Work Text:
"Close enough to see, but too far to touch."
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Ivan had always despised touch, hates it almost as much as he hates his left eye, which is a very high bar to pass.
It doesn't matter who it comes from, Andrew, his mom, any friends he barely contacted, he still feels the same exact way.
Too hot, too restricting, too much sensation at the same time. He freaks out, pushes away anyone who gets too close, overwhelmed and unsure of how to handle it.
Andrew, however, is the complete opposite.
He loved hugs, loved touch, treated it like it was his reason for getting up in the morning. He made many mistakes when they had first started meeting up, unconsciously draping an arm around Ivan, reaching for him whenever they were in a crowded area, just kept getting in the writer's space.
For a while, Ivan had.. tolerated it. He reminded Andrew when he needed to, was a lot more gentle when nudging him off, gave him looks that usually got the point across.
Andrew learned soon enough and let Ivan keep his distance, just how he preferred it ever since... Nevermind, actually.
Even after knowing Ivan for a really long time, and getting used to each other's likes and dislikes, Andrew still sometimes slipped up. Moments where he was feeling rather touch starved, the kind that makes you restless and desperate.
This seemed to be one of those times.
Ivan had invited Andrew over for a small hangout, some crappy movies they mainly talked over and food that was eaten before the plot actually got interesting.
He knew from the moment he opened the front door, something was off. Andrew was fidgeting, constantly. It was getting really annoying by the time they settled onto the couch in their respective spots and got ready to laugh at horribly directed scenes.
The writer had his knees up to his chest, back pressed against the arm of the couch, legs acting as some sort of barrier between him and Andrew.
Despite the somewhat tense position, he was comfortable. His visor was resting on the coffee table instead of his head, that was enough proof, considering he almost never took the damned thing off, something Andrew teased him about often.
Speaking of Andrew, actually, the developer kept looking at him, almost anxiously.
He couldn't quite figure out why, not at the moment, but he didn't acknowledge it beyond asking a quick "you okay?" and then moving on when Andrew didn't explain, just nodded and gave a forced smile.
He broke eventually, though.
It was halfway through the second movie, when Ivan began to let his guard down. He had shifted around a bit, until his torso was now properly facing the T.V screen. He'd already begun to doze off, eyes blinking slowly, breathing in a steady rhythm.
That peace was short lived, when Andrew- who had been quiet for most of the movie- asked the question that had clearly been weighing on him since he arrived.
"Can I hug you? It doesn't have to be long, I just- need one."
Ivan glanced towards him, expression unreadable, meeting Andrew's eyes. "Where is this coming from, exactly?" he mumbled, moving so he was more pressed into his corner of the couch.
"Didn't really sleep well last night," the developer responded, and Ivan basically translated that to "I had a nightmare and need comfort, but don't want to tell you anything".
The writer groaned, thinking for a few moments, weighing his options. He'd hate it, but Andrew was desperate, he wanted comfort, comfort from *him*, he could.. he could handle it.
"Fine," he said reluctantly, watching Andrew light back up, the programmer hesitantly shifting closer.
An arm was untucked from around his torso, holding it out towards his best friend, offering a spot against his side. Andrew quickly accepted it, tugging Ivan into a way too loose hug, like he was afraid to anger him.
His heartbeat sped up on instinct, shoulders raised, fingers digging into Andrew's shirt with more strength than needed. He awkwardly patted his shoulder, a horrible attempt at making him feel better.
His head was nudged into Andrew's shoulder, an apology mumbled into his hair, sounding ever so guilty. Ivan almost felt bad.
It was just as suffocating as he remembered, so uncomfortable feeling the heat of another person against him. He tried to relax, let his mind wander, but nothing really helped.
Andrew gave him a torturous squeeze (not really), and then it was all gone. Thank the heavens, he had just started to feel the irritation bubbling beneath his skin.
Ivan held back the sigh of relief but didn't hesitate to distance himself again, fixing the way his cardigan laid, staring at the glowing screen with empty eyes.
Andrew was talking, probably a string of apologies, he wasn't quite listening. It was just background noise, everything was just background noise. It sounded so distant, muffled by the screaming in his head.
It wouldn't stop. He needed it to stop.
His hand gripped his best friend's, resting right between them, hold tight, but not enough to hurt.
Andrew paused, glancing at their hands, then Ivan, then back at their hands. He didn't meet the blonde's gaze.
The yelling stopped, his skin felt less itchy, he could be quiet and not feel like he was suffocating.
Maybe Andrew wasn't that horrible.