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If you told Ivan a week ago, let alone two months ago, that he’d be sitting at a dining room table eating birthday cake with Lovro and his mother, he would absolutely not believe you. He’d take a minute, perhaps, and would think about how lovely such a thing seemed and ache with how much he wanted it, but he would never in a million years accept it as something he’d get to experience so soon, or even at all.
When Ana, as she’d introduced herself as and insisted Ivan call her, had opened the door, greeting them with a warm smile and birthday wishes for Lovro, Ivan hadn’t quite been sure how to react, settling on an awkward wave that he internally cringed at and that Lovro had barely restrained a teasing glance towards. When he’d heard the knock, he’d instinctively pulled away from where his head rested on Lovro’s shoulder. He didn’t know how much, if anything, Lovro had told his mum, and didn’t want to put him in an uncomfortable position. But then, Lovro had introduced him with a shy smile and without hesitation, and the slight raise of Ana’s eyebrows suggested that at the very least, she’d heard his name before. Something about that revelation makes his chest warm.
Now, he’s sitting next to Lovro and opposite Ana, digging his fork into his second slice of cake that Ana insisted upon him having after he’d finished his first in no time at all. It’s sweet, maybe slightly too sweet, but Ivan can almost taste the love that went into making it, and that’s enough for it to be the best cake he’s ever tasted. Ana is rattling off a list of relatives who have wished Lovro a happy birthday through her, and Lovro responds in kind with those who he’s received direct messages from. Some names are accompanied by a slight grimace and tension that’s only noticeable because Ivan can’t pull his eyes away from Lovro’s face. He has a tiny smear of icing on his upper lip that Ivan itches to wipe away, so he compensates by gently resting his hand on Lovro’s thigh under the table. His heart almost beats out of his chest when Lovro places his own hand over Ivan’s without hesitating, continuing to talk to his mum as if it's the most natural thing in the world that he’s holding his boyfriend’s hand in his kitchen. Ivan can’t help but wonder how Lovro from two weeks ago would feel about this development.
They haven’t talked much about their families aside from the odd comment here and there, and so Ivan can’t help but think about the fact that he’s here, meeting a member of Lovro’s and hearing about so many others, no matter how brief. One day, he hopes Lovro will tell him about every one if he wants to. There’s something intimate, Ivan thinks, about knowing and learning about the family of someone you love, about starting to understand why they are the way they are, about discovering who is responsible for each of their quirks and characteristics. Already, even after only knowing her for less than an hour, Ivan is struck by the similarities between Ana and her son. Lovro has her eyes, bright and blue, and her warm, infectious smile. They’re two of Ivan’s favourite things about Lovro, and he has the urge to write Ana, and whatever scientific or omnipotent force is responsible for the exact combination of genetics in a person, a thank you card. He stifles a laugh as Lovro and Ana stir their respective cups of tea in perfect synchrony, clockwise and with their right hands.
“Before I forget,” Ana says, “Lovro, I told your aunt you’d phone her this morning. She wants to speak to you and you know how she gets if she sits around waiting.”
Lovro sighs with his whole body, dragging a hand over his face until his fingers rest at just the right place to pick at the skin on his lip. “Do I have to?”
“Lovro,” Ana says, pleadingly. There’s a firmness to her voice, undercut with something akin to an apology. It’s clear that Ivan is missing some context, that despite the smiles and loving glances that there’s still some semblance of a strain on the relationship between mother and son, or that there’s something deeper woven into the relationships between the people that Ivan is learning by name today. It just emphasises how much they still have to learn about each other, but, as Ivan reminds himself, they have time. They have forever, if he’s lucky enough to be granted it.
Shrugging his shoulders in defeat, Lovro squeezes Ivan’s hand before standing up, fishing his phone out of his pocket and heading towards his bedroom. Ivan wants nothing more than to follow him, to smooth out the tension in his shoulders with his hands, to hold him tight to his chest, just as Lovro did to him last night. But he knows that there’s conversations that need to happen first, a vulnerability that Lovro needs to allow himself when Ivan reminds him that he’s allowed to, and that he’s here for him. After last night, though, Ivan is confident that they’ll get there, a minute at a time.
The dining table suddenly seems a lot smaller when there’s only two people sitting at it. Ana gives a sympathetic smile, and Ivan, who has been at the receiving end of many a sympathetic smile, recognises it as maybe the most genuine he’s ever seen. It’s enough to ease the tension slightly, but he can’t help fixing his eyes on his plate, squashing the remaining cake crumbs against the porcelain with the back of his fork.
He feels as if he should say something, it’s his boyfriend’s mother after all and Ivan wants to make a good impression, but he isn’t entirely confident that Ana is aware of that - rather significant - detail. It’s unavoidable that he’s hyperaware of how much more difficult this is for Lovro, of how much longer it took for him to come to terms with how he feels and what it means, and of how hard he still finds it to be open about it with anyone other than Ivan himself. For that reason, regardless of how unsurprised Ana had seemed when she found Ivan in her son’s bedroom this morning, in a shirt that she must recognise from Lovro’s own wardrobe, he can’t assume that Ana knows the extent of the relationship, let alone that she’s okay with it.
Ivan has just mustered the courage to say something, maybe another compliment on the cake, when Ana speaks.
“I know,” she says, strangely casual as she stirs her tea. Apparently Lovro has inherited his mind-reading abilities from his mother as well as his eyes.
“Ah,” Ivan manages, unable to meet her eye. The overly cautious part of him, the part of him that dreads overstepping again after how he treated Lovro that fateful night, keeps him from jumping to any conclusions. I know could mean anything. Ivan knows that Lovro had gone to speak to his mum last night when he thought Ivan was asleep, and although the thought makes him want to curl up into a ball, I know could simply mean I know that you’re fucked in the head and that that’s why my son brought you into my home last night. It doesn’t necessarily mean I know my son is gay and that you’re romantically involved. Ivan is acutely aware of the fact that the woman in front of him knows at least one of his secrets, and he has no way of knowing which.
“You know,” Ivan repeats, and Ana affirms with a head nod and the hint of a smile on her face that Ivan only picks up on because the beginnings of Lovro’s smiles are almost identical. “And what do you…think of it?”
Taking a deep breath, Ana tucks her hair behind her ear, nose scrunching in a very familiar way as she seemingly contemplates how to start. “I’ve known for a few weeks.” And that, the confirmation of the timeframe, nearly knocks the wind out of Ivan’s chest. Oh fuck, he thinks. I’m getting the shovel talk. But then, he sees the almost solemn look on Ana’s face, the way she twists her hands together, and his stomach sinks.
“When Lovro first told me, I was scared. Terrified, really.” She sighs. “I apologise if that’s hard for you to hear. It’s just that Lovro has always been a sensitive kid. He tries to hide it, but he really is. Stuff that most people can just brush off really gets to him, you know? His dad,” she swallows slightly and looks down at the table, “really used to get on his case about it, and so Lovro has always been so hard on himself.” Ivan shifts in his chair, offering a smile that he hopes translates as understanding, because he knows exactly how hard Lovro is on himself. It almost makes him sick to think about, and he’s already vowed to himself to do whatever it takes to undo and paint over whatever has made him think and act that way. He’s willing to devote his life to the cause if that’s what it takes. “I was just so worried about him,” Ana continues, and Ivan sees her eyes start to glisten. “Being different is difficult for anybody, you of course know that, especially when so many people don’t understand you or the way you want to live your life. And for me, as his mother, finding out that his life is going to be even more difficult than it already has just broke me.” She sniffs slightly, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, but when she sees Ivan’s concern, her face breaks into a smile and her eyes brighten. “But, Ivan, I was so caught up in worrying that he wouldn’t have an easy life that I didn’t notice that these past few weeks, he’s already so much happier. God, I haven’t seen him smile the way he did this morning in months. The only thing holding me back was fear, and all that fear disappeared the moment I saw him with you. Ever since he told me about who he is, I haven’t been able to envision what his future will look like, and that kind of uncertainty is the last thing a mother wants. But I can now.” Ana reaches over the table, a question in the way she rests her hand on the table next to Ivan’s own, and when Ivan doesn’t pull away, she takes hold of his hand and squeezes. “I can see what his future is going to look like, I can see it so clearly, and it’s so beautiful.”
Ivan has never been very good at accepting even the simplest of compliments, and this admission is so much more than that. Half formed sentences get stuck in the back of his throat as he tries to process Ana’s words. What sticks out most though, is that Ana has seen them together, albeit briefly, and seen a future there. She’s seen Ivan and decided that yes, he’s right for her son. It’s something Ivan has thought himself, even selfishly, even in the early days when he saw Lovro with Ema and felt something borderline possessive stirring in his gut, but Ana’s confirmation means everything. What he and Lovro have is real, something that others can see at first glance, not something that his enemy of a brain has made up to trick him.
“I really care about him,” Ivan manages in lieu of response. It’s a watered down version of the truth, but he doesn’t think he should go around confessing his love to Lovro’s mum before Lovro himself. It is love, though. He thinks Ana knows it too, based on the way she runs her thumb over his knuckles and smiles so hard her eyes crinkle. “I’m going to be so good to him.” I’m going to try so hard.
“I know,” Ana says simply, without a trace of doubt in her voice. “I know.”
Just then, Lovro walks back into the room, looking physically defeated with his shoulders hunched and mouth pulled into a tight line. When he sees Ivan, he relaxes slightly, sitting back down and immediately lacing their fingers together. Ivan caresses Lovro’s hand with his thumb. Questions can wait until later - right now, all that matters is making sure Lovro knows that he’s here. Lovro pauses for a second and looks at Ivan, head tilted slightly in the way that signifies that he’s thinking something through, before lifting their clasped hands onto the table from underneath it. Ivan watches as Lovro looks over to Ana and gives her a small smile, and then grins when Lovro’s eyes find their way back to him.
“What did I miss?” Lovro asks. He sounds almost nervous, and Ivan can detect an edge of guilt, likely from leaving Ivan alone with his mum.
Ana fakes contemplation, eyes glittering with mirth in a way that is almost scarily familiar, before beginning to gather their empty plates into a pile. “Nothing much. Just getting to know your boyfriend.” She wiggles her eyebrows slightly at the last word and Lovro groans, cheeks flushing adorably.
“Mum.”
“I’m just messing with you, sweetheart,” Ana says. “I’m just going to wash these up and then I have a few errands to run.”
“I can help, if you want?” Ivan says, almost instinctive. He doesn’t know if he’s subconsciously been looking for a way to prove his value, or if he just wants his boyfriend’s mum to like him. Regardless, Ana looks surprised. “With the washing up, I mean.”
“Are you sure? You’re a guest.”
Ivan gives her his well-practiced winning smile. “Of course. It’s the least I could do after you’ve let me stay here.”
Ana clears her throat, shooting a soft glance at Lovro that Ivan doesn’t miss. He can feel Lovro’s eyes on him, his gaze warm and all encompassing even when Ivan isn’t looking back at him. “Well then,” Ana smiles, “That would be wonderful. Lovro, I trust you’ll help him out?”
“Obviously,” Lovro says, and Ivan can practically hear the accompanying eye roll and pout.
“Don’t ‘obviously’ me! I can’t remember the last time you washed up.” Ana gives Ivan a fond look that he isn’t sure how to deal with. “I think you’re going to be a good influence on my son.”
“I’ll do my best,” Ivan says with a nod, deciding not to argue. He doesn’t think Ana needs to know that he, for starters, broke into private property with said son of hers.
On her way past, Ana touches Ivan’s shoulder and says, soft and close to his ear, “Thank you.”
Ivan has a feeling that it's about more than just the washing up.
As soon as his mum is out of the room, Lovro turns on Ivan. “You are such a suck up.” He’s smiling as he closes the space between them, eyes teasing but fond. Ivan doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to being on the receiving end of such a look from Lovro.
His hands settle on Lovro’s waist, pulling him slightly closer. “I just want her to like me.” It comes out quieter, shakier, than he wants it to, and Lovro’s face immediately softens. He leans in, almost shy, and presses a gentle kiss to Ivan’s lips.
“Of course she likes you.” He sounds almost awed, as if he also can’t believe that this morning has gone so well, or that he’s even been able to introduce Ivan to his mum. “She’s a good judge of character. And,” he says, “we don’t always agree on everything, but we do share the same opinions on people. I know she’ll like you because I do.”
“You do?” Ivan teases, flicking the end of Lovro’s nose and letting his fingers graze the constellation of moles on his cheek.
“Shut up. You know I do.” And Ivan does know, which is a beautiful thing in itself. Lovro has seen, now, every ugly part of him, every thing he tried so hard to keep from him, and has chosen him anyway. Has chosen to keep trying.
Ivan shrugs. “It doesn't hurt to keep hearing it.” He presses a slow, soft kiss to Lovro’s cheek, followed by one to his jaw, feeling the skin warm underneath his lips.
“You’re such an asshole,” Lovro says, but he practically melts under Ivan’s touch.
Once they reach the kitchen, they settle into a comfortable rhythm that feels almost domestic. Ivan washes the dishes whilst Lovro dries them and puts them away, Ivan teasing him on the hilariously frequent occasion when he doesn't know where something goes in his own kitchen.
“You’re acting like you’ve never been in here before,” Ivan laughs. “You’re mum wasn’t kidding.”
Lovro frantically opens every single drawer, a fork in hand, seemingly to no avail. “She does this thing, sometimes,” he says, “where she randomly reorganises the whole house. I think it makes her feel better, I don’t know. I just haven’t been in here since the last time she did it.”
Ivan doesn’t ask exactly what Lovro means by ‘feel better’, but his chest clenches in something like understanding. Lovro freezes slightly, as if he ‘s said too much and is anticipating questions, but relaxes when they don’t come. “I think I saw her get the forks out of here,” Ivan says, gesturing to a drawer next to him on the other side of the sink. Sure enough, when he opens it, there’s an organiser full of mismatched cutlery looking back at him. He dries off one of his hands with a tea towel, and Lovro passes him the fork to put away.
“How was your aunt?” Ivan asks carefully. He dries off his other hand, stepping away from the sink and angling himself so that Lovro knows he has his full attention. Like a magnet to a pole, his hand reaches out to mess with the hem of Lovro’s oversized shirt.
Lovro wets his bottom lip with his tongue, a nervous tick that Ivan has grown fond of, and lets Ivan pull him a little bit closer. “She was okay. Fine. Seemed more interested in how mum was doing.” Ivan can relate to that; check-ins disguised as routine well wishes. He nods, but doesn’t say anything. It’s up to Lovro whether or not he says anything else on the matter, and Lovro seems to know that. Lovro shifts slightly, trailing his fingers along Ivan’s forearm, his mouth curling upwards into a shy smile.
“What did you really talk about with my mum?”
“Just the usual. She wanted to know what my intentions were with her son.” It’s not the whole truth, but it’s not a lie either. Ana seemed to already know what Ivan’s intentions are: to love and look after Lovro for as long as he’ll let him, but the rest of the conversation seems like one that Lovro should have with her himself.
“Oh yeah? What did you tell her?”
Ivan pretends to think about it. “Well, it got a bit awkward, you see. I couldn’t really tell her about all of my intentions with you.”
Lovro blinks at him, considering, and then flushes bright red, jaw dropping as he catches the innuendo. “What?” he practically squeaks, “But you said- you what? You can’t just - my mum!” His eyes dart back and forth between Ivan’s eyes, his lips, and his body which is shaking with silent laughter. He breathes out shakily. “Oh. You’re fucking with me.”
“Yes, Lovro, I’m fucking with you. I did not, at any point, suggest to your mother that I want to sleep with her son at some point.” He doesn’t miss the way Lovro’s cheeks colour at the phrasing, the way he looks down at the floor before returning his gaze to Ivan’s.
Lovro cradles the back of Ivan’s neck with his hand, so gentle as he pulls him down into a kiss that is anything but. Ivan is so caught up in the feel of Lovro’s mouth on his, warm and certain as he traces the seam of his lips with his tongue, that he doesn’t notice what Lovro is doing until he feels something warm and wet on his chest. He pulls away, looking down to see Lovro’s hand, covered in soap bubbles from the sink, bunched up in the fabric of his shirt.
“Oh,” he breathes as Lovro grins wolfishly, tooth gem glinting, “You’re going to regret that.” He dips his hand in the sink, coating his fingers with foaming washing up liquid, and smears it on the side of Lovro’s face before the other boy can think to move away.
They go back and forth, grappling at each other’s clothes to pull them closer and flicking bubbles and water wherever they can reach. Lovro squeals as Ivan grabs him around the waist from behind and soaks the front of his shirt. It’s not long before they’re both dripping wet and covered in suds, the bench top and floor just as covered, and when Ivan cups Lovro’s face in his hands and pulls him in to kiss him, all he can taste is the faint tang of citrus scented chemicals and the soap that has made its way onto Lovro’s lips.
“I’m going to be so good to you,” Ivan murmurs against Lovro’s mouth, delighting at how easy it is to slip his tongue inside when Lovro gasps slightly. He kisses him deeply, grip on his waist tightening before he pulls away. “That’s what I told your mum. That’s what my intentions are.”
“Yeah?”
Ivan nods and presses their foreheads together. “Yeah. And it might not always come easily, and I can’t promise how each day is going to look, but I’m going to try so fucking hard.”
Lovro leans forward slightly so that their noses brush. “Minute by minute, remember?” he whispers, the words still fresh in Ivan’s mind from last night. Their faces are so close that Ivan can practically taste every syllable.
“Minute by minute,” he echoes, and then, “I think in this next minute we should clean up.”
Lovro shakes his head, the movement jostling Ivan’s own. He laughs softly, nose wrinkling as he smiles. “Okay. Let’s do that.” He presses one last kiss to Ivan’s lips, sweet and familiar, and Ivan fights the urge to never let him go.
“So,” Ivan says slowly, as he accidentally steps in a puddle of suds. “What are the odds of you actually knowing where your mum keeps the mop?”
He gets a handful of soap straight to the face for that.