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From the very start, Till couldn’t understand Ivan.
He didn’t understand the way he did things, his thought process, why he did the things he did.
He often found himself in compromising positions with Ivan, at the expense of himself. As they grew up together, in a small town neighboring a rural village High School, Till wondered if they’d ever be apart. He also often wondered why Ivan would get so emotional on his behalf.
Till was an unlucky person. Like, a comically unlucky and clumsy person. It was like everywhere he went, something was falling. Whether it was his glass on the table, or his own two feet causing his body to come staggering down. Bloodied knees and scraped elbows weren’t uncommon… on both of them. Mainly from Till falling, and Ivan catching him. The bandages were plentiful, scars and scratches lacing Till’s face while Ivan bled from the tips of his elbows to the edges of his knees after dropping into a nose dive to make sure Till didn’t hit his head on the way down.
“How’s the weather down there…?”
;But they could both answer the question because they were simultaneously a pile of limbs on the hard floor.
Of course the weather was fine, though Ivan wasn’t sure why he was hot all of a sudden. Beads of sweat were dripping down his forehead, his cheeks felt an odd warmth. Their eyes are locked, Till’s wide and green like the grass freshly watered on a summer day, like rolling hills, like trees rustling outside the cafe window.
He’s looking at him, no, he’s staring. His gaze is unwavering and unmorphing, and it’s the same gaze Ivan always saw when they fell together, a small tinge of pain in Ivan’s palms but a sense of relief from the back of his throat. But now Till was staring at him and he was sweating, not sure why. Not sure why the sweat was dripping all the way down his chin, landing a droplet across the edge of Till’s waterline.
Till flinches at the sudden motion between the stillness of their bodies, eyes creasing.
“Gross,” he utters out with a funny look on his face, the kind he often made exaggerated, but Ivan always found funny. But it’s not funny right now, it’s endearing and Ivan’s heart is racing and he’s not sure why he’s sweating so much.
Why was it so hot in here? Did someone forget to turn on the A/C?
Ivan’s eyes shift from where they were hovering over Till’s, glazing over the counter space of the bakery and tables lining the walls, but nobody’s to be found. He almost wants to call out to the kitchen in hopes someone would hear him and crank up the air. It must be criminal to let your customers suffer so...
Ivan is muttering something about the heat, but it goes unnoticed by Till who’s fingertips twitch across the cold linoleum floor, an itch of annoyance lacing his tone, “Can you get off me? It’s cold in here.”
Cold? How could he be cold?
Ivan blinks at the absurdity of his words, sweat dripping down his face as Till is cringing over the shivers lacing his spine.
How could he be cold when Ivan was dying of the heat?
“Hey man, are you like, sick?” Till suddenly asks after Ivan doesn’t move per his request, to which Ivan continues his slow blinking at him.
His cheeks do feel rather warm. No… they felt hot. His cheeks are burning hot and his palms are sweaty and he wasn’t sweating before, so why was he now? Was he actually sick? In the middle of the summer? How could he haven been so unlucky to have gotten sick in the summer?
If anything, he’d have to blame Till for his streak of newfound bad luck, since the other was responsible for such trivial matters. The evidence being, them still laying on the floor after Till slipped on their way in, not noticing the wet floor sign.
Maybe that was it, the floor was wet and so the back of Till’s shirt was now wet meaning… of course he’d be cold. But Ivan was warm, because of his body heat. That made sense, didn’t it?
But while Ivan’s mind is racing with different combinations of this and why or that and how, Till is just gazing into the glazed, confused look in his eyes with a sense of fondness, fingertips twitching as his hand crawls up to cradle his face. He truly would never understand Ivan’s thought process, what was going on in that crazed mind of his.
“I think you’re running a fever. Look at how warm you are,” Till mutters softly among Ivan’s stream of thoughts, his touch making him tense as he snaps back to the present. He’s tensing up, because he’s not used to Till touching him. Usually it’s the other way around, Ivan’s hand finding its way into Till’s as he yanks him out of oncoming traffic, his hand cradling the back of his head as they fall so he doesn’t smack it against the ground… so on… God, he was a handful, wasn’t he?
Ivan feels his body relax as Till’s fingers brush against his cheek, trailing up to press against his forehead. He allows his eyes to close, melting into his touch because maybe he’d let himself have this. Maybe he’d let Till baby him just a little bit, if it meant he could have someone take care of him while he was sick. That’s what friends did for each other anyways, right?
“I think you’re right,” Ivan exhales deeply, suddenly feeling sleepy off of Till’s gentle touch, and he’s stupid enough to believe the sensation is from him being sick.
“Maybe we should head back, I might need to lay down—“
Ivan’s eyes blink open slowly, something wet trickling down from his nose. Till’s eyes widen as spots of red start to dot his face, Ivan’s mouth popping open in shock as he realizes what’s happening.
“Oh my god— Sorry, I—“
He leans back on his palms to ease the blood pouring from his nose onto Till’s face, but winds up in a rather compromising position. Like Till had once said, he always ended up in compromising positions with Ivan… like how Ivan’s was currently sitting on his lap while holding his nose, blood dripping between his fingers.
Till’s cheeks grow warm, but he’s lost in the why because all he can focus on right now is that Ivan’s sick, and now he’s bleeding all over their school uniforms.
“Hey, hey, lean your head back,” Till tries to sit up as he reaches out to tilt Ivan’s head back by his chin, but his fingers fall short and he can barely move from the crushing pressure on his lap.
“You’re so fucking heavy,” Till finds himself scolding the sick person and doesn’t feel bad whatsoever.
“Can you move?” he finishes the thought, the annoyance so profound even someone as dumb as bricks known as Ivan Mcgee, would understand.
Except he was dumber than usual today, being sick and all. (Sick in the head).
“Huh?” Ivan mumbles over his bleeding nose, eyes dilated more than usual and Till is resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and kick him square in the chest to get him off. He couldn’t do that to a sick person. What would his mom say?
“Get off me,” he grits out between the teeth he’s painfully clenching, “You’re crushing my thighs.”
“Oh,” Ivan mutters nonsensically, finally rising off Till’s lap but rising to his knees. Till doesn’t move for a minute, staring at Ivan fumbling with the napkin he shoved in his pocket earlier to dab at his nose. He finds himself exhaling heavily, taking Ivan’s free hand in his as he helps him up.
“Let’s just go home. You shouldn’t eat sweets when you’re sick,” Till clicks his tongue, like he’s Ivan’s granny scolding him for not taking better care of his health. He leads him by the hand back out the bakery glass doors, bell jingling behind them to signal a customer. His hand is warm in his embrace and he feels his heart clench in his chest. Ivan glances over their shoulders, gazing somberly at the line of cakes.
But Till loves cake… he found himself mourning the thought that Till deprived himself of one of his life’s greatest joys just because Ivan had to become a dummy that got sick. But he doesn’t say anything, Till guiding him by the hand, his palms sweaty from the skinship but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“Thanks for walking me back,” Ivan finds himself saying amongst the sound of the sun glazing the ground and crickets singing to the heat. Till’s eyes shift over to Ivan’s as he stares down at the red spotted napkin, noticing the bleeding had stopped. His cheeks are still warm and sweat is sticking his shirt to his back, but he’s not as hot as he was on the bakery floor. Odd, because it’s rather hot outside.
Till huffs, eyes snapping to the crosswalk as it turns green and they start walking again. Till still hadn’t let go of his hand and it wasn’t like Ivan was going anywhere else… but it wasn’t like he was going to let go, either.
“Of course, man. Why would I leave a sick person to fend for themselves?” Till grumbles back at the annoyingly appreciative tone in Ivan’s voice, the type of tone he often heard from his childhood best friend.
For some reason, he was always grateful to Till. Even for the smallest things, like, “Thanks for hanging out with me every day.” Who else would he hang out with?? Was that really something to thank someone over? This is why Till could never understand Ivan’s thought process. Friends hung out, of course he’d hang out with him.
Idiot.
They walk a little further until they’re standing in front of Ivan’s family home, Ivan hesitantly letting go of the creases of Till’s palm and the edges of his fingertips. He’s looking at him longingly, like a lost kid without their parent and his mouth is parting like he’s about to say something but he just looks stupid.
“Why are you just standing there? Let’s go inside,” Till shoots him a weird look, snatching the keys from Ivan’s hand as he starts to unlock the front door. Ivan blinks at the motion, shocked that Till still wanted to come over. They had made plans to do so later, but it wasn’t like they could actually hang out now. He was sick, so they wouldn’t be able to play videos games or read comic books together. At best, Ivan would just sleep while Till sat on the couch bored out of his mind, staring at the ceiling. How could he let Till be bored like that?
“Aren’t you… Aren’t you going home ?” Ivan swallows around the hesitation in his voice, because he honestly doesn’t want Till to leave. But he can’t bare to ask him to stay. Till gives him another weird look like whatever he was blabbering was absurd as they step inside, kicking their shoes off.
“What do you mean?”
“Aren’t you going to get bored?” Ivan asks in the same tone of exasperation, following Tills footsteps into the nearby bedroom. He flips the switch on, illuminating the small bedside and desk corner.
He glances over his shoulder at Ivan who was itching weirdly in the doorway, like he was uncomfortable at the idea.
“What are you talking about? Of course I’m going to take care of you when you’re sick,” Till scoffs, walking over to the doorframe to grab Ivan’s hand, leading him over to his bed.
For some reason, Ivan can feel his heart starting to race again, the beat of it lacing down the veins of his arms and he hopes Till can’t feel it pulsing in the palms of his hands. But he doesn’t seem to notice, as his hand slips out of his grip, pushing Ivan down on the bed by his shoulders to sit. He points at the pillow, crossing his arms.
“Lay down and don’t get up!” he commands with frown that was deeper than Ivan would like, uncomfortable with the idea he was making Till worry. Till stares at him for a moment as Ivan gazes into his eyes wordlessly, and he suddenly flinches at the heat creeping onto his cheeks.
“U-Uh, ahem, I’ll make you some porridge,” Till announces suddenly, spinning on his heels to shake the helpless puppy gaze boring into the back of his head as he scurries off to the kitchen.
Ivan sighs at the sight of his retreating backside, gazing around his room. The window is slightly cracked open, a small heat lacing the edges of his room but it’s not too bothersome. He does feel rather lightheaded, but he wasn’t sure if he could still say he was running a fever. Maybe he wasn’t sick, after all? Maybe it was just the ridiculous temperature of that bakery, like they just cooked a batch of cookies and left the oven open to heat the store?
Whether he was sick or not, he was still sweating, so he stripped off the T-shirt he was wearing, tossing it to the corner of his room where his rows of bookshelves were lined against the wall.
He doesn’t move from there, too tired to move but too tired to not lay down.
“Hey, do you have any—“ Till mumbles thoughtlessly as he renters Ivan’s bedroom wearing his mothers lacy pink apron with little red hearts, Ivan instantly muffling a giggle.
Till cuts himself short, pointing a glare at him.
“What… why are you laughing?” he strains, physically holding himself back from punching the sick, bloodied nose teen in the face. He can practically feel himself shaking as the fist bawling by his side.
“Nothing, you look cute,” Ivan’s smiles, but it’s slyly and Till’s face is heating up in embarrassment and now he’s pissed off, because he was only wearing this apron so he could cook porridge as a favor, Goddammit! Stupid, ungrateful Ivan!
“Hey, you—!” Till’s face is beet red by now, voice cracking on his words as he realizes he doesn’t know what insult to come up with in his dry mouth, Ivan’s bed creaking as he gets up.
Suddenly, he’s walking over to Till, hands reaching behind his backside to untie the apron. Till flinches, the heat on his cheeks still evident in their close proximity.
“W-What are you doing? The apron doesn’t look that ridiculous—“
“I just remembered,” Ivan murmurs softly against Till’s ear, and it’s not intentional but Till can feel his breath hitch in his throat, “That your shirt got wet at the bakery. I can’t let you wear a wet shirt, you’ll get sick,” his murmur turns into a croaky whisper, like he didn’t have the energy to finish the sentence but strained it out anyways. He lets the apron fall open as he lets go of the strings, gently pulling it off Till’s lanky frame. But as he pulls at the edges of his shirt, Till shrieks and jumps back, banging his head off the edge of the bedroom door.
He slouches to his knees as he holds his trembling head, muttering curse words out of pain. Ivan crouches down to his level, lifting his chin to see if he hurt himself in the door. He wouldn’t let Till’s bad luck streak blame this one on him.
“Why’d you just do that?” Ivan asks softly, hand cradling through the hair near where Till just hit himself. His other hand reaches up to rub the forming tears out of his green eyes, the ones that looked like fields of grass amongst pretty flowers and roaming crickets around dew drops.
Till blinks around Ivan’s fingertips dabbing at his waterline, the pain subsiding in his skull. His eyes gaze at Ivan’s careful expression, heavy sigh slipping from his throat.
“You can’t just try to strip me naked all of a sudden—“ he scoffs, Ivan’s hands instantly dropping from his face as his expression grows horrified.
“What—~!” He finds himself squeaking, voice cracking on the last note as he scrambles back from where Till was crouched over. Till just simply gave him another weird look, something Ivan got accustomed to since they were kids.
“What—?”
“I would never do that to you!! Not without your consent!” Ivan shrieks, covering his burning red face with his hands, but not enough to cover his eyes so that he’s still peeking at Till between their spaces.
“Consent? Huh—?”
“I promise I’ve only ever thought about it! Like, maybe, once or twice in my dreams! I never thought to do it in real life! I just knew your shirt was wet and, and I didn’t want you to get sick, I swear!” Ivan cries, mouth slightly muffled by his hands but all Till can do is blink around his ramble of words and try to make sense with it, a baffled look on his face. His eyebrows are more furrowed than ever and at this point, he was worried he’d get wrinkles at the ripe age of sixteen.
“What exactly are you… Wait—Did you say in your dreams—“
“No—!” Ivan cuts him off, backing up further until he hits his bed and falls against the ground on his butt. His stupid, dumb mouth. Why was he telling on himself right now? Surely, the words he was rambling were making Till uncomfortable. So uncomfortable, he’d forget about making the porridge, just up and leave. And honestly, Ivan wouldn’t blame him.
“I-I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry!” he begs as he rubs his hands together, like some kind of stand-up comedian. Amongst his blubbering, Till’s eyes are creasing more and more and now he’s looming over Ivan, but he’s still rambling and not paying attention to the person hovering over him. Till crouches down, slamming his hand against the edge of the bed where Ivan’s head was pressed up against. Ivan’s mouth stutters to a stop, eyes widening at the scary look on Till’s face.
“What dreams?” He says without missing a beat, steady gaze on Ivan’s darting eyes and trembling mouth.
“No, I swear, I-“
Till smiles, slowly and creepily like the idea of Ivan dreams with him was something of…
?
Huh?
Something of—
“What did you do in those dreams?” Till murmurs in a low tone, hot breath hitting the edge of Ivan’s mouth to which his eyes snap up instead of further avoiding his gaze. Upon capturing his attention, “Go on,” he probes, Ivan’s eyes entering a state of shock like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Was he… being interrogated right now…?
“I can’t say, I—“
Ivan’s gaze drops guiltily from his eyes, but Till’s hands are fast and his fingers are gripping his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. Clicking his tongue, he leans in a little further, their noses brushing. He can see Ivan’s adam’s apple hitch in his throat, feel the heat of his skin, the trembling of his slightly parted mouth as if he were a lion trapped in a cage.
“Did you dream of us… kissing?” Till voice falls to a hush, the feather light touch of his words brushing the softness of Ivan’s mouth and his pupils are shaking on Till’s eyes because he doesn’t know what this is or what’s happening but his fever has returned and he’s sweating profusely. His shirt that’d been discarded can no longer hide the sweat trickling down his flushed skin, or the lining of his heartbeat racing to which he’s worried Till would feel when he kissed him.
Wait. When he kissed him—?
Ivan’s about to reply, mouth parting slightly even though whatever he was going to say would be nonsense, but the small action is enough to brush their lips together and it’s like Till snaps. He grasps the back of his head, molding their mouths together. And it’s within that split second, that Ivan loses all sense of morality—that kissing his best friend was off limits. Because the very person that was off limits, made the first move.
In that instant, Ivan parts his mouth, shoving his tongue down Till’s throat and suddenly he’s pushing him against the ground, pinning his wrists above his head. He crawls on top him around their heavy breaths, straddling his lap. Straddling his lap, like the same position they’d been in moments before at the bakery. But now they were in Ivan’s bedroom, the sound of kissing filling the walls as Ivan panted into Till’s mouth. His lips are soft and the kiss is wet and his heartbeat is pulsing on his tongue but all he can feel is that he’s kissing Till, oh, he’s really kissing him. It’s like his heart is swelling and squeezing itself painfully, and his head is so heavy he can barely pick it up, let alone let this kiss end. He can feel his canines sinking into the slightest edge of Till’s mouth, drawing a metallic taste, but there’s nails digging into the skin at the back of his neck, Till slapping his thighs to break the kiss. The air between them is hot and heavy and he can hear Till’s pants inside his mouth but it’s like he’s possessed. He lets go for the briefest moment, Till gasping for air only for Ivan to dive back in with another short kiss and another, like he just can’t let him go—
Till’s fist uppercuts his face, punching him right across the nose as he falls backwards over his knees.
“FUCK!! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME!!” Till screams between heavy breaths, eyes blown wide and cheeks flushed hot from lack of air. Ivan slowly crawls to his knees, body shaking but for what reason, Till didn’t know. His nose is dripping again, little red spots dotting the carpet. He holds his nose with the lightest touch, tears tinging his eyes which makes Till flinch.
“W-What the hell? Does it hurt?” he scrambles to his knees to fret over the older boy, only to have Ivan grab his hand and press it against his cheek.
It’s warm.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Ivan trembles over his sore voice, a sob rising in his chest. Till is panicked at this point, the stream of blood trailing down his own fingers, worse than his previous nose bleed.
“Then… why are you crying—“ Till stresses, because at this point, he was wondering if he’d need to throw his heavy ass over his backside and haul him off to the nearest hospital. Hopefully, Ivan’s mom wouldn’t threaten to sue. He did try his best to take care of her sick son… even if that only led to him getting another nose bleed. One that didn’t naturally start on its own.
“It’s not that,” Ivan sniffles, using Till’s fingers to gently touch the tears out of his left eye where his mole was centered. Till stares at the mole for a moment, something he often found himself gazing at whenever Ivan’s face came into view. It was something he became familiar with, fond of, ever since he could remember. Whether it was playing in sandboxes, chasing each other through the woods—admittedly Till fell a lot when they ran, so Ivan would purposely chase him slowly. The mole followed him everywhere they went. And here it was, staring back at him, once again.
He doesn’t know what he did in his past lives to deserve this, because all he’d ever known was misfortune and the stumblings of his own two left feet. But for some strange reason, he’d been gifted with Ivan. The Ivan with a round face and chubby cheeks, the Ivan with a pair of glasses and neat tie, the Ivan who became lanky and skipped school, who pierced his ears and constantly teased Till. He was blessed with all these Ivans, and he wasn’t sure he deserved it.
And now, tears were spilling over the mole, trailing down his cheeks and over the protruding fang from his parted mouth. Till’s eyes travel back to Ivan’s warm ones, the color black like a solar eclipse, like dark chocolate melted over rice, like the night sky when the stars came out.
“I’m just… so happy,” Ivan chokes out, and now Till’s eyes are slightly teary, the spike of worry simmering as he lightly punches Ivan in the chest.
“Idiot…” he mumbles over his wobbly voice, the pair tasting a similar metallic air in their mouths from the bite on Till’s lips and the blood of Ivan’s nose. And it’s slightly gross and Till is making a face from the taste of the blood, but Ivan’s laughing and his eyes are turning into crescents and suddenly Till feels like he’s floating. Their mouths part and their lips meet again, but this time Ivan’s gentle and the sun outside is slightly less warmer than the proximity between them.
Maybe it was then that Ivan realized he wasn’t sick.
He was just… love sick.
End.