Work Text:
“I think I'm in love with you.”
Ivan was silent beside him, his gaze extended skyward when Till turned to check. Stars continued to shoot through his wide blown eyes, glassy.
Then, a single, errant tear ran down his cheek.
“That's cruel, Till.”
Till remained silent. A breeze rustled the grass, the meteors sounded above them, and Ivan kept just as quiet as him. Both frozen, blending into the midnight scenery. Till, hiding between patches of edelweiss and sweet grass, a silent observer of Ivan’s form. His marble skin and stony gaze–a silent, weeping statue in the middle of the meadow, begging him to wrench his eyes away.
Instead, Till carefully reached over. His fingers grazed Ivan's cheek, only a small flutter of his eyelids giving way to his surprise. Till traced his thumb over the damp trail lining his skin, up to the corner of his eye. He stalled there, selfish, and wiped the wet away.
He pulled back and licked the pad of his thumb, a faint saltiness settling on his tongue. Ivan’s eyes flicked towards the action, brief enough where Till would have missed it if he hadn't been keenly watching.
A pretty blush settled against his tear lined cheekbones, faint pink lightened by streams of starlight and stark against his long eyelashes. It was quite unfair, really.
Without much thought, Till pushed himself onto his elbows. Rolled sideways, inched closer. Undoubtedly in Ivan's peripheral–visible, vulnerable.
He waited, willed Ivan to look at him, to see the intent in his gaze. Though Ivan had always been stronger than him.
Till leaned forward, and without even realizing it, he was almost on top of him. Ivan, finally, managed to look surprised. And, for once, it was probably warranted, considering Till was just as shocked to find his own hand cradling Ivan's jaw.
It was a scene Till wished to photograph, or perhaps record to memory, for the sole purpose of painting it later. A canvas dedicated to Ivan's dusted skin and open expression.
Then, much out of his own control, Till kissed him. Maybe he really was cruel.
In the grand scheme of things, it barely counted as a kiss. Till placed his lips against Ivan's, only a brief touch, and neither moved. It tasted faintly of salt and the flowery perfume of Ivan’s chapstick, a gag-inducing combination that Till found comforting. He closed his eyes but found it interesting to note Ivan didn't, at least not in the time Till could see. When he pulled back, his eyes were still open.
In the relative stillness of the night, Ivan’s own immobility annoyed Till endlessly. For someone so clingy, he sure clammed up at a bit of honesty.
“Ivan?”
Ivan only parted his lips briefly, initiating eye contact for a second before he stole it away again, like he was purposely depriving Till of it. Another half a step back, a show of all the times they had run from one another, culminating in an unanswered confession and miles between the few inches separating them.
Till scowled. He swung his leg over Ivan’s torso and placed his hands on his shoulders, pinning him there. He fought the urge to kiss him again, instead refocusing on the pools of his eyes with sparkling white stars drowning in the foreground.
“Ivan, talk to me,” Till finally pleaded. He knew it was useless, but he tried anyway–it was just like Ivan to bring out the most stubborn side of him. “Come on, you're just going to let me confess and kiss you and say nothing?”
“I–” Ivan started, closing his mouth just as abruptly. He pinched his brows together and closed his unrelenting eyes. Till wished he hadn't. “I'm sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
Ivan bit his lip, and Till watched for every agonizing second that he held it in his mouth, clamped down on the skin, and finally released. “You don't love me, Till.”
And to that, Till could only scoff. Because what else would Ivan say? It was always going to be moronic, why not pick the worst possible option.
“You idiot,” he huffed with a small shake of his head, an obvious affection laced in his tone because of course he found Ivan’s idiocy to be endearing. “So I'm just lying, then?”
Ivan blinked, hard, clearly trying to restrain himself–though from what, Till didn't know. With more deliberation Till knew him to have, Ivan stated, “Not exactly. You may just… believe you do.”
That made Till angry. His grip around Ivan's shoulders tightened, a warning. “Choose your next words carefully.”
And, for some god awful reason, that's what made Ivan smile, because of course it was.
“Till, I'm just saying you are… perceptible to emotions,” Ivan put, as lightly as he could.
“So?”
“And it's not like my, um–emotions are very hidden,” he continued, “so you may have convinced yourself of something you don't actually believe to make sense of the situation.”
Till hummed. Mulled it over and chewed on the words until they became tacky on his tongue.
Then he punched Ivan.
Ivan, at least, didn't seem to see it coming. He brought a hand to hover over the reddening skin and let his mouth part, even if only slightly.
And as quickly as he'd punched him, Till kissed him. Again.
It was harsher than the first time, something underlying he had to prove. He held Ivan in his palms and refused to leave until he understood.
Till pulled back briefly, after Ivan’s disappointing lack of response. Interestingly, Till noted, Ivan had closed his eyes this time.
Almost desperately, Till kissed the corner of his mouth. His cheeks, the tip of his nose, over each eyelid. Lingering on his temple, three along his jaw, and one more peck to the lips.
He sucked in a heavy breath, feeling heat climb up his neck and along his ears.
“Do you get it yet?”
Ivan blinked, stunned. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Till rolled his eyes, not failing to miss the bright red burning itself onto the tips of Ivan’s ears.
“You are such a moron,” Till breathed out, so sappy sweet and exuding endearment, it almost made him sick. One could only imagine how Ivan had managed to delude himself into believing it wasn’t there.
“I think I may have a few things to reconsider,” Ivan said quietly, almost to himself, and Till couldn’t help but laugh.
“You think?”
Ivan smiled graciously, just small enough for Till to know it was real, before he turned and hid it from sight. Till kissed his cheek once more, just to prove he could.
“So–you like me?” Ivan asked, meek, if he could ever be described as such.
“Yes. I love you.”
And it was painful how easy it was to say, now that he’d finally pushed the words out. Why he’d waited this long, he didn’t know.
Ivan’s eyelids fluttered briefly, glassy and beading along his lashes. “I love you, too.”
Till grinned, because it really was that simple. Till loved Ivan. Ivan loved him right back. They weren’t quite right–Ivan annoyed him to all hell on a good day and their relationship could sooner be considered one of mutual destruction than anything beneficial–but they tried. And wasn’t that the whole point?
Till rolled back onto the grass, met Ivan’s star-streaked eyes, nose to nose, and allowed the moment to exist as it was. One lost child admiring another. As carefully as he could, he intertwined their fingers.
“I know.”