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Till’s leg bounces anxiously beneath the café table. It’s a popular after-school spot, so multiple familiar faces enter and exit with their coffees and smoothies. They pay Till no mind, but he’s used to being invisible to his fellow classmates. There’s only one person who ever seems to notice him, and that’s the same person who is twenty minutes late for their date.
Cringing, Till flips through the sketchbook in front of him, scowling at the drawings on the page. This is a date, isn’t it? When the football team won the Homecoming game, Ivan had sprinted over to him, his grin wide and genuine. Dazzling. After Till stammered out an awkward congratulations, Ivan had leaned into his personal space and asked him out.
That’s what “Meet me at the café at noon this next Saturday” meant, right?
So where the fuck is he?
Ivan’s the punctual one. He’s well known around school as a model student. Never late with his assignments, never tardy or absent in class.
Maybe something happened to him. Till anxiously glances out the window, as if expecting to see Ivan lying in the street, bleeding out while his adoring fans sob over him performatively. The street remains empty, but what other explanation is there? Ivan is annoying and loud and irritating, but he’s not a liar. When he says he’ll be somewhere, he’s always there. Always.
Till chews on his lip, wishing he had a cell phone. His foster dad says they’re too expensive, and that Till doesn’t have any friends to call anyway. Till clenched his jaw at that dig, but it’s not like he could really refute it. Ivan’s his only friend, really. Mizi and Sua count, maybe, but they run in completely different circles than Till. Ivan does too, but he makes an exception for Till, for some reason.
Thirty minutes late. What the fuck.
The bell above the café door jingles, and Till sees a flash of red in his peripheral. He turns, expectant, his heart beating faster, but it’s just a group of Ivan’s teammates, jostling each other and laughing as they make their way to the counter. Till sinks back in his seat, frowning and wondering if it’s worth the risk to go over and ask them where Ivan is.
He doesn’t talk to jocks as a rule. They’re just as loud and annoying as Ivan, but without the familiarity of years spent playing in the park and on playgrounds together. Besides, he’s seen the way some of them treat losers like him. A bunch of Neanderthals looking for each other’s approval by asserting dominance over weaker beings. Pathetic, but effective.
The flock of jocks retrieve their orders and turn to go. Till watches them make their way to the door, panic spiking. If Ivan is hurt or sick, Till feels he has a right to know. He definitely has a right to know why he’s being stood up, and apart from dropping by the Lees’ intimidating mansion across town, Till doesn’t see another way.
Standing quickly before he can talk himself out of it, Till jumps forward on shaky legs and grabs the elbow of the closest jock.
“Watch it!” he says with a frown, shaking Till off his arm.
“Where’s Ivan?” Till asks breathlessly, wanting to get this exchange over with as soon as possible.
“What’s it to you?” the guy asks, still frowning. The others have stopped as well and watch at a short distance, snickering and smirking at each other.
Till feels heat rush to his face. “I just . . . he was supposed to meet me here.”
The jock gives Till a onceover before bursting out in laughter. The others follow suit, and Till’s face grows even hotter.
“He’s meeting you here? Yeah right,” the guy says with a snort. “Why would the captain hang out with a loser like you?”
Till curls his hands into fists. “I’m Till? We’re . . . friends,” he says, though the bravado leaks out of his voice when he realizes the others don’t recognize him. Has Ivan never mentioned him before? He doesn’t like the idea of Ivan talking about him behind his back, but he thought Ivan would at least bring up his name from time to time.
The jocks just laugh again. The one in front of him shrugs. “Sorry, dude. I’m pretty sure he said he was home.”
Till shakes his head, fighting back the burning sensation at the corners of his eyes. “No, he said to meet him here.”
“Looks like you got played,” the jock says with a smirk. He reaches out and pats Till’s head condescendingly. “Consider this a wakeup call, yeah? No one like you is friends with someone like Lee. It just doesn’t make sense, and it seems like he’s finally accepted that. You should, too.”
Till shakes his head again, but his protest gets lodged in his throat. He refuses to cry in front of these douchebags, so he turns on his heel and stomps back over to his table. He slams his sketchbook shut and stuffs it into his backpack, his vision blurring.
Was this really some kind of prank? Is this Ivan’s way of telling Till to fuck off and leave him alone? It’s true that Ivan’s social circle rarely, if ever, involves Till, but Ivan still goes out of his way to spend time with him. He walks home with him after practice. He calls him at his apartment on the weekends. Fuck, they had multiple sleepovers this past summer.
It’s their senior year. Did the fame and popularity finally get to Ivan’s head? Does he think he has a better chance at a bright future if he leaves the past behind? Leaves Till behind?
Till feels sick, his stomach flipping and twisting. Flinging his backpack over his shoulder, he leaves the café with the jocks’ mocking laughter ringing in his ears. He wipes away the tears that escape down his cheeks with a vicious swipe of his palm.
Fuck him. Fuck him. Till doesn’t need Ivan either. He’ll be just fine without him.
Even as he tells himself this, however, he knows it’s a lie.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆
Till stews over what happened all Sunday, and by Monday he’s worked himself up into quite a state. A dark cloud hovers over his head, as he storms over to Ivan’s locker. The way the other’s face lights up, like he has no idea the emotional turmoil Till has experienced the past three days (if you count the freak out after the Homecoming game), just enrages him further.
“FUCK YOU!” Till yells, shoving Ivan hard enough in the chest to knock the taller boy into the lockers behind him. “How could you fucking do that to me?!”
Ivan’s smile has vanished. He stares at Till, mouth open in shock, eyes wide.
“Till, what—”
“Did you send your friends to make fun of me? Huh?! Were you too chicken to say that shit to my face?!”
Ivan stares at him, silent. Till wants to believe he didn’t know, to believe the confusion on his face, but Ivan’s good at lying. How often has Till seen him fit his perfect student and captain mask on when talking to their classmates and teachers? Too often. He knows a crowd has gathered, watching the commotion, whispering to their friends. The back of his neck and his ears burn with humiliation, as tears blur his vision.
“Let’s not talk here,” Ivan says softly, seeming to notice their audience finally. He reaches for Till, but Till slaps his hand away.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” he snarls. Is this making Ivan uncomfortable? Embarrassing him? Good. Now he knows how Till felt in the café with Ivan’s jock friends laughing at him. “You want me to stop bothering you? Fine, how’s this? I don’t want to ever fucking see you again!”
Ivan reels back like Till physically hit him, the back of his head smacking against the metal locker behind him. The tears have started to escape, so Till doesn’t wait for Ivan’s response. Spinning away, he flees down the hall, shoving past the staring and snickering students, hot shame burning through his chest. By the time he bursts into the boys’ restroom on the second floor, he’s hyperventilating.
He chooses the stall at the end, his usual hiding place, and locks the door with a shaking hand. He sits on the toilet seat, pulling his knees up to his chest as he grips them tightly in his arms. Burying his face in them, he sobs hard, his chest aching with each painful gasp.
Maybe he should have known his time with Ivan was temporary. They come from two different worlds, after all. The adopted son of a millionaire and the forgotten foster kid with a dead mother. A popular jock and a social outcast. A handsome elite and an awkward loser. How could Till ever think they’d be forever?
Ivan doesn’t come find him, and Till tells himself he didn’t want him to.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆
Till doesn’t remember life before Ivan. They met in preschool. Although Till’s memories from that time are vague and choppy, he remembers prying crayons out of Ivan’s mouth, showing him how to properly color with them, remembers Ivan chewing on his own fingers instead as he watched silently. It took two years for Ivan to drop that habit, and Till remembers feeling a sense of responsibility for the smaller boy, gently coaxing his fingers out of his mouth, scolding him whenever he refused to eat his lunch, picking up the pieces to feed Ivan himself. Ivan ate obediently whenever the food came from Till’s hands.
Things changed in middle school. Ivan grew taller, surpassing most of those in their class. He got a better haircut and suddenly had girls giggling over him. His meticulous notes served him well in class, and he started getting praise from teachers. Till watched helplessly as the social gap between them widened.
Suddenly, Ivan couldn’t play with him after school because he had football practice. He couldn’t spend the night on the weekends because he had birthday parties to attend. Till choked down his anxiety, his jealousy, his fear. He withdrew, throwing himself into his art to cope. Those days when Ivan sought him out, rushed after him to walk him home, talking his ear off about things Till didn’t care about, those were Till’s favorite, and he breathed easier.
Summer was their time. Ivan’s family went on expensive vacations, and Till would tag along as Ivan’s guest. He felt awkward and out of place, but the way Ivan smiled at him, encouraged him, tugged him along beside him to explore whatever beachfront or resort they stayed in made Till feel like, if nothing else, he belonged with Ivan.
It made him think things would be okay, in the end. That despite their different social status, Ivan would make sure he’d never be forgotten or left behind again.
Then he pressed his lips against Till’s ear and told him to meet him at the café, and Till felt a jolt of electricity buzz down his spine, his heart racing and his palms sweating. The world shifted on its axis that day, as new possibilities bloomed in his heart. The topic of dating never came up between them regarding themselves. Ivan would share juicy gossip about their classmates, and Till would sigh over pretty actresses in the movies they watched together, but they carefully danced around their own crushes.
Ivan came out to him in sophomore year, and Till accepted it and moved on, not making a big deal over it in the hopes Ivan wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. He never expected nor hoped that it would lead to anything, because it seemed like such an impossibility.
Why would Ivan tease him about that? After everything?
It hurts to see Ivan in class, no longer glancing at him with a smirk when a classmate or teacher makes an unintentional innuendo, no longer passing him notes just to tell him his hair looks “unkempt” or to ask if his eyeliner is his application to “clown school.” Till always crumpled these stupid notes and tossed them into his backpack, forgetting to throw them out later. As infuriating as they were, class feels wrong without them.
Ivan avoids him at lunch, sitting with his jock friends and leaving Till to sit alone. That’s fine, though. That’s what Till wanted.
Except the pressure in his chest makes him want to cry with each minute that passes without Ivan’s solid, reliable presence squeezing in next to him despite there being an entire table of empty seats.
This sucks.
The walk home feels longer without Ivan’s chatter in his ear, and when winter break comes around and Ivan’s typical offer for Till to join his family at their ski lodge never comes, Till feels the weight on his lungs increase.
It’s a miserable break. Till’s foster dad drinks himself into a stupor. There’s no tree, no lights, no gifts. Till stares at the box of personalized pencils that he got for Ivan sitting on his desk, the ones with words like “dickhead” and “asshole” engraved near the erasers. Ivan would have laughed when he opened them, before tossing Till some stupid cheap souvenir he got on their latest trip. Till would later find his real present in his backpack, typically some new brushes or charcoal or another fancy type of art supply Till couldn’t afford to get himself.
Ivan always knows what Till wants somehow.
Except when he fucking doesn’t.
Till misses him so badly.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆
School starts again in the new year, and Till’s fingers tap anxiously against his black, torn-up jeans. Ivan’s at his locker, carefully putting his books away, arranging them neatly in order of his classes like a nerd. Till inhales sharply, gathering his courage, before striding over and yanking hard on the back of Ivan’s shirt, causing him to choke.
He whirls around, hand instinctively slapping Till’s arm away. He freezes when he notices him, however, dark eyes wide.
“Hi,” Till says stiffly.
Ivan’s mouth opens and closes for a moment before he clears his throat and answers, “Hi.”
“Do you have practice today?” Till asks, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide their trembling.
Ivan shakes his head. “Not on Mondays.”
Till nods. “Good. I’ll meet you at the front gate after school, then.”
Ivan stares. “. . . Why?”
Till narrows his eyes. “To walk home?”
Ivan’s mouth shuts abruptly, and he nods. “Ah. Right. Of course.”
Till nods back, hesitating, before turning and walking hastily toward their first class, his cheeks burning. He knows he might be setting himself up for another disappointment, but he hopes Ivan takes this as the olive branch that it is and things can return to normal.
The relief that washes over him when he sees Ivan standing beside the gate that afternoon nearly knocks him off his feet. He scowls to cover his elation, and Ivan seems unusually tentative as he greets him. They begin walking, feet falling into step like they never lost their shared rhythm, and slowly Till feels himself relaxing in the familiarity.
Only Ivan’s not talking.
Till chews on his lip for a moment before sighing. “Quit it.”
“What?” Ivan startles.
“Quit being so quiet. It’s freaking me out.”
“I typically am quiet.”
Till frowns. “Not around me,” he says pointedly. “Not anymore.”
Ivan glances sidelong at him. “. . . What do you want me to talk about?” he asks cautiously, which isn’t like him and is irritating.
“I don’t know! Whatever stupid thing you want to talk about,” Till says, throwing up his hands.
Ivan’s head lilts to the side in thought. “I believe Mr. Johnston and Ms. Hartford are having sex,” he says after a moment.
Till chokes on his spit, his eyes widening. Their science teacher and math teacher? “How do you know?” he asks, scandalized. “Isn’t Mr. Johnston married?!”
Ivan grins faintly, his eyes dancing with mischief. “I heard Mr. Johnston and his wife separated. Apparently, there was infidelity on her end, and now they’re in a legal battle over who gets to keep the dog.”
“Whoa.” Till had no idea. How Ivan obtains such private information Till’s not sure he’ll ever know, but the weight on his chest starts to lessen as Ivan goes on to tell him more scandalous details.
Things return to normal after that.
Well, mostly.
Ivan’s his usual insufferable self, but something’s different. Till isn’t sure what happened, but he starts . . . noticing things. He watches Ivan push hair out of his eyes and wonders if his profile has always looked that handsome. Ivan grabs him from behind and pinches his cheek, and, even as Till yelps and shoves him off, he wonders if Ivan’s hands have always felt that warm.
Ivan’s mouth does strange things when he talks to people. He has his polite smile that he uses on adults and acquaintances. There’s an almost sardonic tilt to it when he’s around his teammates. When girls speak to him, it softens. When boys talk to him, it tightens.
When Till talks to him, it twitches and sometimes lifts to one side in a smirk when he’s about to say something annoying. Sometimes, though, when Till glances at him quickly enough, he catches the glimpse of a tiny smile that may be one of affection or fondness. Maybe. Till’s unfamiliar with that type of look, but it makes his body tingle all the way down to his toes in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant.
His heart beats faster when they lock eyes. He finds himself sketching Ivan at night when he can’t sleep, writing song lyrics about his eyes, his laugh, hell even his stupid snaggletooth. He feels insane. When he sees Ivan chatting with his team or his fellow student council members, all he can do is stare at him like a psycho, beaming his thoughts at him like it will somehow make a difference.
Look at me. Talk to me. Stay with me.
Is it love? It feels like obsession. He wakes up in a sweat with damp shorts, having dreamt of Ivan’s hands down them. It’s embarrassing as fuck, but he tries to remember the sensations when he jerks off in the shower. He starts searching for hidden meanings in Ivan’s words, his facial expressions, his hand gestures, but the guy acts completely normal and gives him nothing to suggest he has any ulterior motives.
But it was a date he asked Till on after the Homecoming game, right?
Till finds himself going over that time in his head, picking apart the memories. Ivan looked confused when he accused him of sending his jock friends to humiliate him. Maybe he really did forget or maybe something held him up and Till’s outburst kept him from explaining himself.
Ivan hasn’t asked him out again, but maybe he’s worried Till will turn him down this time.
How can he make sure Ivan knows Till wants him to ask again?
Valentine’s Day.
It’s a whirlwind of a day, with classes interrupted by dramatic confessions, singing telegrams, and promposals. It’s also Ivan’s adoption day, which they always treat as his birthday since nobody knows exactly when he was born. As usual, his desk and locker overflow with gifts from admirers. He receives two singing telegrams, which he smiles politely through despite Till noticing the tension around his mouth and desperation in his eyes for them to go away.
Till doesn’t receive any valentines, but that’s normal. He barely notices this year, because he’s determined to give Ivan a proper response to his original ask. He’ll confess his feelings and make it clear he wants Ivan to ask him again. A public display is a no-go. Not only would it be super embarrassing, but he also doesn’t want to out Ivan in front of the whole school. He doesn’t know how many people Ivan’s told or if he’s even hiding it, per se, but it feels like a private matter.
So, he writes it out instead. Half-poem, half-song lyrics, he scribbles and erases and re-writes all through first and second period, completely ignoring the lessons. Every time he thinks he might be finished, he sees something to fix, to edit, to make better. It has to be perfect. It has to leave no room for doubt.
It’s nearly the end of school by the time he’s satisfied with it, and he frantically folds it up and slips it into Ivan’s locker just as the bell rings. It’s Friday, so Ivan has practice, and then his parents take him out for dinner. Till’s not invited, apparently, and when Ivan calls him later that night, he finds out why.
“There were three college recruiters there,” Ivan says, sounding exhausted. “They all want me to play football for them next fall. They’re offering full scholarships because of my grades. Father just sprang them on me. I didn’t know what to do so I just sat there and listened as they all talked about my merits and what they could offer me . . . I don’t even know if I want to continue playing in college.”
Till nods, tapping his pencil on his knee. He’s sympathetic to the stress of choosing colleges, of course, but his mind is on his confession.
“Did you tell them that?” he asks absently, though he feels he might vibrate out of his skin.
“In front of Father? Of course not. I simply told them I had a lot to consider and thanked them for coming all this way to speak to me.”
Till freezes. “All what way?”
“Oh. They’re all from the east coast. Ohio State. Georgia Tech. Vanderbilt.”
“Oh. Wow.” Till doesn’t know what to say to that. His chest aches, and he feels a sense of urgency that causes him to blurt out, “what about the rest of your day? Was it good? I saw you got a lot of confessions . . .”
Ivan snorts in a way that’s incredibly undignified. He’d never make that sound in front of anyone else. “I threw them away.”
Till’s heart leaps into his throat. “Y-you did?”
“It’s sweet of them to try, but I’m not interested. Especially not right now. It would just end up being a spring fling anyway. It’s in poor taste to try to start something that might turn real right before I go off to college. Long distance rarely works.”
Till feels sick. “Um. Yeah. I guess so.” He bites his lip, his fingers curling tighter around the cordless phone pressed to his ear. “But . . . you threw away all of them?”
“Most were unsigned, so I don’t know what they expected from me other than to receive their feelings. I didn’t see the point in keeping them since I won’t be returning anything.”
Till feels hot under his shirt. He plucks at it agitatedly, trying to remember if he signed his note. He was in such a rush to finish it before the last bell rang. Did he forget to sign it? Fuck. He might have. Should he rifle through Ivan’s trash bins to check? That’s stupid, right? Fuck.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get anything again this year. Have you tried being less unpleasant?” There’s a teasing lilt to Ivan’s voice, but Till barely registers his words.
“Fuck you,” he says absently on instinct, while his mind races to think of a way to rectify this.
But if Ivan’s not looking to start anything because he doesn’t believe in long-distance relationships, does that apply to Till too? If it does, he shouldn’t say anything. Ivan will just reject him, and Till might actually die if that happens.
He’d rather have Ivan as a best friend than not at all. He shouldn’t risk it.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆
Till tries to be okay with his decision, he really does. But then he watches Ivy Lang from their social studies class ask Ivan to prom, and the fucking bastard accepts.
“I’ll be there anyway as student council president, and it’s bad form to show up to senior prom alone,” Ivan says rationally as Till seethes in front of him. He’s folding and cutting the voting cards for prom king and queen, stacking them in neat little piles. It seems like a strange task to give the president of the council, but Till doesn’t care enough to question it.
“But you’re gay.”
Ivan looks up at him with wide eyes. “I am?!” he gasps in fake shock before giving Till one of his mocking smiles.
Till clenches his jaw. “If Ivy Lang really likes you, you’re giving her false hope and playing with her feelings. It’s not right!”
“I’ll make sure she knows it’s only for the night,” Ivan says with an unconcerned shrug.
Till wants to tear his hair out. Without thinking, he slaps all the voting cards onto the floor. Ivan blinks down at the mess before looking back at Till with a blank expression.
“What’s this tantrum about?”
“It’s not a fucking tantrum!” Till exclaims, barely stopping himself from stomping his foot. “You’re being a fucking asshole!”
“How so?” Ivan asks mildly, as he slides off the chair to pick up the cards.
Till sputters, not sure how to answer without revealing the real reason he’s so upset. Maybe it was naïve, but he imagined the two of them going together. If it had to be as friends, he’d resigned himself to that because at least it’d still be just the two of them. He wants to end their final school year the way they started: side by side.
Now he has to watch Ivan stand at Ivy Lang’s side, holding her waist as they dance, matching his tie to her dress, doing all the “right” things as a heteronormative couple. He thinks he might throw up.
“Do you even like her?” Till asks finally.
“She’s pleasant. Conventionally attractive, which will make Mother happy, and a girl, which will make Father happy. It’s a win-win-win, honestly.”
“So that’s the real reason? To suck up to your parents?” Till asks bitterly.
Ivan sits back in his chair, tapping the cards on the table to straighten the pile before sorting them once more: one stack for queen, one for king.
“Father will be furious when I tell him I don’t plan on continuing football in college,” Ivan says softly, eyes on the table. “It felt prudent to not exacerbate the situation further by showing up with a male date.”
Till can unfortunately understand that, but it doesn’t blunt the sharp edges of hurt turning in his chest. “You’re still not out to them.” It’s a statement, not a question.
Ivan lifts his head and smiles. It’s fake. “I thought it wise not to reveal the uncomfortable truth while I’m still in their home. I’m eighteen, now, but I’m not yet ready to live on my own without their support. I’ve received academic scholarships that will cover tuition, room and board at a local university. Once I am settled in my dorm, I will tell them. At that time, if they choose to cut me off, I’m at least set for the next four years.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” Till mutters, though he’s caught onto that word “local,” spinning it around in his head. It feels too close to hope to be safe, but he can’t help but cling to it like a starving man. “So . . . you’ll be staying in-state?”
Ivan nods, focusing once more on his task. “It’s the best option for me right now.”
Right now. So, it might change in the future. Till hesitates, wondering if he should just blurt it out. Just confess. Maybe something will work out for once.
“Yo, Lee!” A jock sticks his head into the room, glancing around before his gaze lands on Ivan and Till. “You still working on that? Coach is waiting!”
Ivan stands, gathering up the sorted cards and stepping over to a cubby in the wall, setting them carefully inside it. He tousles Till’s hair as he passes him.
“You should ask someone to prom,” he says. “Or go alone. It’s our last high school event. It would be a shame for you to miss it.”
Till’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and he can’t say a single word as he watches Ivan join his teammate and disappear into the hall.
He’s such a pathetic loser. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything after all. Ivan clearly has a plan for his future, and not once did he mention Till’s role in it. Does he see Till in his future at all? Does he plan to leave him behind even while staying in-state?
Till hears all the time that people move on from those they knew in high school. Rarely do they stay in touch over the years. Ivan’s smart and good-looking and popular. He’ll do great at university and probably go on to do great things afterward, too. Till will be a footnote in the biography of his life.
Till Seong: childhood friend. Current whereabouts: unknown.
Wrapping his arms around his middle, Till drops into the chair Ivan vacated, the seat still warm. He leans forward until his forehead touches his knees, squeezing his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to go to prom and watch Ivan and Ivy dance and laugh and chat like she’s his childhood friend.
But if he doesn’t go, it’ll be a night alone, without Ivan, and that might be worse.
He groans into his knees and wishes he wasn’t such a coward.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆
Till doesn’t have a suit to wear. He goes to the thrift store at the last minute and spends his meager allowance on a pair of black slacks that he has to cinch at the waist with a belt, and a dark maroon button down which he wears untucked, sleeves rolled to his elbows as they hang past his fingertips.
As he applies his eyeliner meticulously in the mirror, he thinks this might be a mistake. What’s he going to do there, anyway? Nobody is going to want to dance with him. He’ll just be staring at Ivan all night like an abandoned puppy. It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic.
He grimaces at his reflection. While he washed and brushed his hair, it still sticks up at odd angles. The too-big clothes make him feel like a kid playing dress-up. Shoving his feet in his high-top boots, he stomps past the mostly unconscious form of his foster dad and exits their shitty apartment.
The theme of the prom is “Under the Sea,” and the school really went all out with their budget. There are colorful fish and coral décor on the walls, giant clear balloons hang from the ceiling like bubbles, and projectors scatter waves and ripples of water across the gymnasium, casting everyone in a blue hue.
Ivan’s in a white suit with a glittery turquoise tie that matches the sparkling mermaid dress Ivy Lang’s wearing. His hand lingers on the small of her back or the side of her waist, as he guides her around the room, acting out his role as the friendly student council president and star football captain they all know and love to perfection. His hair is slicked back, his long lashes casting shadows on his pale cheekbones in the dancing lights.
He’s beautiful, and Till’s chest aches.
He slunk in thirty minutes after the dance started, and he’s been hugging the wall ever since, nursing his punch (which has definitely been spiked). Ivan hasn’t noticed him. Nobody has. Till doesn’t think a single person has looked his way since he arrived.
He feels like a creep, watching Ivan from a distance, grimacing each time his hand rests against Ivy Lang for too long. It feels like he’s seeing a glimpse of Ivan’s future as a politician or businessman attending some fancy event with a beautiful date on his arm. Will he stay in the closet for the sake of his career? Will he date women publicly while secretly seeing men on the down-low? Or will he feel free to be himself proudly and marry some gorgeous man and adopt three kids with him and live happily ever after?
The punch sours in Till’s stomach. He finishes it off with a grimace and tosses the cup. Why is he even here? Ivan doesn’t have plan in his future for Till. He should’ve seen that a long time ago and not tried to carve himself space where he never fit.
He’s on his way out the door when he feels a hand grab his elbow.
“Till!”
Till’s heartbeat stutters. Glancing over his shoulder, he’s met with Ivan’s large, soulful dark eyes. His eyebrows furrow, his lips downturned in dismay.
“You’re leaving?”
“There’s no point in me staying,” Till snaps, shaking Ivan’s hand off his arm. Looking behind him, he can see Ivy Lang watching them, arms crossed over her stomach in a familiar gesture. His stomach turns. “Your date’s waiting for you.”
Ivan doesn’t turn to look. “Please stay. I want to hang out with you.”
“You’re busy with your student council shit and your . . . Ivy Lang,” Till says bitterly. “You don’t have time for me.”
“I’ll make time,” Ivan says, like it’s that simple.
“What, like twenty minutes? Is that how it’s going to be now? Am I going to have to try and grab little bits of time with you in between your college classes and career planning and-and your public performances?” Till can feel his eyes burning, the lump in his throat rising. He tries valiantly to keep the tears at bay.
Ivan stares at him, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you! And me! We don’t work. We never worked! I don’t belong in your world, Ivan, you have to know that!”
Ivan continues staring, and the lost look in his eyes reminds Till of when they were younger and had to part at the end of the day. “Of course you belong,” he says softly after a moment. “You’re my best friend.”
“That’s not enough,” Till says helplessly.
“Yes, it is.”
“No! It’s not!”
“Yes. It is.” Ivan has a stubborn tightness in his jawline.
Till can’t do this. The asshole isn’t listening, and if this continues the whole school is going to notice their bickering. Shaking his head, he grabs Ivan’s wrist and yanks him toward the gymnasium doors, out into the dark empty hallway of the school. It’s still too exposed, so Till tries a couple doors until he finds an unlocked classroom.
He drags Ivan inside and shuts the door. When he turns around, Ivan’s watching him, still frowning, his lips a tight, thin line.
“Ivan,” Till swallows hard. He reaches out, his fingers trembling, and cups Ivan’s face in his hands. “I know you’ve got your life figured out, and I know there’s no place for me in it. I’m nothing. A nobody. You’re going to forget about me.”
He moves to drop his hands, but Ivan reaches up and grabs his wrists, keeping them in place. He stares at Till with a deep intensity, and Till’s frozen in his gaze, trapped and helpless. He wants to melt in it, into him, but he can’t. He knows he can’t.
“Let me go,” he mutters.
“You’re not nothing,” Ivan says firmly. “Till, do you have any idea how incredible you are?”
Heat rises swiftly to Till’s face. “What the fuck?” he protests, tugging against Ivan’s grasp, but it just tightens.
“Till, your art? Your music? You’re so incredibly talented. A prodigy. You’re going to go farther than me. I’m the one who doesn’t fit in your future. I’ve always known that. You’ll become famous and well-known, and I’ll be the one in your rearview mirror, a blip, a faded memory.”
Till shakes his head. “Shut up,” he says, pulling his wrists harder.
Ivan steps forward with his tug, crowding Till back against the door of the classroom. Till’s heart pounds faster, loud in his ears. Ivan’s dark eyes are so close they could swallow him whole. He doesn’t loosen his grip on Till’s wrists but instead pins them to the door behind him.
“Your heart is so big,” Ivan continues, relentless, unbending. “You love so easily and feel so much. That you even spare a glance at me makes my entire life worthwhile.”
“What are you saying?” Till asks, feeling something akin to panic flood through him. It doesn’t make any sense. Ivan’s the popular one. The handsome one. The one everyone admires and adores. This is backwards. Confusion spins through his head, wanting to reject Ivan’s words, but he’s saying them so earnestly, and there’s not a hint of his normal mask on his face.
“I chose to go to university in-state to stay close to you,” Ivan says, it coming out in a rush, like he’s been holding it back for ages. “I have no expectations, but I want to be here to watch you grow in your art and music and become the person you’re meant to be, to bask in the warmth you give for as long as I can. Call me a creep or a stalker, I don’t mind, just . . .” His forehead drops onto Till’s shoulder, and Till’s stunned to feel him trembling. “Let me drown in you.” His last words are barely above a whisper, but Till hears it as loud as a gong clanging in his head.
“That . . . after Homecoming,” Till tries, his own voice strained as it pushes past the lump in his throat, “was that supposed to be a date?”
Ivan says nothing but nods against Till’s shoulder.
“But . . . you didn’t show,” Till says, frowning.
Ivan pulls back, looking at Till in bewilderment. “What?”
Till fidgets in Ivan’s grasp, finding he likes the position a little too much and it’s distracting. “I waited at the café for you. You stood me up.”
Ivan frowns. “Wait. When was this?”
“The Saturday after the game! Like you said!”
Ivan blinks. “I said the next Saturday after the game.”
“You said this next Saturday!”
“If I meant the Saturday directly after the game, I would have said ‘tomorrow.’”
Till blinks rapidly. Ivan’s lips start to twist, lifting into one of his infuriatingly smug smiles, as realization hits Till and heat rushes to his face.
“You got the day wrong,” Ivan says, releasing Till suddenly and taking a step back.
Till feels winded, hating the sudden distance between them, but indignant just the same. “You should’ve been clearer!”
Ivan laughs, covering his face with his hand. “That’s why you were so angry. It makes sense now. I lost so much sleep trying to figure out what I’d done to upset you so badly, but you got the days wrong.”
“It was your fault!” Till insists, shoving Ivan in the chest. “Why can’t you talk like a normal person?! You should’ve just said Saturday the fifteenth or whatever!”
He goes to shove Ivan again, but Ivan catches Till around the waist and pulls him in against him. It’s the closest they’ve been in ages and Till thinks he might burst into flames, as he feels the outline of Ivan’s body against his. When he tilts his head back to scowl at him, their faces are inches apart. His breath catches in his throat.
Ivan’s eyes flit down to Till’s lips. “You wanted it to be a date,” he says softly, as though he’s just realizing it.
Till wrinkles his nose, reluctant to admit to it now. Ivan pulls his gaze up to Till’s eyes, and his head tilts to the side slightly.
“You showed up and waited for me thinking it was a date.”
“What’s your point?” Till grumbles, glancing away. “You’re the one who asked first.”
“I didn’t specify that it was a date.”
“Yeah, like an asshole.”
Ivan laughs before wrapping his other arm around Till, giving him a tight hug, as he presses his face against Till’s hair. Till’s still frowning, but he reaches up to clutch the back of Ivan’s suit jacket, hugging him back.
“Do you really think we don’t work, Till?” Ivan asks, then, his voice small, tentative.
Till bites his lip, nuzzling deeper into the crook of Ivan’s neck. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I want us to. We just come from such different worlds . . .”
Ivan leans back just enough to look at him. “Except we don’t,” he says, shaking his head. “I was an orphan when we met, remember? Yes, my adoptive parents are rich, but I was constantly worried that if I said or did the wrong thing they’d send me back. I’ve only ever felt comfortable around you, because you saw me when I was nothing and became my friend anyway. Strip away my wealth and status, and I’m just a boy. Standing in front of another boy. Asking him to love him.”
Till squints at him. “Isn’t that a line from a movie?”
Ivan smirks and shrugs. “We can’t all be creative geniuses.”
Till rolls his eyes, but his chest feels warm, as he lifts his arms to wrap them around Ivan’s neck. “I do love you,” he murmurs, despite the heat tingling behind his neck and ears. “You’re annoying as hell, but despite that I-I want you to stay with me. Forever.”
Ivan knocks his forehead gently against Till’s. “Do you truly mean that?” he asks quietly, almost breathlessly.
Till nods. “I do,” he says, and kisses him.
It’s his first kiss, so he’s not entirely sure what to do. He keeps it chaste, gentle, but Ivan lurches forward, his response hungry, ravenous. Till finds himself once more pinned against the classroom door, Ivan’s hot breath on his lips. Ivan’s tongue plunges deep, searing, painting heat across the corners of Till’s mouth. Till melts, moans, pulls Ivan closer, wonders if they can merge like this, combine so that they can never separate.
He doesn’t know what the future holds, but he’s not worried anymore, because he has Ivan with him. Forever.