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Sometimes Till feels like he's running a race that everyone's already got a headstart at, that Ivan's already miles ahead in. Stumbling over his feet to catch up, to make the distance not quite so colossal, to not be the only one caught so behind. He tries to tell Ivan once. Ivan just laughs. "Oh, Till," he says and his voice is so affectionate that Till feels his heart melt into goo, "you're so..." Then Ivan laughs again and it's such a beautiful sound that it's startling and Till — Till can only think, oh, because Ivan's laugh has always sounded magical to him.
He wants to bottle it. Compose it. Give it a rhythm and rhyme. The sound is addictive. Till hears it and feels himself soar to some distant height, feels his thoughts go loose and his tongue all... twisty.
"Something wrong, Till?" Ivan asks and Till is yanked back to the hard concrete curb, mildly aware that his hands are all but frozen and that his ass has gone completely numb. It's meant to be a date. Or something like a date where they go to In-N-Out and play footsies under the table as they steal each other' fries. Super romantic, right? Unfortunately for them, they — Till — got them kicked out of the In-N-Out before they could even order their food because they — um, Till — started a fight.
"Yeah," says Till, his hand curling into a fist, "I wish I could punch that guy."
Ivan laughs and Till feels that sensation again. His stomach lifts and his hands fall flat. Ivan takes the opportunity to grab Till’s hand. He does it like it's the easiest thing ever and Till feels like he's floating. They've been dating for nearly a year and Till still — “It’s alright,” says Ivan and gives a tug so Till’s closer and their shoulders are touching and Till is vaguely aware of their shoulders touching and the fact that his skin feels like it’s burning even underneath all the layers, “there’s lots of guys like that here and… you shouldn’t fight with people like that. They don’t deserve your passion.”
Till chokes out a laugh. “Passion? Yeah, I’m sure me threatening to break that guy’s nose was pretty passionate.”
Ivan’s smile is always soft when he’s near Till but it looks softer this night, with the dim light from the lampshade hitting his face at the perfect angle. Ivan’s eyes are soft too though they’re not always. There’s that harsh glint to them, that dark crimson that sometimes floods the darkness. Till knows that Ivan’s feelings aren’t always pretty but they’re so deep. Sometimes Till feels like he’s drowning in them.
It still makes no sense to Till why Ivan loves him. Ivan — ridiculously handsome, could have about anyone in the world — love Till. Till, who, if he has to be honest, doesn’t have a lot going for him. Not his looks. Or grades. Or personality. He could write a killer love song but… does that matter when his feelings are so shallow? Love is such a deep feeling. It takes an eternity for some people. Ivan’s loved Till for years and Till — Till’s got some stupid childish crush that he still can’t figure out.
“I don’t mean passionate like that,” says Ivan and squeezes Till’s hands and there’s a familiar jolt of electricity. “Just you…” Crimson floods his eyes and Till feels himself squeezing Ivan’s hand back because he feels like he’s floating away, like he’s losing Ivan and it’s terrifying when Ivan gets like this because — because — “You’re so bright, Till,” Ivan tells him, “like a shooting star. I…” He swallows and he looks so horribly vulnerable that Till wants to grab him and never let go. “I don’t get how I could ever have a chance with you.”
It should be the other way around, Till wants to scream. You’re the one that’s amazing. That looks like a model. That everyone loves. That is smarter than anyone else in the room. You’re the one that loves me in floods and torrents.
Till looks away shyly instead. “I mean,” he says, rubbing his other hand over his knee, “you are pretty handsome.”
Ivan, who’d been sort of massaging Till’s hand, stills completely for a second. Then, in a voice that is filled with teasing, he asks, “Till, are you flirting with me?”
“Shut up,” mumbles Till, his face flushed red. “So what if I am? You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you?” He turns to Ivan and Ivan must see something brilliant in his face because he grabs Till’s face and pulls him incredibly close and —
“I’m going to kiss you,” he announces.
Till’s heart stops. “Yeah,” whispers Till, “sounds cool.”
Till sees a flash of Ivan’s elusive snaggletooth — rarely seen except for when he smiles, like really smiles — and then feels it digging into his lip when Ivan kisses him. Kisses him like he will never again and oh, how amazing it feels to be kissed like that. To be loved like that. Could Till love him that much? Could Till ever return Ivan’s feelings as wholly as he deserves? No, is the answer that he repeatedly comes to. But Till kisses Ivan back because the moment is nice, because with Ivan’s mouth pressing against his there really is no room for any other thoughts. Just Ivan and Ivan and Ivan and —
“I love you,” Till blurts out. Ivan drops his hands in surprise and gives an embarrassed but pleased smile. It’s so sheepish and out of character that Till can’t help but laugh. “I do,” says Till and he’s smiling too, “I really love you but uh,” Till looks down, at their fingers still tangled together and forces out the words that have echoed in his head too long, “it just doesn’t feel… enough.”
Ivan’s smile falls. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“No,” Till almost cries out and he doesn’t know why he’s crying now when he was just laughing a few seconds ago, cheesing in the stupid way he does in all those photos of him that he hates and Ivan alternatively loves for that exact reason. “I just,” Till looks up now, at the stars twinkling above them, “well, you called me a star.”
“A shooting star.”
“That’s not the point.” His voice comes too sharp. “Sorry,” Till breathes out, squeezing Ivan’s hands, “I didn’t mean to…” His voice trails as he tries to think the right words, any words really that could explain but — but even Till doesn’t know what he feels sometimes. “I’m sorry,” repeats Till, like a broken record. “I don’t want to break up. I just… feel like you’re not here sometimes.” It’s not the right words. But it’s words. “Like I’m desperately clinging to you because you’re so far ahead of me, Ivan. You love me so much and I don’t feel like,” Till chokes, “I’m not able to give you what I deserve.”
Ivan looks at him. “Want to keep making out?”
“Ivan.” Till’s voice cracks painfully, his hurt filling his eyes with tears. “I’m trying to share something important to you and you — you —”
“I love you,” says Ivan simply. “And you love me.”
“But —”
“Till,” says Ivan, his voice grave, “you shouldn’t downplay your feelings. Maybe you feel like you don’t love me enough — maybe like you don’t love me at all sometimes — but I feel loved. I feel more than loved. You shouldn’t compare our feelings. We’re both different people. We feel differently. We express differently.”
In a quiet voice, Till mumbles, “I want to love you like you love me.”
Ivan frowns. “You don’t need to.”
Till says nothing for a while. “You deserve so much more, Ivan.”
Ivan smiles softly. “I could say the same for you.”
Till blinks at Ivan and thinks that it’s unfair for Ivan to be so — so — “I wanna make out,” says Till, grabbing Ivan’s shirt again, pulling him close but still not close enough because their mouths are apart, “let’s do it.”
Ivan grins and leans forward.
After that, it’s just fireworks.