Work Text:
Lovro felt unsettled in the school’s study hall. The silence there was thick, almost suffocating. The library sat right next door, and the air was heavy with the muffled whispers of students who barely dared to exchange short words, fearful of drawing the sour gaze of the librarian—a woman who stalked the aisles like a hawk, searching for any imbalance in her perfect order.
He didn't know why he had decided to take refuge in the institution's right wing. Lovro hated enclosed spaces, especially those decorated with exaggeratedly loud posters listing prohibitions.
No Smoking.
Loud, direct, and clear.
Just as boring as the rest of the place.
Lost in his own world, Lovro gave up on his attempt to show control over his notes. He left the notebook on his personal desk alone and cautiously pulled out his phone. There was no noise; no one dared to speak without first looking over their shoulder for the librarian. Even though the woman was not in sight at that moment, the fear of her presence was enough to keep everyone mute. Lovro turned on the screen, ignoring recurring notifications of news or weather, to focus on the message persisting at the top of his list.
Ivan: Where are you?
It was probably their break time. They didn't share many classes, and their encounters were limited to the gaps in between or the end of the day, when they walked together to the train station or the small park behind the nearby neighborhood. They hadn't yet given what they had a direct name, but it was solid, pleasant, and relaxing—especially when Ivan showed up with something in his hands, using food as an excuse to see him happy.
Ever since Ivan found out that Lovro detested sweets, he had made it his primary mission to fill him with sugar at every turn. His attempts to achieve this goal weren't exactly "normal," but Lovro valued them. Somehow, it felt better coming from him than from his mother, who was always asking if he wanted to take at least a bite of some recipe.
Lovro always said no.
Lovro: Study hall.
Ivan: Where is that?
Lovro: Sometimes I forget you don't know the whole institution yet.
Lovro: Right wing, between the philosophy room and the reception.
Ivan: On my way.
Lovro didn't warn him about the required silence; he figured Ivan would catch the hint the moment he crossed the threshold. Out of pure selfishness, Lovro stood up and moved to one of the tables near the entrance. He wanted Ivan to see him quickly before anyone else obstructed his path.
Ivan had become famous among their classmates in record time. As a mid-year transfer student, his arrival had been a shock to the system. Between being an art student, his persistent presence on the basketball court, and—above all—the captivating aura he emanated, he had spent the last few weeks drawing the attention of everyone in the hallways.
He was the "new guy" that everyone wanted to figure out.
Lovro hoped that, for once, no one would stop him. He wanted to be the first one to see him, to smile and call him over. It had already become an essential part of his day: that moment when his heart fluttered with difficulty at the expectation of seeing Ivan.
He scanned the radar of dark and blonde heads until he heard the familiar footsteps. Ivan entered through the doorway, looking around with a grimace bordering on desperation at the tomb-like silence of the room, until his eyes landed on him. He sketched a quiet smile—one of those informal greetings—but Lovro knew him better than that; he could sense a "dangerous" playfulness approaching.
The students who turned to look, or those who simply stayed staring, faded into the background as soon as Ivan reached his side. Without a word, Ivan brushed his fingers against Lovro’s cheek. It was a brief contact, but the blood rushed to Lovro’s face in a comical fashion. He gently pulled the hand away and made him sit beside him.
"Why are you here?" Ivan asked in a playful tone, his voice echoing more than allowed. "Don't tell me you're actually studying?"
Lovro feigned offense. "Studying, of course. Don't you believe me?"
"I do," Ivan conceded, leaning in closer, "but I doubt you’re doing it seriously when you don't even have a single book open."
Lovro mimicked his words back to him in a somber, low tone, teasing him, but they were immediately silenced by a nearby girl who shot them a sharp look with a finger pressed to her lips. Ivan arched his eyebrows at her with insolence before returning his attention to Lovro. Lovro tried to hush him with a look, sensing a Machiavellian plan forming in that bottomless brain. Ivan smirked and, cupping Lovro’s face between his hands, leaned in for an eskimo kiss. Lovro knew he should reject it—they were in public, under everyone's gaze—but he couldn't find the strength to pull away.
"Stop provoking," Lovro whispered, Ivan’s dark eyes inches from his own. "They’re going to kick us out, and I'll be banned for life."
Ivan pulled back slightly but kept his hands on him. It was his habit: taking advantage of any moment to place his hands on Lovro’s body. Fingers interlaced after a walk, the back of his hand resting on Lovro’s nape while they watched the sunset, shoulders brushing with vehemence in the hallways... it was a clumsy, romantic intimidation that only Ivan could possess.
Lovro was enchanted; the attention was so much that he felt he couldn't live without it.
"Alright," Ivan admitted, not letting go. "What do you want to do then?"
Lovro resisted the urge to check who was watching. His friends already knew, but the fear of being judged was still there—a bitter, lingering sensation. Ivan seemed to read that trace of doubt. Without warning, he slid one of his hands under the table, finding Lovro’s knee. It was a firm, warm touch that anchored Lovro to the reality of the present. His fingers began to trace slow circles; an hypnotic movement that screamed possessiveness and comfort all at once.
"Ignore them," Ivan murmured, his voice barely a breath against Lovro’s ear. "It’s just you and me. They can look all they want, but they have no idea what we're thinking."
Lovro exhaled the breath he didn't know he was holding. He looked down at their laps, seeing Ivan’s other hand now venturing onto the table to fiddle with the edge of his forgotten notebook. Ivan didn't need grand speeches; his hands were his spokesmen. Every time he tightened his grip or brushed his knuckles against Lovro’s wrist, he was reclaiming his presence, marking a territory where external criticism wasn't allowed.
"Do you want to leave?" Ivan finally asked, breaking the spell of the touch for a second. "We can go to the park. There are no signs there that prohibit anything."
Lovro looked at him, losing himself in that lopsided smile that always managed to disarm him.
"Yes," Lovro replied in a whisper, starting to gather his things with clumsy speed. "Let’s get out of here before that girl shoots another literal dart at us with her eyes."
Ivan let out a silent laugh and stood up first, holding his hand out openly, waiting. Lovro took it without hesitation. As they walked toward the exit, feeling the weight of curious eyes on their interlaced fingers, Lovro realized he didn't care if he was banned from the study hall for life.
As long as he had those hands on him, any place felt like the perfect refuge.
One week later.
Lovro had to resist laughing out loud in the middle of the crowded hallway. Next to the entrance of the study hall, a new sign had been posted. It featured the silhouette of two joined hands, and underneath in italics, it read:
No Kissing.
They didn't even kiss.