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It started with a fight, as it always does. Ivan doesn’t even really think he remembers what the reason was. Till threw the first punch, but then again, when didn’t he?
Everything was a blur, as per usual. Till’s words, the brunt force of a fist colliding with his right cheek. The sensation of his black locks being pulled, of his own hand raising to fight back, his knuckles bruising. All Ivan could really see, really feel, was Till’s rage.
To say that Ivan lives for the feeling would be a vast understatement. To know that he caused such an uproar, that he had the ability to aggravate Till. To have that passion turned on him, at its full extent. Ivan believes that this is when he feels most alive.
Until it isn’t.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Till blurts, and Ivan feels knocked right out of his inner psyche.
“You swore,” He manages, feeling slightly winded, like he’d been tipped off balance. Till’s hands move to cup Ivan’s cheeks, turning his face from side to side. Ivan blinks, feeling his internal processing buffer. What was Till doing?
“You shouldn’t use that word,” Ivan repeats, hollow, desperate to get Till to snap out of whatever odd trance he was in. Or maybe he was the one in a trance. Ivan doesn’t think words are making sense anymore.
Till frowns, finally tilting Ivan’s cupped cheeks towards his eye level, “You make it so hard to apologise, y’know that?” He squeezes Ivan’s cheeks harder as an emphasis.
Ivan’s eyebrow raised, “Why are you trying to apologise?”
Till’s breath hitches slightly, as if he were regretting what he just said. “I’m not!” He replies, petulant.
“But you just said you were,” Ivan trails off, confused, his eyebrows scrunching. Truly, every time he thought he knew Till, the boy fell even further from his reach. Till squeezes Ivan’s cheeks even harder in frustration, while Ivan is resigned to blankly staring at him, at a loss for what else to do or say.
“F-fine, I am, ok! I just, I feel bad,” Till finally mumbles.
What?
“Whafh.” Ivan blurts, his speech muffled due to the aforementioned cheek squishing. He didn’t bother asking Till to remove his hold on him, not when his touch sent spirals of warmth gurgling through his stomach acid.
“I’m not saying you don’t deserve it, because you do. But I don’t like seeing your face all messed up, knowing that I did that, to you.” Till sighs, letting go of Ivan’s face, much to Ivan’s dismay. He processes Till’s words.
“I’m growing faster than you are, your punches wouldn’t hurt as much as mine would,” He eventually says, matter-of-factly. Till had a gentle heart, so Ivan supposes that his guilt over leaving any bruises behind on another person would eat away at him at some point. Still, Ivan liked to think he was beyond being on the receiving end of such a fleeting emotion.
Till rolls his eyes, “You don’t need to remind me every time, you jerk. They still leave a mark, don’t they? That means they hurt,”
“You’ve never cared about that before. We don’t care about these things,” Ivan tries, his voice hinging on desperation.
Till looks at Ivan, bewildered, “There’s a line I shouldn’t cross, though.”
“What line?” Ivan doesn’t understand; everything feels like it’s spinning on an opposing axis.
“I don’t know, I overheard some of the kids talking about boundaries, and stuff like that, how you shouldn’t try and make people more upset than you have to, or something,” Till says, his own voice bordering on confusion.
“I don’t have any boundaries,” Ivan says, suddenly deciding to take Till’s hands and connect them with his own. Shockingly, Till doesn’t pull away, only looking at Ivan with hesitancy.
“But… you do,” Till says, doubtful, “You don’t like it when people talk about your tooth, you always smile extra weird when they do it. You don’t like it when people touch your hair or ask you why you wear shoes. You also—”
“Yes, well, you don’t do any of those things,” Ivan stresses, trying not to think about how observant Till apparently was to his tells.
And even if you did, I wouldn’t care.
Till rolls his eyes, “Yes, I do. I touch your hair when we fight.”
“I don’t care about that. I don’t care about you doing any of it.” Ivan groans. Till raises Ivan’s knuckles, smudged red. He gazes at the wounds, a scowl pulling at his lips.
“But I care, Ivan. What kind of a friend would I be if I didn’t?” He asks, directing his glare at Ivan, as if that would take away from the words he had just uttered.
“Friends?” Ivan asks, breathlessly.
“What the— I’m not doing this again with you, moron!” Till growls, lightly pushing Ivan back onto the grass. Ivan lets his head thud comfortably over beds of anakt flowers. The soft landing did no help regarding his head’s mindless throbbing. Doing what again?
Till pouts with annoyance, “Whatever. I’ll try not to hit you again, but just know that I am, in my head, constantly.”
Ivan preens at Till’s words, excitedly jumping back upright to tackle Till, as the younger boy let out a dishevelled yelp at being knocked down.
“You’re telling the truth, right? Right ?” Ivan asks, giddy, looking down at Till, crimson irises flaring as he bats his lashes. To think that Till was thinking about him, constantly, twenty-four seven. Could he be so lucky? Was the Great Anakt truly so benevolent?
Till’s eyes widen, completely addled, “Y-yes? Why the fuck are you so happy about it?!”
“Swear,” Ivan rebutts, his manic smile only getting wider.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, fuck you.” Till snaps, trying to push Ivan off, but Ivan wouldn’t have it, pinning him further into the grass. The urge to nuzzle into Till’s shoulder was immensely strong, but Ivan figured he had some willpower left in him.
Till groans, relenting to Ivan’s resistance, “Ugh, you really are getting stronger. Why do you get to have everything?”
I don’t have anything. I don’t have you.
Till’s gaze drops to Ivan’s fisted hands, grounding them to the grassy field, “Idiot, stop doing that.”
Ivan only hums in confusion, as Till glowers at him, “Your knuckles were bleeding, quit making them worse.”
Ivan's heart stutters rapidly for reasons he couldn’t quite comprehend, “But then you’ll run away,” He murmurs, unwilling to ask Till why he cared so much. Selfishly, he decided to bask in it.
Till sighs with anger, his glare turning tired, “I won’t, okay? Just— lie down, next to me. I won’t go anywhere.”
Ivan’s hold on his clenched fists briefly tightened, causing Till to click his tongue with his barely concealed temper, before they relaxed, as Ivan fell straight first onto Till.
“What the— IVAN! GET OFF ME!” Till struggled against Ivan’s weight, letting out a series of strangled noises as Ivan let out an unrestrained bout of laughter, winding his arms around the back of Till’s head to cushion them.
Till’s resolve was unyielding, just as Ivan liked it