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Being Ivan’s best friend meant having the audacity to claim his space as your own - to sink into the vastness of his king-sized bed, roll over its once pristine white sheets - now speckled with oil paint stains, evidence of Ivan’s restless hands. It meant allowing yourself the luxury of collapsing there after a long exhausting day at school, knowing that Ivan would never mind. Till had convinced himself that it was normal. After all, Ivan once said the same, with his thumb tracing the wrinkled edges of Till’s half-lidded eye; as if he was brushing away something fragile, something intimate and unspoken.
But would it still be normal when Till woke up one day from a hazy daydream on that same bed only to realize that; the warmth he had been basking in was not from the golden slants of the afternoon sun pressing against Ivan’s window sill, but from Ivan himself, with his arms wrapped securely around Till’s waist and his slow, steady breath brushing the back of Till's neck? That somewhere between consciousness and oblivion, their bodies had drawn too close, as if guided by a force neither of them had dared to name?
Like an old engine reluctantly sputtering back to life, Till’s body shifted, stiff at first, then achingly slow. He remained on his side, barely tilting his head - just enough to see the toned hands that had, for God's sake, at some point, found their way beneath the fabric of his shirt, fingertips splayed lightly against bare skin. A jolt rushed through him. Since when? Since when did those slender fingers succeed in undoing the neat tuck of his shirt, slipping beneath like they had every right to be there? It was as if someone had poured too much oil into the engine of his being, because Till was overheating, and he was moments away from combustion.
The rhythm of Ivan’s breath against his nape - slow, deep, and unbothered - betrayed Till’s will of calming himself down. It only confirmed the unbearable proximity between them, the weight of Ivan's chest pressing against his back, the way Ivan’s head had found its place nestled in the crook of his neck. And then there was the scent. Familiar, achingly so.
"Dry pressed rose and cinnamon essential oil."
He had once answered instinctively, without thinking, when a classmate had asked what scent Ivan liked. I want to make him scented candles for Valentine's Day, she said with her cheeks flushed - the same tone of blush that painted Till's face whenever Ivan flashed a smile towards his direction. Yet, the words had slipped from Till's lips before he could even stop them, before he could remind himself that best friends weren’t supposed to memorize such things.
"Really? Are you sure?"
"Uh, yeah… that's his perfume."
"You two must be really close. I’m so jealous of you!"
"They are best friends, remember?"
Best friends. The weight of the two words made Till swallow. Ironic, really, how the term that should have had defined their bond only constrained him, a prisoner of walls built with his own hands. Even if he told himself a hundred times over, even if he buried the truth beneath the mundane flow of everyday life, nothing could erase the way his heart fluttered at the mere sight of Ivan's silhouette. Nothing could lessen the ache of seeing Ivan surrounded by others, his little fang sticking out everytime laughter spilled from his lips, his attention turned elsewhere. Of course, nothing would ever snuff out the whispered fear curled around his chest like some ivy on its trellis; that one day, Ivan would be giving his warmth, his presence, his scent to someone else, and he would be grasping at the ghost of what was never his in the first place.
The mattress dipped slightly as Ivan shifted, and Till was snapped back to reality. The pillow beneath him was damp, but if Ivan noticed, he wouldn't ask. Till knew this because he had perfected the art of deception. He would fake a shy smile, rub his cheek against the pillow as if embarrassed, and murmur something about drooling in his sleep. And Ivan would believe him - not because he was naive, but because Till was just that good at pretending. Sometimes, the ease with which he lied to himself was what hurt the most.
Being Ivan’s best friend also meant possessing the skill of burying emotions deep beneath the layers of his heart, never allowing them to surface. Because the moment he slipped, the moment he let even the smallest flicker of feeling tiptoe past the cracks - he would lose Ivan forever.
“Till… hug me…”
That hoarse, sleep-drenched voice was barely above a whisper, but it sent tremors through Till’s entire body. The arms around his waist tightened instinctively, pulling him closer. A few strands of Ivan’s hair tickled his shoulder, and Till sighed, torn between the impulse to pull away and the unbearable desire to stay.
He had heard somewhere that people reveal their truest selves in two states: when they are drunk and when they are asleep. And Ivan - the Ivan who clung to Till so naturally in sleep, who murmured Till's name like it belonged to him and him only - could not lie. But then again, neither could Till. Not right now, not in this moment where silence pressed against them like a confession neither was brave enough to voice.
Because being Ivan’s best friend meant ignoring the things you were not supposed to feel. It meant swallowing back the words that ached at the back of your throat. It meant turning away from the one thing you wanted most. But just this once - just this once, Till allowed himself to be selfish.
He shifted slightly, his movements slow, hesitant, barely perceptible. He lifted his head, just enough. Just enough to press a feather-light kiss to the curve of Ivan’s lips. So brief, so weightless that it disappeared the moment it happened, like a whisper stolen by the wind. No one would know. Not Ivan, who remained lost in the depths of sleep. Not the sun, which was sinking beyond the horizon. Not even Till himself, who would pretend it never happened the moment morning came.
But for now, for this single heartbeat of a moment, he allowed himself to believe in a world where the line between friendship and something more had never existed.
Maybe just this time, Till wanted to be honest, too.