Chapter Text
“I feel like you don’t care about me.”
Ivan stares at her face, waiting for the rest. She seemed to have more to say but wouldn’t spit it out. His girlfriend had asked to meet him by the tree behind their school, which really annoyed him because he had planned on stealing Till’s lunch by now and she was wasting his time.
“Do you?”
“Do I what?” Ivan asks, genuinely confused. He realizes his face must be reflecting his boredom, so he quickly switches on a charming smile. Now she looks weirded out.
“Care about me,” she grits through her teeth. Why was she getting mad, Ivan wonders. Till also got mad at him all the time; sometimes he didn’t know why, but mostly he gave Till a reason. “All you talk about is that guitar guy.”
“Till?” Just saying his name out loud brought Ivan a fresh wave of joy. Like a character on Till’s favorite video game, Ivan felt his immunity had been restored. Thoughts of Till were usually accompanied by a deep sorrow, but sometimes, like now, it makes everything feel easier. He could get through this. “Of course, he’s my best friend.”
“Well, if you care about him so much, why don’t you go off with him instead of your girlfriend?” She said ‘girlfriend’ really slowly, like that word carries a meaning Ivan is supposed to understand.
“Really?” Ivan asks, relieved. This was easy. “Okay, see you around!”
He’s already walking off and imagining different ways he could make Till’s soft cheeks burn red with rage, when he’s suddenly yanked back by the wrist.
“Who do you care about more?!” She asks, red in the face. No matter how much he tried, Ivan found humans extremely complicated to understand. She had just said he could go— he did nothing wrong. Be passive, he tells himself. He should really start rejecting love confessions. “Is it me, or Till?!”
“Till.”
A hand crashes against his cheek. His head snaps to the side by the force of it— this might’ve been the strongest one. Actually, the strongest slap he’s received, stronger than Till’s or Sua’s, was by his third ex-girlfriend and his fourth ex-girlfriend simultaneously when they found out he was dating them both at the same time. A week later the two of them were happily dating, so Ivan likes to tell himself he isn’t the bad guy in the end. Not that he cares about that. That’s how he discovered that dating two people at the same time was morally unacceptable in society.
His— ex— girlfriend, God knows what her name was, leaves without another word, chin raised and steps slow. Ivan sighs, opening Till’s schedule on his phone. Classes were about to start, too late to look for him now. He’s walking off when he hears a muffled laughter from behind him.
“Till?” Ivan calls, lighting up. Suddenly, his cheek wasn’t aching anymore.
Till peeked from behind a tree, tearing up from laughter. He held his phone in his hand, laughter doubling up when he looks at Ivan. For some reason, Ivan thinks about those pretty fairies that hid in the forest from the books he read when he was younger. Or maybe Till would be closer to a siren, the kind that used their voice and beauty to lure sailors into deep Waters.
“Hyuna’s gonna love this,” he shows Ivan the video of him getting slapped, rewinding it over and over. Thankfully, the audio couldn’t catch what they were saying. He watched the video too, but his attention kept drifting away from himself and towards Till instead. The way his nose and eyes scrunched when he laughed, the bangs brushing his face.
“You were hiding in the bushes?” Ivan experimentally throws an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. “You’re stalking me now? Like me too much?”
“No, idiot. I just happened to pass by.” He shoves Ivan’s arm off his shoulders. It was a good try. He doesn’t pull Ivan away though, and they walk side by side, arms brushing too close. It made Ivan’s heart clench dangerously. No matter how much he tried, his body could barely contain the joy of the feeling of being so close to Till.
“You’re so mean…” Ivan whines, so Till avoids his gaze to not have to look at the expression he’s making. In Ivan’s defense, many people found his aegyo cute. “Aren’t you going to kiss it better?”
“Alright, enough.” He shoves a bony elbow onto Ivan’s stomach, walking ahead of him.
“You know, a human’s saliva has natural healing properties.” He manages to say.
“Really?” Till stops in his tracks, turning his head. “I knew the Internet was lying! But, wait, why can’t you lick yourself then?”
“Has to be someone else’s. It’s on chapter eleven of our biology book. You should check it out.”
Till nods to himself like he really is, going to check on chapter eleven if there’s something saying about human’s saliva healing properties. Ivan makes a mental note to bring this topic again and make Till ask the teacher about this in front of the whole class. Just the thought leaves him exhilarated— Till will give him so much attention after that, hitting him, fighting with him, anything from Till is fine; attention is attention. And the thought of his soft cheeks chronically red with embarrassment excites him as well.
“Grab your shoes and bag. We’re leaving.” Till says without looking at him when they reach the school’s entrance.
“What?” Ivan chuckles. “You’re gonna be late for class, let’s go. Stop being silly.” He said silly instead of ‘dumbass’ or ‘blockhead’ like he wanted to only because he couldn’t afford to get hit again today. He had a photo shoot tomorrow.
Till turns around then, his teal eyes focusing on him. Maybe it was a good thing that Till rarely looked at him, because just having their gazes locked left Ivan short of breath. A wave of excitement goes through him. He only felt this much in the moments he was around Till— other than that it was a suspended, sterile nothing. He clenches his hands into fists. Was Till about to plunge?
But Till just grabs his wrist and start running, ignoring his protests that eventually fade, and he lets Till lead him wherever his wild soul calls for.
Till’s wild soul called for corn dog.
“You don’t have to pay every time, you know…” Till mumbles, gaze locked on his shoes scratching the floor. When he took the first bite of his corn dog, he closed his eyes and moaned at the taste, making Ivan have to take a deep intake of breath.
Ivan watches him happily devour the snack, hypnotized by the small crumb on the corner of his lips, struck with the urge to wipe it with his thumb and then lick it— or, even better, lick it straight from Till’s lips. Till’s hunger lets him know he skipped breakfast again this morning— he’ll make sure to let Io know about this. When Till looks at him funnily, Ivan realizes he’s been staring, as usual. He licks the ketchup sliding down his corn dog.
“It’s fine. I have a lot of money.” Ivan smirks at him, and it makes Till’s eye twitch.
“By the way, why did Min break up with you?” Till asks. It wasn’t too hot outside now that summer was gone. The sky was bright blue and the sun shone on Till’s slightly tanned skin. Maybe skipping was worth it, just so Ivan could experience the sight of Till happily bathing under the sun. He had been stressed lately, and Ivan couldn’t figure out why. Shyly, he adds: “she was really pretty and cute…”
“Oh. She said I don’t care about her, or something.” Ivan shrugs.
“Well, did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Care about her?” Till deadpans. “Like how a boyfriend cares for a girlfriend and vice versa. Maybe she cared about you. So many people care about you, you jerk.”
“Like how you care about Mizi?” Ivan teases, aiming on switching the conversation to something familiar because this topic made him uncomfortable.
“Ugh! S-shut up, it’s not like that!” Till slaps his hand when Ivan tries to poke his pink cheeks. That and the shine on his lips were extremely bewildering. “I mean, she’s pretty— really pretty— a-and I’m sure she’ll be big one day… I’m a fan of her… but she only cares about Sua, so…” he trails off.
Ivan knew Mizi would never “care” about Till in that way; she had Sua. He’s reminded of how he once thought Sua was similar to him, convinced that Mizi would never see her the same way, mirroring his and Till’s relationship. It was hard to admit he was wrong, because he rarely was. An unexplored feeling finds it way to his gut like it always does when he thinks about this too much.
“Why do you keep dating girls if you don’t like them, anyway?” Till asks. The corn dog had been devoured, and he used the stick to point it towards Ivan. Ivan could find many uses for that corn dog stick, still damp with Till’s warm saliva. Would Till give it to him if Ivan asked nicely? “Asshole. At least be nice to them.”
Ivan has to pause and think for a heartbeat. He was self-aware and intellectual in that way people who think they can fix themselves are. He craved Till’s attention more than anything but he knew Till would never like him back; to pass the time, he accepted confessions randomly. Accepting confessions from women only made it seem more distant, therefore, better.
“I guess I…” he starts saying, but a spot behind Till’s head caught his attention. “Hey, isn’t that guy familiar?”
“Ivan, answer the damn question—“
“No, I’m serious, look!” Ivan points to a man sitting in a bench nearby— it was their gym teacher, an extremely strict man that enjoyed reporting students to fill his made up sense of responsibility. Ivan struggled to get him to like him when all other teachers easily adored his polite charm. “It’s him!” He whisper shouts to Till.
“Shit!” Till whisper shouts back. “Fuck!”
“Stop swearing!” He slaps Till’s arm. For Io.
“Don’t you tell me what to do!”
“Shut up. He’s gonna hear us.” Ivan says in an even louder tone. “Slowly, turn around and start walking with your chin down. When we reach the corner of the street, we run back to school.”
“Like hell I’m going back to that prison!”
“Till, listen to me for once—“
“Hey!” Distracted by their bickering, they forgot about the eminent threat. The gym teacher undeniably looks straight at their faces, making his way towards them. “Aren’t you two supposed to be at school?”
“Ugh! Ivan, what do we do?!”
Ivan was good at problem solving. He knew how to react under pressure, something that came with being raised in an unstable, suffocating home. No matter what Till thought of him, he knew that: Ivan always had a plan.
But now, he froze. He never got in trouble with authoritative figures, he always obeyed without a question. Disappointing them made him uneasy. He thinks of what he’s going to have to say to Evil Father if he finds out, but nothing comes out. Logic failed him, and the freeze from emotions took over.
Till was familiar with causing trouble and escaping from it when it got too much. Grabbing Ivan’s wrist to the second time that day— Ivan was really lucky today— he ran, pulling Ivan’s reluctant body along, ignoring his protests. In a matter of two minutes, they’re back in the school corridors.
The rebellion collapsed into the weight of reality in under only two minutes because they hadn’t planned their escapade at all; corn dogs were the main goal and it blinded the fact that being so close to the school would most definitely get them in some sort of trouble. Still, Till walks like he’s proud of himself, like it was all worth it.
Ivan bends with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. He looks at his watch— they were only ten minutes late. Running, they barge inside their classroom.
The teacher scolds Till first, of course. He bows his head so that his eye roll is hidden, nodding along to whatever she’s saying as he sits down. He couldn’t even blame the teachers for having a beef with him: it was not one sided, he was almost always late, his grades were bad on everything except for the artistic subjects he enjoyed, and sometimes he barged into school looking like a delinquent.
When that’s out of the way, she turns to Ivan and asks what happened, if he’s okay, if Till did something to him. Ivan apologizes profusely first then smiles and says all’s well, that she shouldn’t waste the precious time of her class for such frivolities and that he promises to explain later. She nods, like he’s already a model and the classroom is his runway.
Till and Ivan sit side by site behind the two-students desk, the only empty one. Ivan doesn’t hide his smile, glad that he didn’t have to plan something to get Till next to him today. Most students didn’t like to sit next to Till— they assumed he was a delinquent, and if they ever ended up developing an interest on Till, Ivan would make sure to seduce them so that they’re out of his way— so it was easier for him.
Sua and Mizi turn their heads to glance at them; despite her usual death mask, Sua raised one eyebrow, demonstrating slight amusement. Mizi smiled at them with shocked eyes, gesturing frantically with her hands that they’ll have to talk later. She’s trying to mouth something as well, but neither Ivan and Till can make it out. Till tilts his head and mouths “what?” which makes her keep trying until Sua snaps her attention back to the teacher. Math class was the only class all four of them shared.
Beside him, Till’s ears had gone red. Ivan watches that gradient of color with the corner of his eyes, analyzing the shade of pink at the edges, crimson at the lobes. Ivan noticed everything about Till. He noticed how he tried to write something written on the board but failed, erasing it and trying again, mind far away, probably back on pink hair and a face so angelic Ivan would never be able to compete. He ends up doodling someone holding a guitar with a single eye, smashing it into some alien-like creature.
Ivan smiles at that and tunes in back on the lecture. Numbers, diagrams and notes; that’s what he understood best. Numbers would never get a crush on someone who would never want you and make you feel bad. He actually really liked math. If it wasn’t for Evil Father, he’d probably end up majoring in something related to it. Or music. As long as he ends up in the same college as Till, he’s fine doing fashion modeling— he was really good at it, after all.
Calculators, statistics, algebra. Ivan is deep into that until Till mindlessly brushes his thigh against his, keeping it there. He drops his pen. His heart starts beating in that hellish Till-induced rhythm, something that felt like the most beautiful siren beating him up with her hair.
Equations, matrices and Till. No, that was not it. Equations, matrices and the small crumb on Till’s lips that he wanted to wipe off with his tongue earlier. Focus, he tells himself over and over to no vail. Till is now deep into drawing the zombies from that gross, disgustingly homo-erotic movie that they all watched together the other week. A girl had kissed the rotting flesh of her lover turned to zombie, screen panning to the other kisses the doomed lovers shared, and Till made a disgusted noise at that but Ivan saw the way his eyes lingered.
Till had so much love inside of him, he craved to share it with someone and receive it back from them. But Ivan knows he could never offer the disgusting, parasitic ‘love’ that he had inside himself— Till deserved something pure. Ivan isn’t sure if he can love that way, if he can even call what he feels ‘love.’ He wonders if his ‘love’ is the same as Sua’s, someone he feels like he shares a similar twisted secret, but it’s not even close
Their thighs stay pressed together, sharing warmth. Till only moves it away when the class is about to finish; the bell rang, the spell broke, Till packed his things without meeting Ivan’s eyes and Ivan felt the illusion of something warmth being ripped out of him.
They leave class unscathed— their math teacher was known for forgetting things— and stay that way until the last bell signaled it was time to go home, both thinking they escaped punishment simultaneously, but that same deep voice from earlier stops them on their tracks.
Ivan already has his best smile on, trying to use his silver tongue to smoother their situation, but the teacher is merciless. Till didn’t help; when they’re asked why they were running, Ivan opens his mouth but Till replies before him, saying that he thought that he saw a “wrinkled old sack of potatoes” following them, so they’re sentenced to toilet cleaning duties.
The teacher went easy on them, saying he won’t inform their parents if they stay out of trouble after this. Ivan is relieved because this could go way worse. He can’t imagine what he’d do if it affected his flawless academic record, or if Evil Father found out. Till, on the other hand, doesn’t seem as grateful as him. He kept groaning, whining, cursing at the walls while he mopped, seeing everything through the eyes of a prisoner while Ivan felt like a free man. Occasionally, he’d divert his anger to Ivan when complaining to the floor didn’t satisfy him.
“This is all your fault!” He attacks the air suddenly, mopping harder to accentuate his frustration. Till’s yells were a familiar noise in Ivan’s years, often accompanied by a punch or two. He realizes it’s been a while since Till punched him. He should work on that and steal his next play’s script.
Ivan lifts one unimpressed eyebrow that annoys Till even more. “Actually, you’re the one who insisted on skipping for corn dog and dragged me with you. I distinctly remember telling you we shouldn’t, didn’t I? I told you so.”
“That’s because, you— you— UGH!” He goes in a rant about how everyone is under a spell for thinking Ivan is nice, how he’s an evil manipulator, ornery and scandalous, possibly the one pulling strings from the shadows behind multiple historical disasters. As the speech continues— Ivan wants to praise him for speaking dramatically like a true actor, but that wouldn’t be the right moment— his face redden up with rage, the blood boiling underneath. Ivan touches his own cheeks, cold, nothing like Till’s warmth.
His hands are constantly warm, his ears, even if he tries to hide his emotions. Ivan, on the other hand, sometimes finds himself struggling to tell the truth; the polished “Ivan” he created is so elaborate, it’d be a shame to reveal what’s actually going on in the inside. No one wants to see that kind of stuff, anyway.
“Are you even listening to me?!”
“Till, what if I join your next play?”
“Huh? What’s this all of a sudden?” Till glances at him warily, lowering the mop, but in his hands it was still a weapon. “You’re on fashion model’s department, what do you even want to play?”
“Romeo and Juliet.” He says very serious. “I’ll be Romeo, and you can be Juliet.”
That’s when Till’s left eye start twitching nervously. Ivan realizes that if Till were to kill him there, right now, no one would find his body. He takes a step back. Till takes a step forward. He just wanted to distract Till from his previous spiral, but maybe he shouldn’t have entertained out loud one of his too many Till-related absurd thoughts. But Till would look really nice in a dress.
Even if he might die in the process, seeing Till’s chain of reactions was entertaining. He grabs the mop and points it, coming closer until the tip is touching his chest, right above the erratic heartbeat. Their gazes are locked chains. The tip of the broom slides up, tracing Ivan’s Adam’s apple, bobbing when he gulps hard. It stops at his chin, tilting it up.
“…I can find a spot for you on one of our plays.” Till says, surprisingly calm. “But not a romantic one, don’t even think about it. Weirdo.” His ears go read like just the thought of doing something romantic embarrassed him. Cute.
“I mean, I think you’d actually be good at it,” Till says mindlessly, putting down the mob. He had a habit of letting his thoughts rattle with his tongue without his brain’s consent, and only after the words leave his mouth he realizes what he’d just said. His face goes from pink to red, like a strawberry bubblegum before chewing it.
“Oh?” Ivan smiles.
“S-shut it!”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You did. Your face said it.” Till hisses, turning from him to go back on mopping, but his movements were even sloppier now. He seemed to picture Ivan’s face on the floor while he hit it with the mop. “Brain scrub appointment…” he mutters to himself.
Ivan doesn’t fight the thought that finds its way into his deliberation lane.
“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” The mop stops. Till turns at him, amused and scared at the same time. “It is the east,” Ivan continues solemnly, “and Till is the sun.”
That’s when he holds Till’s waist from behind and talks as fast as he can before an act of violence finds him; “Oh, Juliet… good night, good night. Parting is such black sorrow.”
The problem was that it would be hard to explain to the teachers how the fight started. Was it Ivan’s fault for doing harmless, playful teasing but knowing it had the same effect as poking a starving lion? Or was it Till’s, the one who threw the first punch?
Ivan, for old time’s sake, felt himself wanting to punch Till back. He had left that childish attitude behind, but maybe an astrologer could explain that today Mars was retrograding or something of the sort, and so Ivan found himself knocking his right knuckle against Till’s jaw, leaving it the color of Mars itself, like it wanted to join and leave a mark of his manifestation.
It was a calculated punch, not nearly as strong as Till’s. When he saw the bruise immediately forming, Ivan remembered another reason he stopped hitting Till other than their size difference; it turned him on a little, just like when Till hit him. His breathing comes in pants, his tongue wets his grinning lips, heartbeat accelerating.
Till seems shocked, widening his eyes but then they glint with mania: he lunges into him with a smile like he’d been waiting for the chance, and in the process, the bucked of dirty mop water falls, splattering all over the floor and ruining their hard work.
“It is ‘parting is such sweet sorrow,’ not black sorrow, dumbass.” Till remembers to correct, even with one hand on Ivan’s hair. “Where did you even get that shit from?”
“Why would it be sweet? That makes no sense.” Ivan hissed at Till’s hair pull and shoved him off, putting distance between them. “They’re parting. It’s sorrowful, therefore; dark and bitter.”
“Is an oxymoron, you dumb moron.” Till snaps, watching him like he’s considering if he should resume the fight or let it go. Whatever he decides, Ivan is happy anyway. “Do you know what that word means?”
“I’m surprised that you do,” Ivan says, immediately stripping him of the joy of hope that he knew something Ivan didn’t.
Eventually they had to resume cleaning and their bickering. When they’re out, both drenched in dirty water and breathing hard, they feel closer than ever. Their bodies drummed with pleasant exhaustion. Cortisol had been released. Till shows him a picture of a grumpy cat that looks like Sua and Ivan laughs, saving it to show her tomorrow. Thankfully for them, it was raining, so they don’t need to come up with an explanation to their current situation.
They’re one of the last ones at school, but neither of them is in a hurry to leave. They walk home bickering about the short escapade, Romeo and Juliet, the detention, whose punch had been better, and a dozen other stupid things. Ivan will rewind and replay each argument and each moment with Till when his head touches the pillow, coming up with new plans to rile him up, and by the time they part ways, he’s smiling.