Chapter Text
Till woke up stiff. His back ached, his arm tingled like pins and needles, and there was something warm pressed against his side. It took him a few groggy blinks to realize why.
Ivan.
Ivan was still asleep next to him, completely out, hair sticking up like he’d lost a fight with a pillow, one arm loosely draped across Till’s middle. And Till, oh god, Till was cuddling with him. Like, not the casual brush of limbs that happened when two people accidentally fell asleep too close on the couch. No. Full, unashamed cuddling. Even their legs were tangled.
He froze, heart stuttering. His brain screamed get out get out get out and somehow he managed to untangle himself, crawling away like a man escaping a crime scene.
He slipped out from under Ivan’s arm and staggered into the kitchen, face on fire.
He needed to do something normal. Something grounding.
Something like breakfast.
So he grabbed eggs. Oil. Pan. Familiar motions. Except his hands wouldn’t steady. He kept glancing over his shoulder at the bedroom door, replaying last night, the museum, the art, the assignment,, the laughter, the way it had all somehow led to them curled up together.
How Ivan had listened to him all throughout it, never not watching him with his big, black, annoying eyes.
How, at the middle of the night, with his mind in another plane of existence, his fingers brushed against Ivan stupid pale back.
His attractive, toned, oddly familiar back, that had put till in a full-on trance.
Wait-
No.
Oh no.
It hit him hard. Not a flutter. Not the dumb high school crushes he’d had before. Not like the idolisation he once thought was love.
No. No, this was heavier. Realer. The kind of realization that smacked you in the chest like a train.
He liked Ivan.
HE LIKED IVAN!?
Not just the way everyone liked Ivan, because who didn’t think he was attractive, with that stupid smile and those broad shoulders? No, this was worse. He actually liked liked him. God, what was he? A teenage girl with a celebrity crush?
“Oh, shit. Oh fuck” Till muttered, gripping the spatula too hard. “Shit. Fuck. No. No, no, no.”
His chest felt tight. It was like staring at a canvas too long, realizing the messy, chaotic strokes actually formed something beautiful when you stepped back.
Ivan was color on a page, the kind that bled through everything, seeping into Till’s careful outlines. He’d thought it was just smudges, accidents. But no, Ivan was the whole freaking painting. Apparently.
Till groaned and buried his face in his hands, spatula still in one.
He thought back.
To high school, when they’d barely known each other. The petty fight in gym that landed them in the principal’s office. Ivan smirking at him in detention, refusing to shut up.
From then on, it was like Ivan had made it his life’s mission to annoy him, constant teasing, flirting, jabs that were somehow more affectionate than cruel.
And then there was Valentine’s Day.
Half the school had basically thrown themselves at Ivan, showering him with candy and notes, and Till had rolled his eyes so hard he thought they’d get stuck. He’d pretended not to care.
Now here he was, burning an omelet while realizing he cared way too much.
This was bad. This was really bad.
He heard a door opening.
“Morning,” Ivan’s voice drawled, groggy but amused, as he shuffled into the kitchen.
Till nearly dropped the pan. “You- you’re up.”
“Sharp as ever” Ivan teased, flopping into a chair. His hair was a disaster, his grin lazy, and somehow that made it worse.
He pointed at the stove. “Is that… breakfast? For me? You’re spoiling me, Tilly.”
Till muttered something incoherent and slid the plate onto the table. He sat too, stiff as a statue, stabbing at his own food like it had personally offended him.
Several moments passed and Till hadn’t said a single word.
Ivan raised an eyebrow. “You’re quiet. That’s new.”
“Just- eating,” Till mumbled, eyes glued to his fork. His mind was spiraling.
Sexuality crisis, emotional crisis, everything crisis.
Ivan adjusted himself in his seat, eyes wandering around like he was searching for something.
So when Ivan leaned forward, reaching behind him, Till’s frazzled brain short-circuited. Ivan was close, too close, and Till, in his panic, thought, he’s going to kiss me.
So, doing the most logical thing, he kissed him first.
A clumsy, awkward peck. Quick. Desperate? Maybe. But for sure plain stupid.
Because a second later, Ivan leaned back holding… holding his shirt. The one that was draped over Till’s chair.
Behind Till.
…
Ivan had reached for his fucking shirt.
Time stopped. Till’s stomach plummeted. His brain screamed louder than fire alarms.
Ivan blinked, wide-eyed, clearly confused.
Till’s face went nuclear.
“Oh my god. OH my GOD.” He shot out of his seat like a rocket, nearly knocking over the chair.
“Till-” Ivan started.
But Till was already bolting for the door, grabbing the nearest shoes, flip-flops, because of course, and running out of his own apartment.
Down the hall, heart in his throat, mind a blur of what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.
By the time he hit the stairs, he realized he was still in pajama pants. And flip-flops. At 9 a.m.
“Just kill me,” he groaned, clapping a hand over his face as he fled.
The next few days were torture.
Till avoided Ivan like his life depended on it. He switched routes on campus. He ducked behind vending machines. He even once hid in the library bathroom for twenty minutes, listening for footsteps.
Meanwhile, his phone buzzed nonstop. Ivan: You good? Ivan: Can we talk? Ivan: Seriously, what was that? Ivan: Didn’t hate it, if that’s what you’re worried about. Ivan: Till. Answer me.
After the tenth message, Till silenced notifications, shoving his phone in a drawer like it was a bomb.
And the guilt festered. He was failing at finishing their assignment, failing at being a decent friend, failing at… whatever this was.
For the first time in his life, he was almost okay with flunking something art-related, just so he wouldn’t have to face Ivan.
It came to a head after his art class one afternoon.
Till slipped out quickly, head down, hoping to vanish before Ivan spotted him. But fate hated him.
He almost had reached his apartment when he heard it.
“Till!”
He froze. Ivan was jogging down the hall, determination in every step. Till spun toward his apartment, fumbling with his keys like his life depended on it.
“Wait-” Ivan caught his arm.
“Nope! Not happening!” Till snapped, jamming the key at the lock and missing. “Go away!”
“Till, just listen-"
“Shut up!” Till barked, panic rising. “Just- shut up!”
"Won’t you just listen to me?!"
"Nope!"
That’s when Ivan grabbed him, and hastily spun him around to face him.
And that’s when Ivan grabbed his face.
Firm, steady, tilting it up so Till had no choice but to look at him. His eyes were steady, his voice prominent. “Just let me talk!”
Then he kissed him.
The first thing Till thought was Well, this is nothing like the first kiss.
This was heat and teeth and desperate collisions, the kind of kiss that stole the air from Till’s lungs.
He stiffened at first, overwhelmed, but then his body betrayed him.
His fists gripped Ivan’s shirt, dragging him closer, melting against the apartment door as if he’d been waiting for forever.
Maybe he had.
Ivan pressed forward, pinning him, kissing like he meant it. Like he’d wanted to for years.
Till’s mind went blank, drowned out by sensation, the scrape of teeth, the heat of lips, the way Ivan’s breath mixed with his.
Hm, Ivan did taste like candy.
They broke apart for a moment, gasping. Ivan’s forehead rested against his for a moment, both of them trying to hide their smiles like idiots, totally breathless.
Till’s chest ached. He’d never felt so… so much. After this, he could confidently say that he’d never felt at all before.
They took a moment to catch their breaths, and till pulled away, and slowly gestured for them to go inside his apartment. Ivan simply nodded.
Inside, under the dim yellow glow of his apartment, they sat on the couch. Silence hung heavy until Ivan spoke.
“You know,” he said softly, “I’ve liked you for a long time”
Till’s heart flipped. “Don’t- don’t joke about that.”
“I’m not joking.” Ivan’s eyes were steady. “It started in high school. Second day of detention.”
Till frowned, confused. “What? That’s- random.” And so far back, but he didn’t say that out loud.
“I had football practice. Couldn’t miss it. Begged the teacher to let me go, but she wasn’t budging.” Ivan smiled faintly at the memory. “And then you- you made a scene. Knocked over a chair, argued with her until she was too distracted to notice me slipping out of the classroom.”
Till blinked. “I… barely remember that.”
“I do” Ivan said. “I asked you later why you did it. You just shrugged and said, ‘You looked like you needed help. Plus, she was being a jerk.’”
Silence. Till’s throat tightened.
“That’s when it started,” Ivan admitted. “That’s when I started...”
Till stared at him, struggling to breathe. He wanted to laugh it off, to call it stupid, but the words stuck in his chest. His eyes burned. His whole body felt like a canvas finally painted in the right colors.
“…You’re so dumb,” he muttered.
Ivan grinned. “Yeah. Dumb for you.”
Till snorted, wiping at his face. He leaned forward, putting his head on Ivans shoulder.
The atmosphere had calmed down, and it all felt softer, more real.
So… what now?
“What do we do?” Till whispered, looking right at Ivan.
Ivan grinned at him. “How about we finish that assignment?”
Till snorted, breathless, tugging him closer. “Shut up.”
And he kissed him again.