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Fourth row of the left side by the aisle. A spot on their bus ride home that Till knew too well.
Ivan made it his mission to claim that seat as his. Unless it's taken first by somebody else, then that's entirely his.
Although he didn't like it when that happened for two things: he had to find where Ivan’s seat was located, while also finding the optimal position to watch him.
So far that only happened a total of three times. He managed to find him one time sitting in the far back. It was the worst ride Till has ever had—one, because he couldn't freely gaze at that pretty face; two, because he’d resorted to standing—to have a proper look, of course; lastly, because Acorn chewed him out for the rest of the ride.
Fortunately, they were back to usual the next day. His friend, Acorn, got to sit next to the window and nap. As for Till… he had the best view from where he's at.
Sixth row of the right wing by the aisle. From here, Ivan’s smiling face looks as though it was carved out of a book.
Picture perfect. Till had debated just using his camera for a few snaps. Acorn threatened that he was too much like a creep, and that he should be satisfied with his sketches.
“It wasn't enough,” Till had argued back then. Acorn looked like he was ready to drag him to the nearest police station he could find.
“What about the hundred pieces of his face wasn't enough for you?”
That quickly shut him up. He’d glare at his friend so much that day he had a headache for the duration of the day.
“Dude. Stop your yearning and get off. We're here.”
Till’s hand still, he’d been too absorbed in sketching to notice.
“Shut up! You're too loud!” He retorted, face flushed red.
Acorn sighed loudly. “Whatever. I’m going first.”
Till quickly got up and shouted at his friend to wait but he was ignored. They were bickering while walking home.
Acorn flipped him off and ran off. “I swear I'm gonna puke all over you if I ever have to watch this shit show again tomorrow! Go confess!”
Till ran after him, screaming incoherent words back.
If he looked back, he would've caught Ivan’s eyes fixing on him, watching everything unfold. And if he looked close enough, he would've seen how his hands fist into balls, nails digging in his palms from the tension.