Chapter Text
Ivan could not manage to close his eyes, and as per usual, was beset by pointless rumination.
He replayed the familiar sensations of brazen, brash knuckles gliding against his skin, the slightest brush of arms, or a meager tap of the shoulder while stumbling out of his bedroom and fumbling with the bathroom door handle. He recalled himself goading a boy with gray-toned hair, and remembered the way the boy would recoil at his touch, but never enough to completely push Ivan aside. He tantalized himself with his fantasies that pictured a world where God and devotee could meet as one, and finally, Ivan’s gaze would be returned.
Knelt by the sink, he reached the same inevitable, unfortunate conclusion he always had–
That world did not exist, and the only man that ever truly met his gaze was his own reflection.
Upon his porcelain sink now lay a pool of blood and delicate flowers. He gazed upon it with laden eyes, hacked, and gripped the faucet with tense, firm hands. Not even the rush of water could quell the onslaught of blood and rose petals alike. Between breaths, he pried a few stray petals from his mouth and spat them out onto the counter. Whether they were red or not, he could not tell, for the blood stained and painted them anew.
After a moment, the faucet was shut, and all but one petal was discarded. Ivan wiped his mouth clean of blood and meekly grabbed the lone petal. Instead of red, it now appeared white, much to Ivan’s disappointment. Though the disease was excruciating at times, the sight of red blossoms would always remind Ivan of that same, impossible boy. Ivan recalled the crunch of vivid, tattered flowers beneath his feet. It was a memory from his childhood, where Till, the now boy and then child, had spent so long crafting the most beautiful, red flower crowns. Ivan, though enamored, soon felt the same blossoms crushed beneath him. Till, ever belligerent, began to attack the other boy in a fit of perhaps rage, embarrassment, or grief– no matter what it was, Ivan remembers how delighted he felt when the first punches flew, intrigued by the boy’s explosive attitude and the strange exchange of emotions. It was one of the first moments that he did not have to feign a smile. When Till was there, it simply came to him.
Ivan traced his cheekbones lightly, smiled, and left the bathroom lethargically, his mouth still stained with a copper-like taste.
Once he entered his room, he checked the alarm on his bedside table. It was well past midnight, but that did not matter to Ivan. Whether rested or not, a dull sense of tiredness always consumed him. His life was composed of consequence and stagnation, where he simultaneously held all the power yet none at all to change his situation. Much like himself, it was paradoxical. Some things, after all, remain inexplicable, and one cannot make the effort to understand them.
He turned towards the drawers beside his desk, slid one open, and slipped the petal through. Every time he knelt over the sink, he would keep a petal and place it inside. After school, he would gaze at them for minutes on end. Perhaps it was comforting to see tangible evidence of both his love and pain, or perhaps he was simply strange. Ivan never grew less strange, only better at pretending he wasn’t. His envy appeared to grow, though. Envy for love, reciprocation, or the quality of being undoubtedly human. Envy and admiration, he thought to himself, were not so different.
No matter what he thought, the petals would remain tucked inside his desk unbeknownst to everyone but himself. It was regrettable in a way. Sometimes he yearned for Till to become aware of his affections, for no purpose but to ensure Till realized that he was not only beloved, but love itself. Throughout countless nights, Ivan had failed to determine a surefire way to do this that did not include an unreturned confession. Someone like Till, an explosion of what it meant to be human, could not love someone like Ivan. The most human thing about him was this rot that continued to fester inside of his heart and now throat. His love was sickly, but it was real, as these petals proved, and maybe that was all Ivan could dream of. Therefore, Ivan did not need Till’s love– he just needed Till.
Ivan’s conclusion, however, did not ease his restlessness nor allow him to close his eyes. Indeed, it only brought the return of a sour taste to his mouth.
Ivan left his bedroom once more and realized that this night may last longer than usual.
✿❀ ❀✿
That morning, Ivan was elated to find that Till had come to first period early.
Despite not getting any sleep at all, Ivan did not feel that much different than normal. He touched the bags beneath his eyes and sighed, as they were becoming more difficult to cover up as time went on. Before the disease afflicted him, he did not exactly have a proper sleep schedule, but he was less negligent in regard to himself. He used to routinely fix himself every morning by straightening his hair, ironing his clothing, and polishing his face. Lately, he had been forgetting to perform even these habitual tasks. Ivan decided to distract himself from this by meandering to Till, who slouched in his seat on the other side of the classroom.
“You’re early.” Ivan leaned down next to Till. “What’s up with that?”
Till glanced at him briefly before learning back in his chair. Decidedly, he ignored his question. “And why are you always smiling like that?”
“Always?” Ivan asked, prodding the boy. “How do you know it’s not just when you’re around?”
“Lay off.” Till muttered, shooting a glance towards Ivan before turning to grab something out of his backpack.
Till pulled out a sage-colored sketchbook along with a dulled pencil, ensuring that when he drew, it was out of Ivan’s sight. Ivan attempted to poke his head around the boy’s shoulder, causing Till to jolt out of his seat and clutch the sketchbook close to his chest. At that moment, Till’s gaze was completely fixated on Ivan. Ivan cherished every moment such as this, no matter how it occurred or how ephemeral it was. Inevitably, Till would always turn away. As predicted, the boy reverted his gaze to his sketchbook, which he hesitantly opened to continue his previous work.
“You never let me see,” Ivan complained.
“You can’t look!”
“Come on, just a glance.” Ivan pleaded, but it did not garner a response other than a brief, irritated mumble. “You never answered my question, by the way,” Ivan continued, dropping the subject at hand. “Why are you early? It’s not like you.”
Till’s expression became inscrutable as silence fell upon them. He shifted the sketchbook towards Ivan without a word, who received it curiously. He flipped through a few pages and saw a variety of sketches, some of them dappled with spots of color. Pages were adorned with anemones, marigolds, and forget-me-nots. Every creation of Till’s was beautiful– he managed to put life into everything that he made. He had even managed to carve something vaguely human out of Ivan. Regardless, he assumed that these floral sketches were not what Till had so adamantly been trying to cover up. After flipping through a few more pages, he found multiple portraits of a girl with round glasses and a beaming smile.
Ivan gazed at the drawings for a minute before speaking. “Is this Mizi?”
Till nodded. “I wanted to talk to her today and give her–” he stammered on his words– “I wanted to give her a letter, but once I saw her in the hallways I… I don’t know. I just threw it all in the trash.”
“Was it a confession, then?” Till appeared embarrassed and unwilling to answer, so Ivan tried a different approach. “Why do you like her so much, anyway?”
Till hesitated. “She’s pretty and nice. She’s got a nice smile…” His words trailed off as he continued to sketch on the page.
Ivan figured that wasn’t the extent of it, but he didn’t bother to push it. He sighed. “So instead of saying anything about it, you’re just drawing her?”
Till fell silent. After a moment, he ripped the page off and shoved it into Ivan’s hands. “This is dumb, actually. You keep it.”
Ivan took the paper with clenched hands. Though he was well aware that Till’s affection for Mizi would never amount to anything, mainly due to her and Sua’s unmatched adoration for each other, it still provoked the rot that lay inside his chest. Ivan was horrified at the idea of Till discovering his ailment. Undoubtedly, if Till knew that Ivan was sick, he would never let Ivan go without answers, of which Ivan simply would not give.
To avoid confronting these fears, Ivan waved the paper in front of Till’s face. “Alright! I might just go show her these, actually.”
“Ivan! Don’t you fucking dare–!”
Ivan shot a smile towards Till as he made his way towards the classroom door. “Whatever you say!”
Exasperated, Till slouched back in his chair and buried his face in his hands. “Fuck…”
As Ivan walked out of the classroom, he glanced towards the clock above the door. He had approximately seven minutes to discard his guts and return as if nothing had happened. Ambitious, but it could be done. He quickened his pace, ensuring his posture remained straight and his composure calm. He headed towards the boys’ bathroom. In a rush, he found himself colliding with another student.
Stumbling backwards, he coughed, ensuring to stifle any blood that may trickle out. “My apologies. I was not watching–” He realized who it was he ran into, and quit his apology. “Sua?” He paused. “Where’s Mizi?”
The girl with short black hair scoffed and dusted her uniform off. “Watch where you’re headed, Ivan. Why do you need to know, anyway?”
“I just assume the two of you are always together.” Ivan shrugged, swallowing the blood down his throat discreetly.
“We have different first periods. Not that you’d know that… you don’t seem to be paying attention at all.”
“It was an honest mistake. I usually don’t bump into you on purpose,” Ivan complained.
Sua walked past him and muttered something beneath her breath. Before she got far, she glanced back and looked down at his hands. She squinted at the paper carefully. “... What is that?”
“Hm?” Ivan glanced towards the paper and crumpled it up. “Oh– nothing– absolutely nothing– I mean– it’s not mine.”
Sua glared at him and began to approach him. Ivan then rushed into the bathroom– “Sorry! Gotta go!”
Sua was apparently not determined enough to follow him into the boys’ bathroom, so Ivan was left alone. He uncrumpled the paper, folded it, and placed it into his pocket before entering a stall nearby. He knelt over the toilet in anticipation, but only felt an uncomfortable sensation and nothing more. He thought about triggering his gag reflex, but that may take longer than he can afford. He frowned and reluctantly left the bathroom. Whatever illness had possessed him at that moment appeared to be putting itself off for later, and so, he had come all this way for nothing.
Ivan trudged out of the bathroom to find a desolate hall. “Strange.”
Looking at the clock above confirmed his suspicion that class would soon begin. Realizing that he had only a minute to get to his first period. He stumbled over himself and started to run, but as soon as he shot open the classroom door, the bell began to ring. His classmates eyed him with a look of curiosity, intrigued by the negligence of the perfect and punctual Ivan.
“You’re late, Ivan.” The teacher chided him. “It’s not like you.”
“I was feeling–” Ivan stopped himself and glanced at Till. “I just miscalculated how long it would take for me to return, that's all.”
“Whatever happened, you need to check in with the office first.”
And so, as his teacher was unforgiving, Ivan was awarded his first tardy of the year.
✿❀ ❀✿
During the lectures, Ivan’s eyes ended up on Till.
Their teacher was prattling about the Battle of Shiloh, or perhaps the Battle of Antietam. Ivan was partially listening, but most of his attention lay on Till. Ivan did not have to fear Till looking up to find him staring because Till never looked up at all, for Ivan or for their teacher. Ivan spent class observing Till, enamored with the way he slouched, fiddled with his pen, sketched on the margins of his papers, and snuck his phone beneath the desk. This time, it ended poorly, and Till was given a long lecture by the teacher. Ivan was intrigued by all Till did, including his poor decisions and mistakes. The whole time the teacher was chiding the teal-eyed boy, Ivan wore a smile on his face.
But Till was temporary, and thus, when the bell rang, the gray-haired boy rushed out of class without looking back.
The twist in Ivan’s gut reminded him that he was not allowed to feel disappointment for being unable to reach the unattainable.
He continued his day in a mundane, routine manner. He did get to briefly enjoy the company of Mizi and Sua during calculus, however. Most days, Ivan did not bother talking to them in order to focus on his work. The two chatted by themselves mainly, with Sua idly doing work amidst their conversations, and Mizi avoiding it at any cost. Ivan could not muster up the will to focus, so for today, he decided to entertain himself with a simple conversation.
He overheard Mizi first. “I think I know someone who could be a good accompanist. I think they’d be willing, considering we’re sort of friends.”
“If you trust them to do a good job, sure,” Sua mumbled.
Ivan leaned towards them. “What are the two of you talking about?”
“Hm?” Mizi brightened at Ivan’s participation in the conversation. “Oh, we’re performing in an arts festival soon! We’re trying to find an accompanist right now, that's all.”
“Interesting,” Ivan murmured.
“You know…” Mizi bumped him with her elbow. “You should definitely try to sing something.”
“Me?” Ivan paused. “I’m not sure what I would do, but I suppose I could. When is it?”
“Two weeks, about,” Sua explained, not looking up from her work.
“Hm. Well, I think I’ll be rather busy,” Ivan lied. “I could attend, but not prepare anything.”
“That makes sense,” Sua murmured flatly.
“What does that mean?” Ivan scoffed.
Sua glanced at Ivan’s pockets and the crumpled paper inside with a glare, and he consequently shut up. Mizi hummed to herself. “Aw, that’s alright! As long as you can come. Actually…”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out two tickets and a pamphlet. “I got these a while back. These are some food stamps for the festival!” She paused. “I just get worried, you know? Cause’ you’re not eating at lunch anymore.”
Ivan glanced to the side. “Not hungry.”
He knew that Mizi did not believe him, but she did a good job of pretending otherwise. “I know.” She sighed. “Still! There’s also a pamphlet for anyone interested in the festival. Maybe if you knew anyone who would want to participate, you could hand it over to them?”
Ivan smiled weakly. “Yes, of course. I’ll let you know if I find someone.”
✿❀ ❀✿
The period passed by them rather fast, as the three were consumed by idle chat. Much to his disappointment, he managed to complete only one or two problems. He stifled a grimace and waved farewell to Mizi, who was in a rush to get to her next class for a unit test. Of course, this left Ivan and Sua alone.
“Do you know if she studied or not?” Ivan asked.
“Well, if you count me explaining all the material to her last night, then yes.”
Sua’s words trailed off as she spoke, appearing to be preoccupied within her own mind. As they walked through the hallways, Ivan kept their pace even, ensuring to wave to each passerby who shouted his name. He’d often forget who his acquaintances were, and thus began a habit of never greeting people by name. It was rather ironic to be so well-known yet feel so isolated– again, he himself was a paradox. He frowned and turned towards Sua.
“That checks out.” Ivan shrugged, continuing the conversation. “Despite her procrastination, she always seems to get a good grade. I’m sure she’ll do fine. She’s smart, after all.”
Sua glanced down. “Is that why you have a picture of her in your pocket?”
Ivan cleared his throat. “I have– nothing of the sort–
“Seriously, Ivan.” Sua abruptly stopped walking and tugged on Ivan’s sleeve, locking eyes with him. “What’s up with you lately? You can’t pay attention, you’re hiding stuff from us for whatever reason, and you’re forgetting basic self-care. I’m not sure what you’re hiding, but please– at least– at least just eat today, or something.”
“Says you,” Ivan retaliated. “I know you skip out on dinner and–”
“This isn’t about me.”
“If you were in my situation, you’d do the same thing.”
“So what, Ivan? So what?” Sua let go of his sleeve and turned away. “Just tell me what it is.”
“I can’t do that, exactly.”
“...It’s about him then. Isn’t it That’s why you have that drawing, right? It’s his.”
“Yes, yes.” Ivan sighed. “Don’t worry, though. You don’t have to do anything about it. I’ve got it under control.”
“You’re impossible, Ivan.” Sua approached the door to her classroom. “See you.”
✿❀ ❀✿
At lunch, Ivan hummed to himself, narrating a passage. “...It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”
He sat at a lonesome table with a book and pen in hand. He had recently picked up “A Tale of Two Cities” at the library out of boredom. Classical literature was one of the few things that Ivan still found enjoyment in. The prose, nuances, and utter tragedy embedded in each novel appealed to him greatly. The librarian had recommended this book personally, for Ivan spent much of his time after school lingering in the library. It was preferable to consume literature rather than return home, after all. He had not actually looked into the book until now, though. He flipped through pages and continued to narrate certain lines out loud, but he did not get very far before Mizi came to sit beside him.
“Is that for an assignment?” She asked, placing her lunch on the table.
“No, I was just bored, that's all.” Ivan smiled and shoved his book to the side.
“Right, right…” Mizi opened her lunchbox and began to eat.
Ivan glanced over and felt a pang of jealousy and hunger tormenting his gut. Food had been taunting him as of late. Before the sickness, he managed to eat around two meals a day– now, he could hardly stomach anything at all. It irritated his throat, made swallowing painful, and worst of all, it usually triggered coughing. He thought he would be fine without eating, but peering at Mizi’s lunch made him think otherwise. He tapped his foot and forced himself to read, telling himself that he’d never been big on food anyway.
“Want some?” She handed him a piece of gimbap and smiled softly. “Please.”
“I…” He looked toward Mizi, paused, and grabbed the piece. He ate it before the regret could wash over him, instead feeling a rush of both pain and relief. “Thank you.”
“So…” Mizi continued with an expectant gaze. “Has your day been alright?”
“More or less.”
“You know,” Mizi commented, “I heard you were late to your first period. Is that the first time you’ve ever been late?”
“I think so,” Ivan murmured. “When my dad used to drive me, he was very punctual as well. Though usually, I took the bus.”
“He’s out on a business trip, right? Out of state?”
“Yes. Once I got a license, he started leaving more often. I don’t really know what he does, though, but he’s gone for the next couple of weeks.”
Ivan was relieved his father was gone. The man was observant and nosy, frequently checking Ivan’s schoolwork and devices, or critiquing his appearance and choice of friends. He would’ve found out about the late-night fits, vomiting, or petals tucked underneath strange places. When the illness first took hold of Ivan, he managed to hide it– now it was becoming too obvious. If his dad found out, he would reprimand Ivan for his feelings, and force him to the hospital to get surgery. He would never let his investment, Ivan, die. The doctors would then prick apart Ivan’s heart and let him lose Till forever. His stomach lurched at the thought, and he wiped a trickle of blood off of his mouth before Mizi could notice it dripping.
“How’d you figure out I was late anyway?” He mumbled, dabbing his face with a napkin.
“I just heard from one of my friends who’s in your class.”
“Must be nice,” Ivan replied. “To have all those close friends, I mean.”
“Hm?” Mizi hesitated. “...Oh, right! I guess it is!”
Mizi quietly passed a few more pieces of food to Ivan. He refused some of them, but took all the sweets. He knew he would only throw it up later– sooner than usual because of the fact that he was eating– but it granted him a sense of satisfaction for now. He tried to read while Mizi was rambling, but couldn’t seem to wrap any of the sentences around his head. He turned his focus to Mizi, who, strangely, he could not focus on either. All he felt was petals lodged into his throat, threatening to overflow and break the gates of stagnation. One petal, and Mizi would instantly know. Perhaps his life would soon move more towards consequence, and he would be forced to unveil the extent to this pitiful, horrible obsession they call love.
“Ivan?”
“Hm?” Ivan broke out of his thoughts.
“I just mentioned that I was talking to Sua earlier…” Her words trailed off as she spoke. “Are you okay?”
“You… talked to Sua?”
“I think she’s worried about you, Ivan.” Mizi set down her fork and stared at her empty lunchbox. “I am too. What’s going on between you and Till?”
Damn it– at least Ivan doesn’t have to tell her about the sickness. “I…” He struggled to find the words. “Nothing out of the ordinary, I suppose. It’s the same as always. He’s still hopelessly infatuated with you, after all.”
“Is that so?” Mizi laughed with an inscrutable edge to her voice. “Even though Sua is my girlfriend…?”
“I think he knows.” Ivan looked away.
“Oh.” Mizi slid her lunchbox back into her backpack. “Well, at least he’s very respectful. Still, he should look–” she glanced at Ivan. “Elsewhere. Is that really all? I feel like I’m missing something here.”
“Yes, that’s all.” Ivan swallowed down the blood creeping up his throat.
“Alright.” Mizi’s voice shook lightly as she spoke. “If you run into anything else, just remember that we want to help you!”
“Yes. Thank you.”
The two packed up their supplies and began to head upstairs, anticipating the bell to ring any moment. They did not speak after that exchange, except for brief, mundane conversation. Ivan felt a sense of pity for the two of them as they walked. He noticed her fiddling with the straps of her backpack and holding her smile for too long for it to be natural. He was certain she noticed his similar habits and unnatural responses. For so long, he saw her the same way most people did– too cheery and bright, but kind. He doubted her fully understood her now, but at least he was aware that the nuances existed. She likely thought of him in a similar manner. Perhaps she knew just enough to see something wrong, but not enough to be able to save him.
“Ivan?” She called out as she approached the door to her classroom. “Just remember that I gave you the pamphlet, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you… What a strange farewell.” Ivan murmured to himself quietly as he walked away.
Just as he was about to leave for his next period, he felt the vibration of his phone in one of his pockets.
He pulled it out and read it hesitantly– oddly enough, it was from Till.
“Need you for something. Meet me after school by the practice rooms.”
Ivan knew not whether this was promising or frightening– only that it was like most things, strange.
He supposed all he could do was uncover the enigma of why Till would ever request his personal presence, but when he messaged back, no reply came.
He would simply have to see for himself.