenly adds. He took the silence the wrong way, didn’t he?

Blinking back to reality, Till stares at his boyfriend — he looks almost fine, but the small smile he shows isn’t genuine even for teal eyes to note. “Don’t decide for me,” Till bristles.

If not for the foreign feeling of anticipation growing with each beat of his heart, Till would have headbutted this guy or committed a different act of violence. He realizes that, yeah. I want that. I never cared for it, but now I’m looking forward to this day. All because of you.

“...I do,” Till finally admits quietly, holding Ivan’s stunned gaze before looking away. It was enough to note the emotions crossing his face, the relief becoming gratitude, forming fondness, then love. Till wonders how loud his heartbeat is in the space they’re still sharing.

“...Okay,” Ivan replies in just as hushed voice and brings Till into a hug again. There’s no overwhelming strength to it this time, just a caress.

“Okay,” Till repeats, already melted in the sturdy warmth of Ivan’s body. If possible, he’d stop the time just for this moment; to indulge for however long he wants, the movie be damned.

Yet eventually, Ivan shifts, his cheeks still pink ever so slightly. He asks, “So, did you find the charger?”

Till jolts upwards. “Shit, I knew I forgot about something,” he groans, untangling himself from Ivan and running for his backpack, Ivan’s jubilant laugh his send-off.

The couch is spacious, Till noted earlier. He sat next to Ivan, of course — not too close, though, somewhat perturbed by the movie Ivan picked for the night. The man distracted him at first, munching on Till’s cookies with a pleased look on his face that went straight to Till’s ego. The verbal praise might have flushed his cheeks, but he took it in stride and brushed it off, genuine happiness hidden under his puffed-up chest.

(So what if he considered making more sweets for Ivan in the future, just to see that bright gleam in his eyes?)

The movie looks relatively old. Till stuffs his face with popcorn absentmindedly, just so he has something to do that doesn’t result in fidgeting. It’s fine at first — there are moments where Till pointedly looks at the bowl next to him, and if not, he tenses up or flinches. It’s not so bad until more time passes; after the first yelp, he grits his teeth. Louder noises cause an involuntary reaction in his body that is difficult to avoid. And only as the movie progresses, Till almost forgets that he was supposed to keep it together so Ivan doesn’t tease him, but with the seemingly interesting plot he’d love to pay attention to if he wasn’t in a constant flight or fight mode, there’s little he can do. The movie oozes with tension by now, no doubt at its breaking point. And why does he have to be so jittery when there was no sound from Ivan yet? Is it because he watched it already?? How many times???

“Till?”

“AGH!” Till not so discreetly screams, the half-empty bowl of popcorn almost knocked over when he jumps at the sudden voice next to him. He looks at Ivan with wide eyes, half pissed, half scared. “What?!”

He is ready to give Ivan some points for not bringing up Till’s outburst, but the moment Ivan smiles, Till immediately retracts that sentence. He knows that damn expression—

“Do you want my hand instead?”

Till blinks at Ivan, a tad confused until the man nods his head to the side, teal eyes following the gesture. What he sees is his own hand near Ivan’s wrist; it still clutches onto the material, no doubt close to stretching it.

When did this even happen, Till thinks as he immediately retracts his hand. He knows better than to trust Ivan’s ‘innocent’ question. Instead, Till readjusts his position, arms crossed and a frown between the eyebrows. “No. I’m good,” he huffs, stubborn. If Ivan wasn’t a prick, then maybe he would.

“Are you? I thought you were scared,” Ivan supplies.

Even if he just notes the obvious, something he also tends to do without ulterior motives, it still gets under Till’s skin. “Fuck off,” Till snaps and blindly aims his elbow into Ivan’s ribs while pointedly looking towards the screen.

The scene has already… passed? Frankly, Till isn’t sure what’s happening anymore; he lets out a sigh of relief. Luck is on his side if Ivan chose to tease him right then.

Wait.

The conversation the movie characters are having goes in and out of his ears. There is no way in hell it was deliberate, is it? It’s just a coincidence and not a weird way of distracting Till while taking his outburst on himself, right?

What the fuck. Is he watching the movie or me? Till wonders, indignant, but his heart has a different opinion on this as it starts beating faster by the second. The ire Till feels stems from how it genuinely affects him — when Ivan notices the smallest of things, the fact Till must miss more often than he doesn’t. And when these moments come to light, it’s like Till is undone by the feelings that accompany them.

With a flush on his cheeks, Till fights the urge to look to the side, knowing he’d not resist wanting to steal a kiss from his boyfriend who frustratingly enough affects him in scary amounts. Luckily or not, the fear from before slowly rises within him, and Till once again gets lost in a movie that isn’t by any means bad — he’s just not the target audience.

It doesn’t feel longer than fifteen minutes before the build-up raises Till’s defenses, ultimately scaring the shit out of him. An incomprehensible noise close to a swear leaves his mouth as his hand shoots to Ivan’s arm and tightly closes around it, nails digging into the material. The ounce of sanity Till still possesses tries to warn him about the upcoming teasing that… never reaches his ears?

That’s enough for Till to temporarily bury his dignity. With his legs curled up, he sits by Ivan, the grip just as solid. Till needs to hold onto something. If it results in a bruise, then Ivan had it coming…

His boyfriend suddenly moves. The way he easily wiggles out of Till’s tight clasp would border on frustration on any other occasion, but Till doesn’t have time to think about it— not when Ivan uses the same arm to circle it around him, bringing them both closer to one another. Till’s head naturally lands on Ivan’s upper chest, comfortably cradled.

All the blood rushes to his face. Till bites his bottom lip as the movie momentarily falls into the background, the sound of his own heartbeat too loud to hear anything else. They cuddled before, so why does sitting like couples often do during movies warrant such a strong body reaction from him?! Till doesn’t understand why some casual actions Ivan uptakes affect him so much. It’s a natural occurrence for Ivan to say or do things that can throw Till off guard — but when they are related to their relationship, it feels like being suddenly dropped in ice-cold water, leaving him with spiked blood pressure and hyperventilation. Yet worst of all, Ivan quietly watches the movie with another cookie in his mouth, unaffected…

Thump, thump, thump.

His heart… isn’t it too loud, actually? It takes another minute of calming himself down against Ivan’s close, distracting yet comfortable presence before the sound is discernible — Till’s heart accompanied by another quick, rhythmic beating. It’s unmistakably strong under his ear, so Till listens, stupefied, until he ultimately shifts just enough to look up.

Dark eyes are stuck on the movie, same as before, though the expression has changed. The focus and engrossment that were present before were overtaken by a gentle and content expression. When compared to Till, Ivan’s skin rarely flares with color, but from where Till is, he can note the light blush on fair skin that grows in intensity the closer to the tip of the ear it is. Always a perfect eater, but now a tiny crumb rests in the corner of Ivan’s mouth, and the snaggletooth seems to be pressing on the bottom lip with a little more force.

There’s no one in the universe who holds all the power over Ivan but Till; how does he keep forgetting about it? Is it the short time they’ve been together or the incomprehensible amount of love Ivan holds for him?

Till lets out a shaky breath. The legs he kept close to his chest now fall on Ivan’s. As his body completely relaxes, Till’s hand reaches for the black shirt, consciously this time, somewhere under his head. The response is instant — Ivan almost jumps at Till’s willingness to lean on him completely, but Till doesn’t dare look for the visual reaction lest he will beg the couch to swallow him whole from embarrassment. Teal eyes freeze on the TV screen, yet they basically see nothing. Till has no idea what new has developed, who potentially died, or where the plot is heading. Not after Ivan just cradled him closer in response.

So what if it’s one of Ivan’s favorite movies? He shouldn’t have been distracting Till! With this comforting presence Till could fall asleep to, with the sound of a heart that once stopped beating, making him feel the need to listen to it without admitting it and worrying Ivan, Till couldn’t possibly leave that pleasant haze he found himself in. A whole week without being able to feel like this, all the work, drained him. Till doesn’t want to recall all the years he spent without remembering the past or recognizing Ivan’s face. Not now.

They watch the movie settled like that — at least, it’s an attempt on Till’s part and a means of staying awake. Occasional loud noises do their job, but even as he still tenses up or flinches, it’s sporadic. Ivan has been absentmindedly playing with his fishnets which managed to not startle Till — at some point, the touch just became noticeable and distracting, but in a good way. It could be a coincidence, but these rarely go in pairs with Ivan. In the end, Till doesn’t need to fidget, strangely comforted by the touch.

And for the movie, Till wants to hate it as he does with all the horrors, yet it’s not so bad. It’s nice. This is nice. So nice that Till needs to fight a scowl when the movie he used to hope would end quickly finally does, bringing their watching activity to an end, and with it taking away the excuse to cling to Ivan.

Realistically, Till doesn’t need a reason for it, but his brain disagrees on the matter. He’d come off as clingy, when he definitely isn’t. Ivan hasn’t moved yet, so why should he?

“How was it?” Ivan suddenly asks, the credits still rolling. He hasn’t said a word since teasing Till during the first half of the movie.

When he speaks, Till can hear it echo in his ear while still pressed together, the voice deep yet soft, almost a murmur. It’s close; Ivan probably turned his head towards Till…

“’s alright,” Till mumbles. Ivan’s rising and falling chest distracts his thought process. “There were some good parts,” he opts to say. Half of the movie is lost to him, but he is not lying.

The good parts being sitting together with Ivan, obviously, but no one needs to know that.

“Some?” Ivan repeats, amusement clear in his voice.

Till hums, the arm tightening around Ivan. When did it even sneak around him? He’d rather go to sleep now than dig his grave by admitting the lack of presence his brain provided once Ivan scooped him closer. But his boyfriend has different plans. He doesn’t add anything; wordlessly, he uses his free hand to cup Till’s cheek and lift his head so their eyes can meet.

Blinking away the haze with half of his face still pressed to Ivan’s body, Till blushes, almost startled by the bottomless affection he finds in the dark eyes. It still catches him off guard sometimes, now that he knows the meaning they hold. Ivan tilted his head towards Till, enough for the latter to be able to count his long eyelashes— if he was focused, that is. Till melts in the hand against his cheek, eyes drifting lower because that’s all he can do while he can’t reach for what he wants, and god, just kiss me already.

Ivan complies with the unspoken plea. Till is certain that he lets out a content sigh once their lips press together, but the pleasure bubbling in his chest denies any shame. He sneaks his arm around Ivan’s neck, and the fingers brush the freshly shaved undercut. The kiss is slow, but there’s a force to it, like two starved lovers gradually releasing their need after staying apart for too long. That’s how Till feels with his heart close to giving out when Ivan’s fang puts more pressure on his bottom lip, or when Ivan’s mouth opens under Till’s poking tongue.

Just like that, Till is suddenly straddling his boyfriend with both hands in already ruined hair, Ivan’s palm relentless on his heated cheek, fingers pressing on the bottom earlobe, the detail Till has come to notice whenever they kiss. This way, Ivan can direct his face however he likes — and so he does, tilting it more to the side and deepening the kiss the way it always had Till’s head spinning, bringing out noises, with Ivan drinking all of them. Their tongues mingle, and so the taste of sweet cookies Ivan probably has finished in one go becomes only more apparent.

Definitely too much sugar, Till thinks, yet he only grabs onto Ivan with more force. It feels so good he forgets to breathe. Even as they have to separate, heaving, they both lean into more, and more, and more.

“Why did you dress like that? You’ve been killing me all day,” Ivan suddenly rasps against his jaw, oddly unfiltered.

Till’s breath catches in his throat, teal eyes half-lidded. It must’ve slipped out, but Till takes it in stride; he tilts his head to locate Ivan’s wandering lips, finding the same eagerness. “Y-you’re one to talk…” Till blurts out.

His fingers tighten around the black hair when Ivan’s tongue licks into his mouth and causes an embarrassing whine of pleasure to escape him. It’s not a heated kiss anymore, though — they’re both slowing down. Till notes his dissipating vigor, yet he can’t stop, not when he’s in love with this sensation. If Ivan didn’t ask him to stay, he’d be entering his shitty flat right now, failing to experience all of it after missing Ivan for a week.

With that in mind, Till relaxes at the thought of still being here, as if all the strength has left him. They exchange lingering pecks, and that’s all Till wants to think of right now. Even when they separate, Ivan lingers. He has this habit of leaving kisses wherever he can, and so his lips easily find Till’s jaw, cheek…

Till lets him — he always does, lasting longer bit by bit until it usually becomes too much. Not in the ‘I don’t like what you’re doing’ sense, but the ‘I like this feeling so much my chest hurts, I’m embarrassed to receive too much love from you’ way. Till quietly moves away, but Ivan understands it, because when Till shyly looks down at him, Ivan smiles. His lips appear kiss-swollen, the skin is flushed, and the black hair that was slicked back for the date a long time ago is now just a memory. Till thinks his heart will explode.

“Till,” Ivan says quietly. He’s been caressing one side of Till’s face, so with that hand lingering there, Ivan guides Till lower until their foreheads can touch. Till slumps down completely as Ivan circles the second arm around him. “We should watch movies more often.”

Till snorts. The dark eyes right in front of him don’t hide the heavily implied meaning of these words. Till doesn’t know how to admit to liking this idea without using direct words he can’t muster himself to voice now, so he says nothing in return. Well, that’s wrong — he almost blurts out a yes, but he’s not that desperate to kiss Ivan, okay?

“Preferably horrors or thrillers,” Ivan adds.

Rolling his eyes, Till immediately remembers how to talk. “Forget it.”

Ivan chuckles at the flat-out refusal. He nuzzles Till whose traitorous heart almost doubles down on the rejection, but then Ivan casually adds, “I could beg.”

This is NOT something Till expected?

“What?”

“Do you want me to?”

Till’s head jumps back just to stare at his boyfriend in disbelief. It could’ve been a joke, but you never know with Ivan. Why is Till even surprised?

Staring at Ivan doesn’t help when the look in his midnight eyes turns besotted. Till settles in silence, distracted. Ivan looks up at him like Till is the brightest star, perhaps the sun itself he wouldn’t be able to… live without. The gaze Till still learns how to be enveloped in, how to allow himself to lay under this devotion and worship. How to stay in the moment without painful reminiscing.

Tonight, in moments like these, it’s easier to drown in Ivan’s feelings. Perhaps that’s what pushes him forward until he finds Ivan’s welcoming, smiling lips, just for one more moment. A short, brave kiss before Ivan buries his head under Till’s head, his embrace tighter.

Till, wordlessly, holds him closer.

⋆

Post-emotional sobriety hit Till like a truck when his phone vibrated nearby, the peace interrupted. He almost fell backward while trying to disentangle from Ivan, from his lap for god’s sake, only making it safely to the floor with his feet and not his ass thanks to his boyfriend.

“You’re actually flustered,” Ivan observed, already standing. “Is it because you were sitting on—”

“No!” Till then cut him off and voiced the first reason that came to mind, “I— I need to use the toilet, ‘s all.”

“It must be intense if you’re so red.”

Ivan then proceeded to annoy him about the topic, perhaps fueled by their long-lasting make-out session that gave him a similar amount of excitation to when he had fought with Till or provoked him. A behavior tempered by their past circumstances, growing up, and now their rebuilding relationship, picking up old, fallen pieces or creating their replacements, expanding the space. Some of it made Till nostalgic. But some of it also made him want to punt Ivan in the face.

In the end, Till did go to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and showered. His clothes now lie in a pile, but the new shirt he wore for today is already wrinkled. All after Ivan hugged him, grabbed at him—

Till silently screams into the towel he has just dried himself with. Then he glares from behind it at a second pile of folded clothes as if it personally offended him; his cheeks redden at the sight of underwear on top of it— Ivan’s. All of it, Ivan’s. But— what’s the big deal?! Something so childish as sharing someone’s (your partner’s) clothes would never make Till want to shrivel up and die.

Never.

So he dresses up like a normal human being and not a shy boyfriend — which he isn’t.

The clothes look… new. Till may not have met up with Ivan nearly enough to know his wardrobe in depth, but as teal eyes find the mirror, it becomes painfully obvious. The set he is wearing is one size larger than his actual build, making it oversized, just as he likes it, especially for sleeping. A simple pair of shorts that almost reach his knees and a loose, dark grey t-shirt with a small print of an owl holding a coffee mug, dark shadows under crinkled eyes. Everything down to the little details — the size and type of clothes Till is comfortable in, stupidly cute slippers of dogs, which he loves dearly, even a very relatable print — is so Till-themed that he almost chokes on this weird display of sweetness.

However, it raises one question. Till finally snaps out of it and leaves the bathroom; following the switched-on light makes it easy to find Ivan in the kitchen. He seems to be looking through the ingredients, which is halted the moment Till shows up. Their eyes meet, and Till immediately stiffens under the intense but warm scrutiny Ivan envelops him in.

“Did you plan this?” he asks before those dark eyes distract him completely.

A vague question delivered with an inquisitive gaze under which Ivan doesn’t even flinch. The meaning seems clear to him as well. “No. I bought everything last month,” Ivan explains as if it made it… any better. “But I still wanted to ask you to stay.”

“Seriously?” Till blurts out in disbelief.

‘Last month’ doesn’t specify when it happened, but when they reunited, they were already in the middle of November. They barely just met again back then, which feels both like yesterday and forever ago, yet it doesn’t change the fact that Ivan already knew what to buy, including Till’s likes, in his strange fantasy. It’s eager and weird, but ultimately so Ivan.

“Do you like it?” Ivan asks his own question, abandoning whatever he was doing so he could walk to Till.

“I-it’s fine, I guess,” Till grumbles. Then, a hand suddenly slides into his combed hair and tousles it lightly. “Hey!”

“That’s better,” Ivan snickers.

Till’s hand shoots up, but all it accomplishes is just a graze on the tips of black strands before Ivan catches his wrist. The tall, handsome bastard who delivers a kiss to Till’s temple and successfully distracts him before more struggle occurs. At this point, Till thinks his skin will forget its original shade if he spends three whole days being this reactive. So why does it have to feel this nice?!

“I’ll go take a shower. You can go to bed if you want.”

Despite his words, Ivan still lingers. Particularly — his heavy body. Till’s scrawny arms try to push Ivan away, but it’s near impossible, what with his clothes still held by him. The only reason they don’t fall and crack their skulls is because Ivan isn’t leaning with all of his body, something Till has experienced in the past multiple times. All of it— to ruffle his feathers, but Till still falls to the old tricks. Before he knows it, he’s pushing Ivan towards the bathroom and almost falling over the clothes dropping from his arms.

All of that, until Till is finally left alone. His eyes immediately zero on the phone left behind. The opportunity seems unrealistic, so Till has half a mind to stand still and wait for Ivan to burst out of the bathroom and catch him in the act until it becomes apparent: Ivan went to shower. Till latches onto this golden occasion and grabs the phone with clear intent and no remorse; so what if he shouldn’t use the knowledge of someone’s password? It’s not like Ivan didn’t hide himself while entering Till’s birthday date one time. This is what you get for being careless after using my face on a wallpaper. Forget about seeing this photo ever again—

The phone unlocks, and Till’s scheming smile freezes.

What greets him isn’t the unflattering, sleepy Till from before. It’s still him, but the photo is… different in every way imaginable. Teal eyes bore into his clear silhouette despite the zoom Ivan’s expensive phone had to make, into his bright smile and the cute dog crowding him with vigor. The lights from all around dim his cold, flushed cheeks, yet they remain visible.

It has an artistic soul to it. It could’ve been made into a painting, the moment Ivan captured fleeting yet alive all the same. Till almost drops the phone, stunned, until he hears the sound of running water and blinks away the shock, finding himself embarrassed, but… tender all over. The Till caught by Ivan is art embodied. A literal filter the ebony eyes are clouded with whenever Till catches his gaze.

“No wonder he showed up almost immediately,” Till mutters, lips twitching to form a smile despite the urge to shrink and scream, his body too warm. He can blame the hot shower for it and not the affection gnawing at the walls of his heart.

It takes a minute or two for Till to leave the phone with a somewhat functional heart and the brain unscattered. Ivan may not take slow showers, from what Till noticed, but they’re neither too quick. There’s still time to compose himself.

Though the relief lasts only for a minute, during which he picks up his poor clothes he already forgot about, drinks a glass of water, and retrieves his mostly charged phone before reality hits him.

You can go to bed, Ivan’s words echo in his head.

Ivan’s bedroom.

Till stands in the threshold, not a single toe crossing the line. Teal eyes are stuck on the bed Ivan must’ve prepared beforehand since it looks different from the last time Till peaked inside; the bedspread is gone, revealing pearly, no doubt the most expensive sheets Till has ever laid on.

The lying down part still in progress.

The muffled sound of a closing cabinet door makes Till jump out of his own skin. He is surprised to find his heart in its righteous place and not spat on the floor while more rustling is heard behind him, somewhat still quieter than his crazed pulse.

Till gathers himself and swiftly charges inside the room before he runs away to the couch, though halts next to the furniture that causes his current meltdown.

Why should it be a big issue? They’ve shared a bed before — it was the night of their reunion. Still, Till was hazed with shock, pain, relief, and then gratitude once he woke up the next day with Ivan wrapped around him, still present. Remaining a reality, and not a dream. Ivan stayed overnight twice more, too, but it was still different; on one instance, Till fell asleep at a late hour while talking to Ivan, a case similar to when he drifted away in Ivan’s embrace the first night. But that time, though, Till slept through the whole night without jolting awake at a very inhumane hour, with Ivan’s company next to him, as he discovered in the morning. The second instance found them in a reverse situation — Ivan insisted on showing up and staying despite the workload in the past few days. Although quieter than usual, he seemed alright, Till thought, until he showered and found Ivan leaning on his shitty bed frame, fast asleep, unconscious through Till’s clumsy attempt to lay him down and tuck in.

Sleeping together brought comfort. Till didn’t admit it out loud, but he craved this warmth — Ivan’s presence that wasn’t just a fleeting dream that would haunt him all his life. During those three nights, Till felt like his insomnia never existed, that the recurring nightmares spared him then. That his physical presence could shield Till more than fleeting memories and dreams of Ivan ever could, carrying with them unbearable longing.

But… it was never Ivan’s bed. Not something that must’ve smelled like him, making Till feel him literally all around, and—

“Fuck,” Till concludes as he throws his pile of clothes on the nearby chair and finally sits the fuck down with his entire face flared. The mattress gently dips under his weight, so much bigger than what he has at home. Two pillows and only one duvet…

Till promptly unlocks his phone, frozen in the sitting position. There’s a distraction attempt made as he opens some trashy mobile game he plays from time to time. The time must be passing regardless because one moment he is blanking out, the next he hears:

“Not tired?”

Till’s hands suddenly grow holes, otherwise there’s no way for his phone to fall out of them as he yelps. The game match is lost, but Till is already focused on Ivan walking closer. He hands Till a glass of water the latter almost drowns in its entirety as if he didn’t hydrate in a day and not in fifteen minutes.

“Just a little bit,” Till grumbles.

Ivan’s every move makes Till highly self-aware, be it the steps his boyfriend takes towards the other side of the bed, or the sound of drinking water. Till doesn’t know what he expected, but he’s still glad Ivan isn’t a naked sleeper. Or half-naked.

Unless he is— why would Till know that when he can count on the fingers of one hand how many times they shared one bed? Up until this day, they haven’t committed to holding hands in public only because Ivan didn’t want to take the lead in a relationship Till was meant to explore; all the while Till didn’t know what he was doing and the new steps he took were panicked or impulsive.

The mattress dips on the other side. The duvet moves. Till tenses; he grabs his phone once more, in a pretense of checking something, opening the same apps as if they were the most interesting sources of entertainment and not an empty task Till forces himself upon. The silence is unnerving— strange, even, but Till soon regrets his inner complaint once it’s broken. His own yelp resounds in the bedroom as a pair of strong arms circles his waist and pulls back hard enough to send Till on the bed. The position is uncomfortable enough to make him drag his legs up as well, the phone forgotten.

“What are you doing?!” Till screeches so high-pitched he would die from embarrassment if something else wasn’t already causing his progressing deterioration.

The scream doesn’t pull Ivan away. Till turns his head to the side— breath catches in his throat. It was a careless mistake. They come face to face now in close proximity, where Till can see his mirror image in Ivan’s dark eyes, the blush on his face angry and deep. But what seizes him is a gentle flush on Ivan’s pale skin, dilated pupils in the mellow eyes that seem to be smiling at him. Like a dark night, gleaming through countless stars, absorbing in its view everything below. A reflection of Ivan’s deep love holding in its view Till and Till only.

Unable to look away, Till lets it consume him. Ivan leans in to kiss his burning cheek, then nuzzles it with his nose. The pressure of those soft lips makes Till yearn for more; in this haze, he doesn’t notice the way his head slightly turns more to the side, as if needing to find Ivan’s mouth. The man has Till wrapped in his arms, the small space between them disappearing once Ivan brings him closer. Their bodies meet in a hug. Somewhere in the process, Till turned around completely.

Till thinks he will collapse, which doesn’t make sense, yet does feel this way. Ivan is turning him into a brainless, weak goo. Till is dying.

“Do you dislike it?” Ivan’s deep voice hits Till like a truck. His breath smells like mint on Till’s hot cheek.

“T-that’s not the issue!” Till creaks out weakly.

Ivan moves away ever so slightly so their eyes can meet. Till nearly grumbles at the sudden, small distance between them. “What is, then?”

Till feels choked up. There’s nowhere to escape — not from Ivan’s arms, nor his piercing eyes. With anything that comes to his mind, Till stammers, “We’re— we’re t-together in bed.”

“We already slept together, no?”

“We what?!” Till almost passes out on the spot.

Ivan blinks at him and huffs out a small chuckle. The sound grabs Till’s attention before his mind can spiral in a dangerous direction, where he isn’t ready to go yet. It must be written all over his face because Ivan clarifies, “We shared a bed, Till.”

“It’s different!” Till cries out, worked up. He has half a mind to control his volume, his priorities elsewhere. The walls must be thicker than in his own building anyway.

Besides, it’s hard to discern if you’re loud when your boyfriend doesn’t flinch even once. Ivan stares at him, puzzled but otherwise fine. “But it’s not?” he replies with a hint of a question, as if trying to find the source of Till’s outbursts.

“It is!” Till hollers, popping a vein on his forehead. He’s losing his shit. Why aren’t you getting it?!

“How so?”

“Because I’m in your bed in your clothes, damn it!” Till blurts out.

There it is. Ivan’s stupid eyes turn hollow, as if they looked through Till, who, frankly, wants nothing more but to curl up and die. He can’t even do the first part with Ivan’s unbudging arms, sentenced to staying put with a blank face right in front of his scarlet one. It feels like forever before Ivan blinks away his stupor; he hugs Till closer, tighter, and mumbles into his neck, “You’re so cute.”

The words tickle Till’s exposed skin, the t-shirt big enough to reveal more. “WHAT,” he creaks out in a broken voice, close to eating the black hair pushed under his nose.

But Ivan only holds him more securely. All the protests die in Till’s throat when an uncontrollable noise comes out of it instead, Ivan’s lips above his clavicle the perpetrator. Ivan traces them towards the neck, leaving butterfly kisses on their way. And, before Till knows it, he’s stopped flailing like a fish, giving up under the affection imprinted on his skin. Pliant under Ivan’s inviting touch, Till wants to jump upright and escape to the other side of the globe as much as he wants to grab Ivan in his own clutches and allow himself to sink into the familiar warmth he always misses whenever they have to part. His head tilts, brain fogged, holding Ivan closer— when did he return the embrace?

The kiss on his lips that Till expects — one that Ivan likes to offer last — never comes. Teal, half-lidded eyes find the ebony when Ivan pulls away. Till forgets about his initial resistance like it never occurred in the first place; his expression turns into an honest, unhappy pout. The one lamp Ivan still hasn’t turned off bathes the room in a peculiar shadow, one that illuminates Ivan’s sharp, handsome facial features. Till’s fingers, those free of the material of Ivan’s t-shirt, itch to reach for them, to touch and trace like a hypnotized man lost to reality. So absorbed he doesn’t realize his own fixated gaze on his boyfriend’s mouth — on each curve and minuscule indents, likely caused by Till’s teeth since Ivan’s lips are always perfectly taken care of for the shoots otherwise. It’s nothing compared to Till’s, usually dry, prone to bites of Ivan’s sharp fang Till zeroes on unconsciously, fixated.

The lips curve into a smile. Till blinks back the daze he found himself in and meets crinkled eyes already watching him— probably from the beginning.

“What are you looking at?” Ivan asks enticingly with fake obliviousness.

“Shut up,” Till bristles, suddenly very self-aware of his previous ogling. “It’s not what you think.”

“What do I think?”

Too much, Till supplies himself, but decides words won’t silence Ivan. So, with his jaw clenched and a shaky hand, Till grabs Ivan’s front and pulls him closer until their lips can properly meet. One of them sighs from the contact, maybe both do, but Till has already forgotten where his body starts and ends, entangled with Ivan who holds him ardently, bodies flush against each other.

Once disgusted by the unfamiliar prospect of kissing, Till supposes he has found himself on the opposite end. Not once with his previous partners— only because of Ivan.

It must’ve been the best first date. Perhaps the best he has ever gone on.

Till cards through black locks in a manner close to familiar.

He is happy.

『 I used to get sad

And lonely when the sun went down

But it's different now

'Cause I love the light that I've found in you

You make the world look beautiful, ooh

I thought I'd seen it all before

But looking through your eyes it looks like paradise 』

Chapter Text

『 I hear you breathing in

Another day begins

The stars are falling out

My dreams are fading now, fading out

I've been keeping my eyes wide open

I've been keeping my eyes wide open 』

“Now I can’t sleep.”

The room is covered in a veil of darkness. With the windows closed, Till can barely hear the cars driving through; he’s also lying on the most comfortable bed he has ever slept— well, will sleep on, once it finally comes to him. For someone who’s been running himself to the ground and slowly crawling out of a depressive episode, his body is just as stubborn as his personality.

“Need some help?”

A playful whisper reaches him. In contrast, for someone who can go to bed and just fall asleep like it’s nothing, Ivan is still awake. Perhaps he’s just a heavy sleeper, Till finally concludes, given how Ivan could stay up with him on multiple occasions, or for him.

“You’ll just make it worse,” Till mumbles truthfully. His skin has already received fresh marks.

So far, Ivan’s presence would do the opposite, making Till pass out too easily to be true. Even if they weren’t together and chatted on the phone at a late hour, Till could wake up to an ongoing call in the morning— either to Ivan’s quiet breathing, or a distant sound of a person going through their day. But now Till is too wired to sleep, which is Ivan’s fault. Definitely not Till’s. He did not cling to Ivan and somehow partially end up on him, pink face pressed into the pale neck, fingers drawing shapes on its other side, cozy under the duvet.

Ivan’s nose tickles Till’s hair before he feels a light kiss pressed in that spot. See? How is this supposed to help?

“How exactly?” A question feigning innocence. Playing dumb, as if Till couldn’t feel his boyfriend’s smile where his lips just were.

“Just let me sleep.”

“I’m not doing anything, though?”

“You’re distracting,” Till says before he can think.

The cat is out of the bag. Ivan holds Till closer with a quiet hum. “Really? How so?”

“Stop asking so many questions,” Till hisses. Ivan doesn’t have to see his face to know what he’s looking like with their bodies close, exposed to Till’s fast heartbeat.

“I’m only curious,” Ivan continues. Despite the teasing undertone, Till hears… happiness. It’s the only reason he doesn’t dig his nails into Ivan’s neck in retaliation.

Yet Till comes to regret his postponed murder once Ivan opens his mouth again.

“Because you’re the one who straddled me—”

Till slams his hand over Ivan’s mouth immediately and kicks him under the duvet, cheeks aflame. “I did not do that,” he protests.

He is not on Ivan’s body, okay?! It’s only a part of him. Till would know the difference, because that’s how they ended their movie night, with Till on…

“Ack!” Till yelps when he feels a kiss on the inside of his palm, which he instantly takes away, still mortified by his traitorous train of thoughts. “Ivan!”

The culprit laughs gently. Till shuffles to pull back, but Ivan effortlessly keeps him in place; he mumbles a quiet apology into the hand he took back into his own, giving it another kiss. All mushy and sappy, yet Till… settles down with a grumble.

They grow quiet after that. Till goes back to aimlessly drawing shapes on Ivan’s skin, fingers tracing his face now, though. Doing so blindly brings them to Ivan’s lips without meaning to, causing his fingers to scatter momentarily until they come back tentatively. Till bumps into the snaggletooth he knows quite well now, and without thinking, pokes it. It’s sharp and peculiar, but not in a bad way. Very Ivan-like. Unique.

The lips under his fingers suddenly move. “What are you doing?”

Till blinks back the haze that came over him. If Ivan stayed quiet, then he’d soon drift away. “Nothing. It’s just a peculiar tooth,” he mumbles, poking the fang once more for good measure before dropping his hand.

Ivan hums. His words are weirdly casual when he admits, “I wish it was normal.”

Till frowns. Ivan doesn’t stop him this time when he shifts, just so teal can find onyx. “Why?”

When they were children, Till sometimes poked Ivan’s snaggletooth, encouraged by the boy’s lack of reaction. If Ivan had ever expressed his thoughts on the clear difference that set him apart from other kids at Anakt, Till never noticed it.

He didn’t catch many things in time.

Ivan is not looking at him anymore. His gaze is set past Till’s shoulder, as if lost in thought. Never one to share them openly, now usually taking his time before talking to Till about feelings, as if selecting what’s for voicing and what is not. A motion Till has been recognizing with increasing ease, always forcing his own mouth to shut and wait. Usually, during the nights, in the darkness, bringing out Ivan’s melancholy and unspoken truths. The truths that have been unwrapping in front of Till one by one — the result of living a second time with past regrets and past miscommunication that only pushed them deeper into their doom. Why repeat it?

Wrong place, wrong time.

There’s a slight upturn of Ivan’s lips, paired by a small frown before all of his features smother. Till wishes he didn’t feel the need to do that, allowing his feelings to flow freely.

Spoken in a quiet, distant voice, “It’s revolting, isn’t it?”

The level of honesty takes Till off guard. Ivan would smoothly belittle himself in the past interviews, but Till has always figured that it was another mask, a play of a humble, young pet human to appease the aliens. The words he’s just heard are far from that polite tone; they’re raw, charged with disgust that Till is able to pick on despite Ivan’s lack of expressiveness.

For that brief moment, Till’s mouth is parted, but nothing comes out of it. Hearing Ivan say that about himself is… strange. Annoying in a sad way. Did people make fun of it? Is it the only aspect Ivan hates about himself? What else is there? Why do these thoughts exist in the first place when Ivan is so obnoxiously handsome and… beautiful?

Till grabs Ivan’s face and tilts it back towards him. With furrowed brows and an irritated scowl, Till firmly says, “Just because it looks different doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with it.”

Teal eyes are intense. Ivan looks into them quietly, and Till finds himself stroking Ivan’s cheek with his thumb before he knows it — a soothing gesture Ivan often offered Till.

“People like it,” Ivan finally replies— states with no emotion.

“But you disagree, huh?” Till questions, which grants him no answer. The proof of Till’s assessment. He leans closer, then gives Ivan a small kiss on the lips. Despite the serious conversation, Till still flushes lightly; he is not a casual initiator. But it does its job, as Ivan seems to soften until Till adds, “You know that I can feel it when we do that, right?”

It’s a poor choice of words. Ivan’s face drops. “I’m sorry, Till, I—”

“No, idiot. That’s not what I meant,” Till cuts in quickly.

Ivan opens his mouth, but Till loosely covers it with his hand. It suddenly feels way too warm as Till tries to gather his embarrassing thoughts. “It’s—it’s nothing to dislike. It’s the o-opposite,” he finally blurts out under his breath, flushing a deeper shade of red. Wide eyes stare back at him intensely, and Till almost jumps to use his other hand to cover them. So, he makes a mistake. He keeps talking, “But! I always thought it was kind of cool, yeah? Even before we… we…”

God, just end me, Till begs internally, close to erupting. His disastrous thoughts are interrupted by Ivan’s sudden snort that instantly offends Till— it’s the initial second before he notices that genuine smile reserved for him, crinkled eyes, expression so soft Till wants to punch the guy for his low self-esteem when it can easily twist Till’s gut. Ivan gently grabs his chin and guides down for another light peck, nuzzling into him with a hand sled in silver hair.

“We what?” he whispers.

“Y-you know what,” Till snaps with no bite to it, helpless under Ivan’s loving touch, pressed against a chest where another heart beats quickly.

“I don’t think I do,” Ivan hums against Till’s cheek.

Ivan kisses him again— and isn’t it unfair? Till gives in, and when a fang brushes his bottom lip, it’s a familiar notion. Kissing Ivan is associating that additional presence in each kiss, savoring its sharpness, liking how it can smoothly sink into his neck—

Till pulls away despite the traitorous need to dive back in. He looms over Ivan, an accusing finger pressed into his chest as he chastises, “Stop distracting me, I wasn’t done! Listen, I don’t care what others say about your fang. I don’t care what you think of it. You’re all wrong anyway. Got it?”

Ivan looks at him as if Till is the 8th wonder of the world, his love a loud stream between them. But Till means it — and he will repeat the same words over and over again.

“Loud and clear,” Ivan confirms compliantly.

This time, Till forgoes everything and kisses back the lips that captured his own previously. Yet it doesn’t last long; Till slowly gives in to the exhaustion of the past days, in the comfort of Ivan’s eyes. He falls asleep to the beat of a second heart and to the hand stroking his back in a rhythmic pattern. Peaceful.

⋆

Till is 11 years old when he unintentionally kisses a girl from a neighbouring class. They say those accidents never happen in everyday life, reserved for fiction. Unless you’re someone like Till, passionate but clumsy, then fiction becomes reality. His trembling hands and pink cheeks are undeniable when he hides the drawing from blue eyes, the short girl who would talk to him from time to time waiting, curious. Till steels himself, takes a step forward with a portrait he spent the last weekend on, and… steps on his untied shoelaces. Despite her small frame, the worried girl moves closer, and then it happens — Till’s lips land on the side of her mouth.

It’s not a total fiasco. She takes the drawing from the frozen in place boy, runs away, and then holds hands with Till for three days before she grows interested in her new classmate. Weirdly enough, Till accepts his fate rather quickly. His first kiss, albeit accidental, was… strange. Not in the wrong way. Till doesn’t have a point of reference, yet in that brief moment, something was missing.

Perhaps he is just too young to get it.

—

Till is 15 years old when he dates for the first time. However, the spark is gone as soon as it appeared — and the girl ends the relationship two months into it.

It lasted for too long anyway, Till thinks that day. They weren’t too affectionate with each other, an issue that arose on Till’s side. Why would you date someone who avoided kissing you? The old feeling from when he was in elementary school resurfaced early into the relationship, creating a bundle of unease in his stomach for the reasons Till was unaware of. It’s paired with a sense of physical inaccuracy, as if he shouldn’t be kissing someone smaller, reaching down instead of up, letting petite hands cradle his face. Is that it?

Does he not like girls?

—

When Till is 18 years old, he gathers his courage and kisses a boy one day. Till has been hanging out at his place more often than not, avoiding his own family like a plague. It began with curiosity — he was tall and handsome with longer black hair framing his face, sharp, green eyes following Till ever since they met at school.

It should be everything Till has wanted, but the growing emptiness within him has never been colder than it is once Till breaks the kiss. It’s someone stronger, someone sturdier, and of a different gender, but that’s still not it. Kissing doesn’t stir happiness within Till, nor gives him butterflies in his stomach, like some people describe it. It feels wrong, managing to stress Till out with something he can’t name. Another problem in his life, next to the recurring dreams he can’t ever escape from.

Maybe he’s unable to date. Maybe there’s no romantic interest at all.

—

Till dates his second girlfriend soon after. He shouldn’t have — it’s tinted with desperation.

Nothing has changed, and Till is tired. He gives up on romance.

⋆

Till tends to move in his sleep, judging by pulled-up sheets or half of his body on the verge of falling off his small bed. Ivan — not so much. His arms, still loosely wrapped around Till, must have been the main factor that contributed to making Till stay intact. Teal eyes blink back the grogginess, but for once, they don’t hurt as much.

Ivan is still asleep, as expected. After a few minutes of fighting against the tempting slumber, Till realizes that his head is still on Ivan’s arm as a makeshift pillow, his own thrown across a broad chest that’s rising and falling in a stable rhythm. The heartbeat even, pulsating under Till’s fingertips once they drift closer to its source. It’s almost too warm with both of them under the duvet, but Till quietly indulges. Ivan is not awake to tease him about… clinging.

A light shade of pink spreads across Till’s face when he recalls everything. How he ended here, smelling like Ivan’s shower gel and his flowery laundry detergents, in the bed carrying his boyfriend’s smell, and the man himself wrapped all around Till. All after a day he spent having fun with someone he cares about. And all the… kissing.

Even without dark eyes piercing through his soul right now, Till still instinctively buries his face in Ivan’s shoulder. Despite embarrassment, Till can’t stop himself from recalling shared kisses— those induced by their mutual longing, the sweet and loving ones, and those full of passion. They always feel… good. Too good. They…

Till pauses his galloping thoughts, suddenly halted before they can create a bigger mess inside him.

Years of vivid dreams trained him. Almost every single day, he could recall at least a vague portion of what kept haunting him, even when he was exhausted from ongoing attempts at making sense of whatever was going on in his still oblivious head. That’s how the dream from last night returns to his memory with ease once he focuses on the keyword — kiss.

His mouth parts in a silent bewilderment. Portions of his life fly in front of his eyes like long forgotten memories that slide into a full piece from scattered shards. Till remembers now— but before he knew it, Ivan had already come back to him.

A tongue drifts to the right side of his bottom lip— Till winces. But as soon as he does, Till can’t stop a small smile already forming there. All because Till knows what exactly has been missing. The feeling of something against his lips, its overall presence, occasional pressure. The clear unease he felt whenever he kissed someone, as if it was somehow conditioned to bring pain.

Ivan’s one and only fang.

And the idiot is self-conscious of it, Till thinks with a sigh, his hand twitching to poke it again. Still, to even dream about kissing… Till flushes anew with a new batch of fresh memories. Is this because they were also kissing before falling asleep? Why the hell would he spend so much time kissing Ivan and then— then dream of more?!

A buzz cuts through the silence, followed by another one. Till lets out a silent scream. He is clearly not cut out for jump scares; what was he thinking, agreeing to Ivan’s movie proposition? Now he’s going to walk on eggshells for a few days before his own shadow stops scaring him… Not that anyone needs to know that.

Thankfully, they’ve slept more on Till’s side than Ivan’s. He manages to reach for the phone that buzzed a few extra times without completely breaking away from Ivan’s grasp. As expected, Lara’s name pops up on the lock screen. Not many people would spam-message Till, but the girl is certainly up there.

>> Till! Are you awake??

>> Okay probably not it’s still quite eatly for you

>> Call me when you are able to alright? I have a proposition for you. Nothing related to the gigs

Till sighs. After the stunt he pulled in October, not only had he paused his music career, but also avoided that one pub for longer than he probably should have. But could anyone blame him, after having a sudden mental breakdown and acting crazed in front of oblivious people? Lara clearly didn’t. She stayed with the version of Till’s awful mental health and didn’t ask too much, because what would Till even say if she did? That he spent his first life on some alien planet as a slave pet for entertainment, making his bitter end as an angry, grieving man fighting with the rebellion, coincidentally recalling it all while singing together with a crappy Ivan doppelganger in a bar?

Joke’s on him.

>> My old friend came over for a coffee. He saw that landscape painting you made for me recently!!1!

Till blinks, his attention caught. Ivan’s arm falls on his lap as he sits, locked on the messages.

>> He really, REEEALLY wants to have something similar but bigger. I will give him your number if you’re interested, I know you’ve been working your ass off recently

>> But Till, just between us, he’s a surgeon. He has money you clearly don’t…

“Shut up,” Till hisses.

>> … so just do it, okay?? he has enough for a large tip. Call me!

Till stares blankly at the messages, all of them processed thrice before the realization hits him. Some rich guy is… interested in his art? Will Till’s signature end up in some sort of penthouse where his other rich friends would see it? Should he just straight up charge him more??

It will definitely put him in a better financial position… He will be able to fight Ivan if he insists on paying for everything or travel more often when Ivan is busy. Even if for a while.

Till is so thrilled by the idea that it takes him a few seconds to notice the movement behind him. But then a hand on his lap shifts, and Till forgets about the phone entirely. Still in high spirits, he turns around to find Ivan’s dazed eyes already staring back at him, dark hair splayed all over the pillow they shared.

“Till,” Ivan says rather than asks, his magnetic voice groggy first thing in the morning. He’s unreadable, perhaps half asleep, but Till wonders if Ivan woke up thinking he was alone. Did Till make that face when he reawakened from the nap on the night they met, fearing that Ivan had disappeared?

Sharing a bed with Ivan is a crazy hazard. Till’s heart gallops just from staring at him, seeing clear wrinkles on the t-shirt where he was previously resting for the entire night. He will be able to travel more.

“Good morning,” Till offers with a bashful smile.

⋆

『 The dawn is fire bright

Against the city lights

The clouds are glowing now

The moon is blacking out, it's blacking out

So I've been keeping my mind wide open

I've been keeping my mind wide open, yeah 』

⋆

“Good morning.”

Ivan stares at the beautiful smile his God graced him with the moment black eyes cracked open. The sight takes away the air from his lungs, and if Ivan didn’t promise himself that he’d never leave Till again, he would draw the last breath and die.

The universe exists around and within Till. It shows in the sunlight escaping through roller blinds, its rays gently engulfing the side of him directly exposed to the window. His leg is warm against Ivan’s, probably just as the skin above the duvet they’re both under. Ivan has always marveled at the vivid life Till’s body could hold, so honest and expressive.

How did he end up being the one on the receiving end of this virtue? To cause those cheeks to flush, to swim in the ocean that is Till’s eyes sparkling with the light of the day, seeing Ivan and no one else, as if he were its lone sailor? While his love hovers above him, the big t-shirt is close to falling off one shoulder as it shifted with the movement, the marks Ivan left on the neck and lower springing to life. Silver hair sticks out to one side like a spiky cloud, and those lips Ivan never thought he would be able to taste one more time don’t waver under the kind, shy smile. Fulfilling Ivan’s selfish wish of having Till next to him in the mornings, of being the only one devoted to this sight.

As Ivan smiles back, only to see teal eyes dart away for a moment and for the flush to deepen, he wonders if a God different than Till exists for him to have tasted this moment. Ivan lifts his hand, and when it makes contact behind Till’s adorable mess of hair, it clicks. Perhaps it’s still too good to be true, but one day Ivan will be able to accept standing in this shining light, together with the man he has always loved. To know that he has managed to reach him, that he’s seen in the beautiful aquamarine now gazing at him with a gentle gleam.

The kiss Ivan leaves on Till’s lips lingers.

“Good morning,” he whispers against them.

He is home.

『 With my eyes wide open

I've got my eyes wide open

I've been keeping my hopes unbroken

Ooh, your love is a symphony

All around me

Running through me

Ooh, your love is a melody

Underneath me

Running to me

Your love is a song, yeah, yeah

Your love is my remedy

Oh, your love is a song 』