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Till lied in a soft, pink bed that was clearly not his own. He opened his eyes slightly, his eyes adjusting to the familiar bedroom. The blinds were half-open, letting early evening light spill into the room in soft gold bars that stretched across his face.
A magazine smacked him square the forehead.
He shot upright with a yelp, clutching his head. “What the-”
“Get the hell up, Sleeping Beauty! My bed isn’t made for your napping time!” Mizi barked, already reaching for his legs to drag him out of the covers.
Before Till could defend himself, another magazine smacked him dead in the face. This one with significantly more force.
“Get up.” Sua said calmly, like she hadn’t just committed aggravated assault with the latest issue of Cosmic News. Her sharp eyeliner and steady stare made her look even more intimidating in the fading daylight.
This wasn’t his fault! Mizi had let him in earlier, after both their lessons for the day had ended, and she needed someone to stay in her apartment since she’d lost her only pair of keys.
And it’s not his fault that she had such a comfortable bed!
At least compared to Tills cardboard monstrosity. This was practically a five-star hotel!
Now, evidently, both her and Sua had returned from their little date, shoes kicked off by the door, cheeks still flushed from the cool evening air, and were promptly ganging up on Till.
“What the he-” Till tangled himself further in Mizi’s blankets, tripping over his own feet as he tried to escape both women’s wrath. “Alright, alright! Give me a damn second!”
“This isn’t a hotel, Tilly” Mizi huffed, finally letting him go. “You’re worse than a cat. I swear you shed, too.”
Sua leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Mizi’s cheek before heading for the door. She threw Till one last look, sharp enough to cut through steel, then was gone, vanishing down the hall without a sound.
Till gulped. He’d never committed a crime in his life, but he was ninety percent sure Sua was about to charge him for existing in the same room as her girlfriend.
“Don’t look so traumatized,” Mizi said, flopping down beside him once Sua had left. “That’s just her ‘I tolerate you because my girlfriend loves you’ face. Consider it a compliment.”
Till flopped back on the bed, muttering into the pillows, “…Some compliment.”
Mizi came closer, and plopped down next to him, cross-legged, grabbing the nearest magazine and flipping it open. She started rambling about her latest mechanical engineering class: blueprints, soldering mishaps, professors with coffee stains on their lecture notes.
They talked for some time, about assignments, classes, whatever weird rumors were circulating on campus that week. The room settled into a warm, lived-in quiet, soft lamp-light catching on Mizi’s earrings, the hum of traffic outside the window filling the pauses between their words. Till found himself relaxing… until Mizi’s laugh faded into background noise and his thoughts drifted.
He thought about Sua and Mizi, how effortless they were together, how solid.
He remembered back in middle school, when he’d had the biggest crush on Mizi. The way he convinced himself it was love. The way it stung when she came out to him in their first year of high school, and how he tried to bury it. He just, couldn’t understand her anymore.
By their final year, she met Sua. And suddenly, everything made total sense.
The way they clicked was instant, and the way they looked at each other had been raw and real, drawing together like magnets. It was the kind of connection Till had only ever seen in movies. When they finally got together, Till felt the last remnants of his ‘crush’ dissolve. It hadn’t been love at all. Not like this.
Watching them, seeing how real it was… it taught him something. How relationships work, how they should be, how this thing called ‘love’ was everything they needed to keep fighting for each other.
The thing he couldn’t stop thinking about lately.
The thing he might, just maybe, have felt when Ivan kissed him.
Till’s stomach flipped. Was it possible for him and Ivan to have what Mizi and Sua had? Something so easy, so true?
A sharp kick to his shin pulled him out of his spiral.
“Hey! Where’d you go, space cadet?” Mizi asked, eyebrows raised.
He blinked. “Huh?”
“You’re staring into the void like you’re about to monologue. Spit it out already!”
Till opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. And then, before he could stop himself-
“…me and Ivan… might’ve kissed. A few days ago.”
Mizi froze. Then exploded.
“MIGHT HAVE KISSED?!” she shrieked, throwing the nearest pillow at him.
“You mean you DID and you DIDN’T TELL ME?”
Till shielded himself with his arms. “I-I was going to-”
“WHEN?” she demanded. “AFTER YOUR WEDDING? OH MY GOD, YOU KISSED HIM- YOU ACTUALLY KISSED HIM- THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE”
“Mizi, calm down-!”
“NO. YOU CALM DOWN. Are you dating?!”
Till blinked at her. “What?”
“Are. You. Dating.”
Till’s brain blue-screened.
Dating? Were they? The kiss was amazing, sure, but they’d never… clarified. They never said. Oh no. Oh god. Was he dating Ivan? Did Ivan want to date him anyway? Was he supposed to be holding hands somewhere right now?
Mizi leaned forward, eyes glittering like a wolf. “Oh my god, you don’t even KNOW?”
Till groaned, burying his face in his hands. “UGH! He…We confessed, to each other after…it, but we never actually asked…I don’t know! Okay?!”
Mizi grabbed her notebook. “Fine. We’re making a plan.”
Till peered through his fingers. “What.”
“A PLAN. To fix your tragic love life.” She was already scribbling furiously, the notebook bending in an unnatural way.
“Step one: …ask him out to somewhere he likes. Step two: be charming. Step three: kiss again. Step four: boyfriend status secured.”
“This is insane” Till muttered.
“This,” Mizi said, slapping the notebook shut with dramatic flair, “is romance.”
She leaned back against her headboard, arms crossed, a grin spreading like wildfire.
“Oh don’t be dramatic. Just, let me get this completely straight, like, recap or something. You, Till the Drama King, kissed Ivan, forgot to tell me, then came crawling here to make our little battle plan-”
Till groaned, burying his face in her pillow. “Don’t call it a battle plan. It’s-”
“-a DATE plan.” She kicked his leg. “You’re whipped already. Oh my god, my little Picasso boy is growing up.”
"Ugh. Don’t call me Picasso. He’s, like, the worst.”
”Exactly!”
Till threw the pillow at her. She caught it with ease, still grinning.
“Fine,” she said, hugging the pillow dramatically like a scepter. “Let me do the honourifics: As your best friend, and as someone who has suffered through every one of your failed crushes… I hereby give you my official blessing to pursue Ivan.”
She smacked the pillow on his head for emphasis.
Till sputtered, laughing despite himself. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re welcome!”
Till groaned again, collapsing back onto her pillows. This was either going to be the best idea of his life, or the absolute worst.
Either way, one thing was certain: it was going to be a mess.
The next day, Till was convinced he was going to die.
He sat cross-legged on his bed, far less soft than Mizis, springs poking through the mattress, staring at his phone like it held the secrets of the universe. His thumb hovered over the screen, half-expecting it to burst into flames from the sheer pressure of his nerves.
He scrolled through the thread with Ivan from the day before.
Till: hey, do you want to go out tomorrow?
Ivan: Yeah! I found that little record store I mentioned. You free tomorrow afternoon?
Till: Uh… yeah. Definitely. I’ll try not to embarrass myself too much.
Ivan: Don’t worry Tilly, you’ll be fine. I’ll handle the embarrassing part. Can’t wait!
Till chewed on his lip. Remembering how his fingers hovered over the text bar for a solid five minutes the day before, the promptly typing back:
Till: can’t wait either :)
He cringed at his own words, he should’ve deleted it. It was way too clingy. Too… something. He stared at the phone. Re-read the texts. Overanalyzed. Maybe he should have sent a picture of himself flipping Ivan off.
He glanced around his room, trying to find a shirt that didn’t scream I’m panicking but trying not to. Finally settled on a soft t-shirt that wasn’t too casual, not too fancy. Tugged it on, fixed his hair, then tugged it back down again, just to make sure it looked okay.
Till picked up his phone again, just to scroll one more time. He noticed a notification from Ivan. Heart practically in his throat, he tapped it.
Ivan: Don’t forget!! music > nerves
Till grinned despite himself, shaking his head. Music, sure, but what about Ivans hands, his laughter, his eyes, his smile, and literally everything else about him?
He groaned, flopped onto the bed, and muttered, “Why is this so hard?”
He went through the motions anyway, checking his reflection, pacing a little, practicing a normal smile in the mirror. Each time he glanced at his phone, imagining Ivan waiting outside the record store, he felt a little flutter in his chest. Excitement, terror, maybe both.
Eventually, he shoved the phone into his pocket. “Alright,” he muttered. “It’s just a date. Don’t die. Don’t say anything dumb. Don’t faint. Don’t… do anything weird.”
He froze. What if something went wrong? He could barely deal with this if it went right. He shook himself and looked back in the mirror.
“Okay,” Till whispered to himself. “Alright… maybe I can survive this.”
Till could not survive this, he was two seconds away from actually dying.
Not in a normal, tragic way, but in a very specific, embarrassing, ‘collapse on the pavement in front of the record store before the date even started’ way. His palms were sweaty, his shirt collar suddenly felt like it was strangling him, and every single person who walked by was clearly staring at him and judging his entire existence.
He pressed his hands against the glass window of the record store, catching a glimpse of his reflection. Pale. Panicked. Stupid.
He spiralled internally.
‘What if he hates music now? What if he shows up and has another guy already? What if he thinks this is just a…friend hangout? What if I look weird? Oh my god I’m wearing the same shirt from Tuesday, he’s going to notice, I’m doomed-‘
“Wow” a voice drawled behind him. “Didn’t know you were auditioning for a horror movie.”
Till nearly jumped into traffic. Ivan was standing there, hands in his pockets, the late-afternoon sun catching in his hair, looking so infuriatingly casual (and hot) that Till wanted to scream.
“Y-you’re late,” Till blurted.
Ivan raised a brow. “I’m literally three minutes early.” He chuckled lightly as he spoke.
Till wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
Inside the store, it was worse. Till had been in record shops before, but being in this one with Ivan was a whole new level of torture. The air smelled like old cardboard and coffee from the tiny counter in the back. The walls were lined with posters of long-forgotten gigs, sticky notes with staff picks, and shelves upon shelves of vinyls and CDs that stretched back into shadow. Ivan moved through the aisles like he owned the place, flipping through vinyls, pulling out CDs with practiced ease, and talking fast and excited about every single thing he touched.
“And this!” Ivan said, holding up a brightly colored record sleeve from, what Till would guess was a band, named ‘Sex pistols’ “this is one of my favorite English punk albums. Completely reshaped the genre!”
Till nodded vigorously, having heard none of the words. He was too busy staring at Ivan’s hands, long fingers, calloused, brushing over the cover like it was something precious.
Kill me now, Till screamed at himself.
Ivan shoved the record into his hands. “Don’t just stare at it like it’s radioactive, Till. Feel it! This is like…history. Like the art you’re always talking about!”
Till tapped his fingertips against the plastic. “I am feeling it!” Till stammered. “Feels… flat.”
Ivan snorted. “God, you’re hopeless.”
They drifted to the CD racks next. Ivan crouched, tugging out cases, lining them up for Till like he was giving a lecture.
“This one’s a reissue of an original pressing. This one’s all live tracks. This one’s technically garbage, but the B-Side is legendary.”
Till blinked. “What the hell is a B-Side?”
Ivan turned, grinning like a shark. “Oh, Tilly. Don’t tell me you don’t know.”
Till crossed his arms. “I’m an artist, not a fucking… vinyl wizard or something.”
Ivan leaned back against the shelf, clearly enjoying himself. “Okay, lesson time. Back in the day, singles came out on vinyl records. The A-Side was the main track, the one they expected to be a hit. But the B-Side, that was the song they didn’t think would matter. Hidden and Unexpected.”
He leaned closer, voice dropping just slightly. “Sometimes the B-Side ended up being the one people loved most. The real treasure.”
Till’s face went nuclear. He had no idea if Ivan meant that metaphorically, but his brain was already writing sonnets about it.
“Oh,” he said brilliantly. “Cool. Very… cool.”
Ivan laughed and slid the CD back into place. “You’re kinda ridiculous…”
While Ivan rambled happily about B-sides, Till’s eyes drifted across the aisle. A couple was flipping through a stack of vinyls, their hands linked loosely, thumbs brushing like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His chest tightened. He wanted that-wanted it so bad he almost ached. Not just to kiss Ivan again, but to do the simple, casual stuff like that.
To belong to someone in the daylight, not just in his spiralling thoughts.
He shoved the feeling down before it swallowed him whole-
Till was ready to combust when a hand brushed his. Just casually, like it wasn’t a big deal.
But then! Then Ivan didn’t move it away. Their fingers linked. Just like that.
Till thought he might actually faint. His brain was white noise, his body a live wire, and Ivan was still flipping through CDs like the couple that he’d seen across the aisle, like holding hands was the most normal thing in the world.
And well… maybe it was.
Somehow, without realizing it, Till stopped overthinking. He stopped spiraling. He let Ivan’s warmth ground him, let the cadence of his voice about obscure bands and weirdly specific sub-genres wash over him.
Ivan stopped at a display stand again. “Classic reissues. They even have The Cure.”
Till squinted at the label, then said with the confidence of a man about to embarrass himself forever: “The… Cuh-reh?”
Ivan froze, turned, and just stared.
“…The what?”
“Cuh-reh?” Till repeated, quieter this time. “Like, you know… cure, as in curing a cold?”
Ivan slapped his forehead so hard the clerk two aisles over glanced at them. Then he doubled over, laughing, shoulders shaking.
“I can’t believe you just… Cuh-reh. No, you’re banned. Out! Get out of the store.”
Till shoved him, red to the ears. “Okay, okay! I didn’t know!”
Ivan, still laughing, grabbed his wrist to keep him from walking away. “God, you’re lucky you’re cute.”
Ivan tugged him towards another album, practically dragging him by the hand. “Oh! You have to see this! Their first album cover was banned in half the country because it was like, ‘offensive’-”
Till chuckled. An actual laugh, unforced, startled out of him. He caught himself grinning like an idiot, but didn’t care. Not when Ivan looked back at him, eyes bright, like sharing this stuff mattered.
They moved from rack to rack, Ivan piling trivia and inside jokes onto him like presents. Till found himself chiming in, joking back, asking dumb questions just to keep Ivan talking. The nervous pit in his stomach was gone, replaced with something lighter, just easier.
At some point, he caught his reflection in the glass of a CD case. He was smiling. Really smiling.
He blinked at his own face, almost startled. He hadn’t realized.
Ivan glanced over his shoulder. “What?”
“Nothing,” Till muttered quickly, cheeks heating. He shoved the case back onto the shelf, like it had betrayed him. “Just… thinking.”
Ivan hummed but didn’t press, already crouching to pull out another vinyl.
By the time they finally left the shop, the sky was tinted gold, dusk creeping in. Till was still buzzing, holding the tiny paper bag Ivan had shoved into his arms, some CD Ivan insisted he had to own ‘for educational purposes’.
The door swung shut behind them, the evening air cool on Till’s face. He should’ve felt relief that the ordeal was over. Instead, nerves came crashing back, because…oh god. The plan.
Ask him. Ask him now.
Till’s throat went dry. His palms started sweating all over again. He forced himself to speak.
“Ivan?”
Ivan turned, tilting his head. “Yeah?”
Till nearly chickened out. But Mizi’s voice was screaming in his brain ‘step four: boyfriend status secured’ so he blurted it out.
“Do you… want to be my boyfriend?”
For a second, Ivan just stared. Blank.
Till’s heart dropped. He’d ruined it. He’d destroyed everything-
“…Aren’t I already your boyfriend?” Ivan said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Till’s brain short-circuited. “…What.”
Ivan frowned, like he was the confused one. “You kissed me, I kissed you back, we like each other, what part of that wasn’t boyfriend inducing material?”
Till made a strangled noise. “That’s not- no one clarified! There was no…clarification! No paperwork!”
Ivan broke into laughter, loud and unbothered. He stepped closer, ruffling Till’s hair with his free hand. “You’re such a disaster. Fine, if you really need the words…”
He leaned in, gentle and sure. "Then yeah."
Till blinked, heat flooding his chest. “What?”
“Yeah,” Ivan repeated, grinning. “I will be your boyfriend.”
And that was it.
No fuss, no mess or surprise heartbreak.
Till broke into the dumbest, brightest smile of his life.
He swooned so hard his knees nearly gave out.
He leaned in, and like that, wrapped around each others arms right there on the sidewalk, the city humming around them, the fading sunlight warming their shoulders. Holding tight like the rest of the world had gone fuzzy, and for once, Till wasn’t spiraling.
For once, it was simple. It was real.
‘Boyfriend’… He’ll have to get used to saying that aloud.