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Ivan knows exactly what Till's limits are. He knows when he should antagonize Till, he knows when he shouldn't, and he knows when he's reaching the line that divides the two scenarios. It's his favorite pastime, and he's only come to know these things so well through trial and error. Calculate how much he can get away with, observe the reaction, and adjust accordingly.
And every time, he's rewarded with the most hilarious responses. Like this morning, when Till shoved Ivan into a wall. Or at lunch, when Till had groaned and ducked his head down, clutching his hair like he was going insane. Or an hour ago, when...
Maybe Ivan has bothered Till a little more than usual today.
But a restless man must find something to entertain himself with. So, after a bit of searching for the boy, he ends up plopping himself down under a tree, right next to Till.
He rests his chin on Till's shoulder, looking at the sketchbook in his hands and watching the creation of graphite shapes across the paper. "What are you doing?"
Till sighs hilariously, already annoyed from Ivan's previous game-playing. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Drawing," Ivan comments with a grin.
"Yeah," Till mutters grumpily.
Ivan watches for a while, his eyes following the pencil's movements like a cat watching a toy sway. It's mesmerizing, but it doesn't have the entertainment value that Ivan is searching for.
So, deciding he hasn't bothered Till enough, he reaches over with a casual air and takes Till's sketchbook into his own hands.
Till freezes for a moment, the unexpected robbery catching him off guard and taking him a moment to process. Then, his mind catches up, and he shoots his hand out to grab it back. "Hey!"
Ivan holds it up above his head, stretching his arm as far as it'll go while he grins at Till mischievously. "I wanna look through it."
"No! I was in the middle of drawing," Till shouts, leaning over to grab it back. To Ivan's amusement, he can't quite seem to reach.
Till leans forward and forward, but the closer he gets to reaching the notebook, the further back Ivan leans. Eventually, Ivan physically can't lean back anymore, and his back hits the grass. And even with half of his body strewn across Ivan's, Till still can't manage to grasp the book due to most of his body still resting in the grass. His head only comes to meet Ivan's chin in this position.
"Give me the-" Till growls, and without warning, he pulls back and digs his thumbs into Ivan's underarms.
Ivan does not squeal. Nor does he shriek or squeak or anything within that genre of sound.
Instead, he does a combination of the three.
His arms immediately jolt down and clamp onto his sides protectively, bringing the notebook into Till's reach. The gray-haired boy pulls one hand away and takes it back, then tosses it off to the side in one smooth motion. Then, to Ivan's horror (read: elation), he slips the hand right back under his arm again.
Ivan makes a similarly high-pitched noise, although it's thankfully less loud this time, and he collapses into laughter.
"T-Ti- ahahaha! Tihihill! You h-have the- hahaha, the sketchbook back!"
"Yeah. So?" Till counters with a frown, practically straddling Ivan's waist now, which he would've been happy to tease about were he not busy giggling his head off. "You've been tormenting me all day, and I'm sick of it!"
"I'm-" Ivan starts, but Till interrupts him by moving a hand down to his hip and clawing his fingers into it, making the poor boy jolt and let out another burst of laughter. Sometimes, Ivan swears Till has no idea how to touch someone gently. To be fair, though, touch between them is usually a result of Till's annoyance with him being vented physically. Not that Ivan minds either way. He's always happy under Till's attention. Even now, as he writhes and kicks, he's not actually making any effort to get away. "I'm s-sohohorry, ahahahaha!"
"No, you're not!" Till shoots back incredulously.
"No, I'm nohohot!" Ivan agrees, only to regret it immediately as Till's hand moves back up and starts burying itself into his stomach, the other one still digging incessantly under his arm.
"NOhoho, no, not thEHEhere, ahahahaha! Tihihill!" Ivan didn't think his voice could go this high, but he's always learning new things around Till.
"Should've thought of that before being an asshole, huh?" Till retorts, and if Ivan didn't know better, he'd say Till sounds almost teasing under his annoyance. The thought makes his face feel a bit warm. Fortunately, he's distracted from this by the sharp, electric feeling sent through his torso by Till's attacking hands. He grabs onto Till's wrist, not to push it away, but just to be holding it. To be touching Till a little more.
"You- ahahAHA, y- ehehehe!" Despite his efforts to respond, each word he attempts to form is quickly consumed by more laughter. If only Till would lighten his touch, if he wouldn't claw his stomach with such aggression that it almost hurts - he knows from his attacks on Till that the boy descends into hilarious cackling at the lightest touch, but for Ivan, it must be the opposite, because he's not sure he's ever laughed so hard before. Not that the bar is very high, considering how little he does laugh.
Till is silent. It takes a moment for Ivan to notice, but the air is filled with nothing but the sound of his own hysterics. Eventually, Ivan decides to glance up at Till and figure out the cause of his sudden lack of speech. But just before he can, the ticklish feeling disappears as Till pulls away, slipping off of Ivan's waist.
"You're an idiot," Till mutters, his voice suddenly softer than before. Not exactly due to fondness, but more like embarrassment.
Ivan curls up on his side and hugs his stomach, giggles still pouring out of him as the tingles across his torso fade away, leaving him giddy. He blinks up at Till to find him looking away pointedly, staring off into nothing.
Ivan hiccups as his giggling calms down. Till's ears turn a soft shade of pink at the noise.
His grin transitions into a slight smirk - he can't help himself. "You alright?"
"Fine," Till grumbles.
"Are you sure? You just went quiet." Ivan slowly props himself up into a sitting position, keeping an arm around his stomach, which honestly hurts a bit now. The consequences of Till's aggression, he supposes. Still more than worth it.
"I-I'm sure." Till's eyes tentatively land on Ivan. "Are you done being a dumbass?"
Ivan hums. "Depends on what you mean by that. But probably not."
"Of course you're not," Till sighs. Ivan snickers, and Till glances away again at the noise. Is that what's making him freak out? His laughter? Ivan has no clue, but he wants to see it happen again.
However, his attention is drawn away from Till momentarily.
"Your sketchbook got creased when you threw it." Ivan shifts, reaching out and grabbing the book.
Till, caught off guard, looks to see. It's not bad. The book had been folded open when it was thrown, and the bottom few pages had been positioned awkwardly when it his the grass, causing them to fold. "Maybe you shouldn't have stolen it."
"It's not my fault you threw it out of the way. You could've backed off of me and held onto the book, but you didn't." Ivan grins as he takes the sketchbook into his hands and flips through the pages. Then, he stops.
His grin falters.
Till bristles at Ivan's expression, scooting over to see what he's looking at. "What?"
"You... drew me?" Ivan asks, his voice subdued. He can't tear his eyes away from the paper, from the dark pencil lines that map out every curve and shadow of his face. Drawing-Ivan is facing forward, grinning at, supposedly, Till, with that dumb little crooked canine that Till somehow managed to look almost charming. His dark eyes are lit up excitedly. Does he really look like that? And did Till really draw this realistically from memory?
Till tenses, peering over Ivan's shoulder at the drawing. "Well, yeah," he mutters defensively. "I get bored sometimes and draw people. You nag me to draw you all the time, so..."
Ivan listens, twitching his head in a nod. He brushes his thumb over those eyes, the ones that are usually so dull and void-like. Creepy, even. They're glowing now, in that drawing, spilling excitement like his emotions aren't too shallow to fill his face like that.
"Do I... really look like that?"
Till blinks. "Like what?"
Ivan hesitates, something he doesn't often do. "So... emotional?"
Till looks confused. "Um, yeah. I mean, you usually look pretty indifferent, but when you're happy or upset or something, it's pretty easy to tell." He pauses, glancing away. "I can tell, at least. Like... like just now, when you were laughing."
Ivan stares at Till, who looks entirely truthful, if a little flustered. So he really can...
He feels an unfamiliar warmth in his chest, one that grows enough to put pressure on it. One that spreads up behind his eyes, making them prickle and burn.
Before he can form a second thought about what he's doing, he sets the sketchbook in the grass and tackles Till with a hug, burying his face into his shoulder and hiding his dampening eyes.
Till makes a surprised noise, nearly toppling over with the force of the hug. He catches himself, though, and freezes in Ivan's arms for a few seconds before hesitantly placing his own arms around Ivan.
"What are you...?" He sounds confused, maybe even shocked. Ivan doesn't mind. Till doesn't need to understand the strange, warm sensation filling Ivan's chest until it's nearly bursting.
Till doesn't need to understand as long as he continues to do whatever it is that makes Ivan feel more emotions than he knew he was capable of feeling.