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Ivan’s never kissed anyone before. That’s the first thing Till hears when he refocuses on his surroundings, lost in the vestiges of his daydream. It sounds like a lie, really, coming from the number one candidate for sunset rooftop confessions—even Hyuna looks surprised, her eyes wide, teeth clenched around the stick of her lollipop.
“That sounds like a lie,” she says, echoing Till’s train of thought. Her… friends? Personal security? The two guys who flank her most of the time—Till’s forgotten their names, Jock One and Jock Two, something like that—they nod in unison, eyebrows raised.
“It’s not a lie.” Sua is uninterested in the conversation, twirling a strand of Mizi’s hair between her fingers, but she speaks up like an unwilling victim of peer pressure. “Why would Ivan lie? He’s never lied in his entire life.”
Till blinks. What an out-of-character sentence, coming from Sua. Ivan nods, solemn, his eyes flitting between Sua and Till. “It’s true. My lips are virginal.”
“Okay…?” Till says, taken aback by the random discussion developing around him. Hyuna and her gang aren't even in his class. He didn’t notice the teacher leaving the classroom. Is it lunch break already? He glances down at the half-finished melody scribbled in between his english notes. There’s a carton of coffee milk—his usual lunchtime drink of choice—that wasn’t there before on the corner of his desk, condensation running down its sides.
“Some people like that kind of thing, right?” Mizi says, her head resting on Sua’s. “Being each other’s first kiss… how romantic. Have you kissed anyone before, Till?”
Till thinks about it. He’s not sure if it counts, given the situation, but he’s not sharing the details with Mizi, anyways. “I guess?” He scratches the back of his head with his pen.
“That sounds like an even bigger lie.” Hyuna shakes her head. Her muscular posse of knuckleheads murmur in agreement.
Mizi looks startled. Her eyes are wide behind her glasses, her knuckles white on Sua’s thigh. “You—you have?”
Sua makes a little noise, choked in the back of her throat. “I don’t think it’s a lie.” She sounds weirdly delighted. “Why would Till lie? Right, Ivan?”
Ivan laughs. It’s got a strange rhythm to it, a two-syllable thing, low and raspy. Ha, pause, ha. Till’s never really heard that kinda laugh from Ivan before. He lifts his head to study Ivan’s tight smile, his lips pressed thin. Ivan doesn’t look happy—actually, he looks a little disbelieving—which, okay, fuck him for not believing Till. “Till’s very honest,” Ivan says, a dangerous lilt to his voice, like that time he convinced Till to skip class, balanced on Sua’s stolen bicycle, her lock dangling from his index finger, although he looks pissed now, a barely there furrow between his eyebrows.
“What’re you acting pissed for?” Till demands.
The furrow between Ivan’s eyebrows smooths out immediately. He turns his face away, his expression settling back into his usual pleasant indifference. Weirdo.
“I’m not,” Ivan says, pitched perfectly even, but his fingers are drumming on the front of Till’s desk instead of the usual faint contact on Till’s elbow or whatever. It’s a little unnerving. Not that Till cares whether Ivan’s being touchy or not.
“I’m sick of you both,” Sua says, unprovoked, with all the chilling hostility of an affronted high-school girl. Mizi shrugs, offering an apologetic grin when Till swivels his head to glare at her girlfriend, but she doesn’t say anything. Sua flounces off without another word, Mizi getting up to trail after her, a loving hand on Sua’s back. Strangely enough, Ivan follows. He steals Till’s drink too, swiping the carton smoothly, leaving only a rectangle of damp wood behind. Asshole.
“What’s up with him?” Till asks Hyuna.
Hyuna cracks her lollipop between her teeth and studies Till’s face. “This isn’t looking good for our pooled resources, fellas.”
“You gotta open your eyes, man,” Jock One—the blonde one, with the dimples—says. He’s frowning at Till, hands on his waist.
“What?”
Jock Two shakes his head. He scratches at the scar on his cheek. “I’ve already counted my losses.”
“What the hell are you guys talking about?” Till’s lost, but it’s nothing new. Conversations like these are always difficult to follow, especially without Ivan summarizing all of it at the end.
Hyuna sighs.
“It’s over, boys,” she says.
Ivan doesn’t talk to him after that.
Till has the strange feeling that Ivan’s mad about something—but Till doesn’t know what and it feels too awkward to ask. Ivan sidles back into the classroom post-lunch break right before the bell rings, settling into his seat in front of Till without saying anything.
It’s a little weird. Till can count the number of times he’s spent his lunch break alone with one hand. Most of the time Ivan’s there, sitting with his knee tucked a little too close to Till’s, radiating warmth like a space heater. Till chews on his knuckle, fiddling with his pen. It skids across his notebook, a wriggly line across all the half-copied math equations. Will Ivan still lend him his notes, after this? Till taps his foot, unsure about the whole thing.
His suspicions turn out to be correct when the bell rings and Ivan shoves everything into his bag, turning to leave without subjecting Till to his usual harassing spiel. Suddenly, this all feels very precarious. Till’s never really seen Ivan’s temper rear its head like this. Not towards him anyways.
Till grabs Ivan by the wrist before he can run off. Ivan’s side-profile is sharp and annoyingly handsome even when he’s being a broody little bitch.
“What’s up with you?” Till asks, before Ivan can open his big mouth.
Ivan has the gall to look surprised. Till’s had years to learn how to read the intricacies of Ivan’s expressions—every minute twitch, every miniscule angle contributing to the microcosm of Ivan’s countenance—and that’s what it looks like, right now: the slight raise of his eyebrows; the lopsided crook of his mouth; the slow, steady blink.
“Me?” Ivan answers at last. He blinks and the surprise is gone, Ivan’s face smoothing back into his usual bland pleasantry. “Nothing’s up.” Ivan offers up a smile. It looks like the one he usually gives their classmates—bored, indifferent, apathetic. Annoyance crawls up Till’s spine at being subjected to that stupid smile, but it dissipates into a strange tickling awkwardness faster than he’d like.
“...are you gonna lend me your notes?” Till asks. He really doesn’t know what to say when Ivan doesn’t give him anything to latch onto. The awkward feeling seeps into his gut, churning it into a mild anxiety.
Ivan looks at him: a fleeting, dark-eyed glance. “...tomorrow, sure.”
“Wanna come over?” Till mumbles. His fingers feel damp on Ivan’s sleeve. “We can order takeout or whatever.”
The brief silence feels like it lasts for a decade. Till chews on his lip, uncomfortable. Finally, Ivan huffs out a laugh—his normal laugh, the usual quiet chuckle with the shaking shoulders. “Can’t,” he says, but he’s looking at Till again, at least. “Cram school today.”
“Oh,” Till says, still chewing on his lip. “Okay.”
Ivan reaches for him. Till freezes, staying still, but he just thumbs over Till’s lip where the indents from Till’s teeth are. “I’m not mad at you,” Ivan clarifies for no reason at all.
Till scowls, slapping Ivan’s hand away. “I didn’t say you were!”
Ivan laughs a second time. Till’s shoulders relax. He didn't realize how tense they were.
“See you tomorrow, Till,” Ivan says. His fingers brush along the length of Till’s arm. Everything that was off-kilter before feels normal again.
“Whatever,” Till mutters, turning away.
Ivan smiles, before turning to leave. “Can’t stay mad at you,” he says. It’s a quiet mumble, more to himself than to anyone else. Till hears it beneath the squeak of Ivan’s sneakers against the polished wood floors. He frowns down at his own shoes. Why the hell was Ivan mad at him in the first place?
…whatever. Till starts clearing his own desk, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t really care what Ivan thinks about him, anyways.
Ivan goes back to normal the next morning.
He falls into pace next to Till on the way to school, like usual. His arm drapes over Till’s shoulders, heavy as hell, like usual. He pinches Till’s cheek when Till frowns at him, like usual.
“Miss me?”
“As if,” Till mutters. Ivan’s palm curls around Till’s throat, warm. Feeling for a pulse or whatever freaky shit Ivan likes to do. Till slaps his hand away, but the arm around his shoulders stay. It’s winter, and Ivan is warm. It’s not as if Till likes Ivan clinging onto him at any given opportunity—he’s just used to it. Yeah, that’s it.
“Did you think about me, at least?” Ivan pushes, his smile wide and unwavering. “I organized my cram school notes for you too, you know. You should thank me for saving your grades.”
Annoyance hits Till like a migraine. Why was he even worried about Ivan yesterday? Clearly he’s fine if he can still be so annoying this early in the morning. Also, Ivan’s talking too close to his ear—though his voice isn’t loud enough to bother Till too much. Till can feel every breath he takes, warm against Till’s earlobe. The rasp in Ivan’s morning-voice sounds better than his usual pitched polite drawl.
“You’re so annoying,” Till snaps. Ivan’s weight on his shoulders makes it such a chore to walk. He seems to pick up on it, and on Till’s irritable mood, because he drops his arm to Till’s waist instead.
“Is that any way to talk to your childhood friend?”
“I wouldn’t call us friends,” Till grumbles. He doesn’t like the cold. Good thing Ivan’s so warm.
Ivan seems to accept it easily. His arm tightens around Till’s waist, just a little, before relaxing again.
“I wouldn’t call us friends either,” Ivan says.
“You know, Till,” Mizi starts the conversation casually, twiddling her thumbs together, “I think of you as my friend.”
If Till had heard this a year ago, he would’ve had a heart attack. Even now, knowing that Mizi has no interest in guys and with Sua glaring at him from across the room, he still feels himself flush a little when Mizi stares at him with her big, earnest eyes. Although, it seems a little suspicious for Mizi to have singled him out to talk like this. Usually they only hung out in group settings. Unfortunately, she’s always been more of Ivan’s friend than Till’s.
“Thank you?” Till tries to smile.
“Friends tell each other things, right?” Mizi sparkles at him. At the rate she’s going, Till’s going to need an optometrist before the end of the conversation.
“Sure…?”
“Who was your first kiss?” The question is rushed, blurted out in poorly concealed excitement. Till sometimes forgets about Mizi’s love of knowing things, as she calls it—to put it plainly, it’s just gossip.
“Um,” Till says, weighing the question in his head. He wishes he has the mental fortitude to consider not answering, but it’s Mizi. What if she sighed and looked disappointed? He would be a dead man—judging from the wide-eyed stare Sua is pinning him with. “Well. I guess I can tell you. It was Ivan. When we were kids.”
The embarrassment of it all only reaches him half a beat later. Till curls in on himself, gritting his teeth. Mizi doesn’t say anything. Maybe she’s cringing in silence.
Silence.
More silence.
Till chances a glance, still half-curled over his desk. “Mizi…?”
Her mouth is open. Mizi’s mouth is open and her eyes are wide. From across the room, Sua frowns and stands up. Till’s life is in danger, maybe.
“Oh my god,” Mizi says. Her voice is barely a whisper. “Oh. Oh my god.”
“What?” Sua demands, tucking herself under Mizi’s slack arm.
“I—” Mizi stammers. Sua looks increasingly concerned. Her terrifying purple eyes are like a knife against Till’s throat. “I—I can’t stand them!”
Till blinks. Again, unprovoked. High-school girls are so hard to understand. “What did I do?”
Mizi hides her wail against Sua’s shoulder. Sua sighs, tired and world-weary. “They’re beyond saving, Mizi.” Mizi chokes back what sounds like a sob. They turn to leave Till there, sitting at his desk, bewildered.
“Wait—what’s going on?” Till asks.
Sua turns to him. There’s an icy derision in her eyes that makes him shrink back, intimidated. “Ivan’s in love with you.” Mizi sniffles, nodding. “God knows why,” Sua mutters under her breath, unkindly. Then they leave, for real this time, arm in lesbian arm, leaving Till to stew in his newfound knowledge.
“You’re in love with me?!”
“I was your first kiss?!”
“I’m going first,” Till shoves Ivan’s face away. “You’re in love with me? Why?!”
“Well,” Ivan says. “We’ll be here all day if you want me to answer that question seriously.” Asshole. Always giving Till these annoying non-answers. “My turn. How was I your first kiss?”
“You asked me for one!” Till’s voice is tight. Did it not count? Was Till the only one dumb enough to think of it as a first kiss? “On your adoption day, or whatever.” Till still remembers it. Ivan had annoyed him into it—same as everything else—and Till had pecked him very briefly on the mouth after Ivan asked Till’s asshole dad very seriously for permission. His dad made fun of him for years after the whole thing—there was video proof and everything.
“You said it didn’t count.” Ivan sounds defensive.
“I didn’t mean it!”
“You were crying when you said it.”
“No I wasn’t.” Now it’s Till’s turn to sound defensive. “Plus, I was a kid. Kids never mean what they say.”
“I always mean what I say.”
Till rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and you—” Suddenly, an unbidden memory: Ivan at five years old, tucking a wrinkled flower behind Till’s ear. I wanna marry you, Till, baby-Ivan lisps, with his baby animal cuteness, one of his front teeth missing. “SINCE YOU WERE FIVE?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You—” Till stammers. “Are you insane?”
“For you.” It sounds like some shitty pick-up line, except Ivan’s not even smiling. He rubs his thumb against Till’s sweaty palm, like they’re having some casual every-day type conversation that doesn’t concern Ivan’s supposed—romantic feelings? How’s that even possible?—for Till since he was a child.
“You’re crazy,” Till says. His voice comes out weak and whispery. Ivan just looks at him, eyes narrowed—oh, that’s his serious expression. He’s really being serious.
“Till,” Ivan says.
“Be quiet.” Till closes his fingers around Ivan’s thumb. “Is this why Sua and Mizi have been so mad?”
“I don’t know. Probably.”
“Okay.”
“…okay.”
A moment of silence. Then Ivan opens his mouth again. “Listen, Till, this doesn’t have to change things, right? We can still be—” he pauses. I wouldn’t call you my friend, Till’s own voice echoes in his head. Till blinks, choking back the lump in his throat. “We can still be us.”
“...yeah,” Till chokes out. “I guess.”
Ivan sighs. He sounds relieved. Till wouldn’t know. Does—did Till even know anything about him?
“That’s good. I—” Ivan’s voice stumbles. Stops. “Why are you crying?”
Till tries to wrench off Ivan’s thumb. Ivan hisses, but he stays there. Stays still, pressed close to Till, thumb pressing into Till’s palm. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “I hate you,” Till says, and it comes out in a loud sob.
“I—I know?” Ivan sounds mystified.
“You’re so annoying,” Till sobs. “I can’t stand you!”
“Kicking a man while he’s down,” Ivan mutters.
“Kiss me,” Till demands. He wipes his snotty nose on the back of Ivan’s hand. Ivan doesn’t pull his hand back. He just lets Till do it, still and frozen. Gross bastard.
“...what?” Ivan says, after a long while.
Till kicks him in the knee. “Kiss. Me.”
Ivan’s grip on Till’s hand tightens. Even through the film of tears, Till can see the red of Ivan’s ears. “Okay,” he says, terribly quiet. Ivan sounds like he’s ecstatic. Like a starving man put in front of a warm meal. The rasp of his voice makes Till feel warm. And then they redo their first kiss.
“Bet’s off,” Hyuna says. “Congrats, though. Glad I didn’t lose the money, actually.”
“I would have won,” Sua says. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“I’m so happy for you,” Mizi says, regaining her usual shine, politely not mentioning the betting pool. Ivan smiles at her. Till can barely look her in the eye.
“Y’know, if Sua hadn’t said anything, I would’ve sicced Luka on you guys.” Hyuna sounds thoughtful. “Wonder how that would’ve turned out.”
“I would’ve killed him,” Ivan says, smiling. It doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s being serious, Till knows.
Hyuna shrugs. “Oh, well. Wouldn’t have complained.”
Till feels so mortified he might throw up. He doesn’t hate it, though. In fact, Ivan’s hand is very warm.