melilots
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“If you’d have called me asking for help,” Till says, slowly, carefully, “I wouldn’t have picked up.”
He sees, and is somewhat startled by, the impact of his words. Ivan sways on his feet almost imperceptibly, and in his eyes there is the smallest sliver of passion. Of hatred. Then Till watches Ivan piece himself back together, indifferent and efficient as always.
“That’s the difference between you and me,” Ivan says with vindictive superiority. “I never would have called.”
ivantill breakup au
Bookmarked by melilots
04 Apr 2025
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“Hey, Ivan,” he croaks. “Can you hear me?”
Bookmarked by melilots
22 Feb 2025
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He stops, eyes widening as he takes in Ivan’s form standing in front of the big mirror. At his voice, his boyfriend turns around with a small flourish. The white jacket swishes around Ivan’s legs and his hair is pushed back and he looks like a dazzling bride clad in white and Till feels——
“Well, what do you think?”
—ill.
Bookmarked by melilots
20 Feb 2025
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This must be how gods are killed, Ivan thinks. Out of too much adoration. Out of sacrifice.
Series
Bookmarked by melilots
20 Feb 2025
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He teaches himself the frets, the cowboy chords, the triads.
He learns songs from the human texts that were unadulterated by the Segyein.
He has no mother or father or history to learn, but the weight of the guitar’s neck cradled in his hands takes away the stinging of the staples in his face and the black spike of rage in his heart.
Or
Till in vignettes.
Bookmarked by melilots
19 Feb 2025