Archive of Our Own

 Ivan clearly remembered the first time he came to his family’s orchard. 

The scorching summer heat made sweat trickle down all over his body, he felt unbearably sticky. He wanted to be inside. 

But his father had said, “Kids, I need you both to know how this industry works." 

And whatever his father said went. 

It was a vivid memory of the 11 year old’s, when his father pointed at the workers on the field and told them how if they didn't work hard, they'd end up just like them. Tired, old, unsuccessful. 

They both nodded their heads. 

The days after that were not notable. Hours were spent flitting about the halls of the air-conditioned country house like a ghost, an intruder that did not belong. There weren't even any books around, other than the ones he brought. He resolved to bring more the next time he came here. 

His sister had better employed her time by finishing up school assignments that needed to be submitted when they went back.

 And, although she thought he didn't notice, he knew she often snuck out during the day to the other side of the estate. He wondered what was on that side for her to be so regularly drawn to it, but it stayed a mere wonder for a long time.

This was not Sua’s first visit here anyways, she'd been to this estate of theirs many times before. Each time, she came back a little more subdued than the last. She belonged.

Ivan had always had dull summer vacations, and this one was to be no different.

On one fateful day, Ivan decided to follow his older sister. It was the 17th day of the summer vacation and he was so bored he thought he might as well be dead. He had already fully mapped out the entire house, what rooms were to his liking, which were not, which he could enter freely and which he couldn't. 

 So, feeling as though it was a bit too early to die just yet, he waited for Sua to get out the door like usual. Except this time, he was crouched behind a bush outside, watching. 

Perspiration made itself known to him, with the weather only getting hotter and hotter with each passing day. Plus, it being the afternoon. But he powered through, anything to not stay inside that lonely old house. And admittedly, he also wanted to know just what his sister had been visiting these past few days, maybe even years. 

As soon as she turned the corner, at the bend where the house ended and vast farm land began, he got up and followed. 

 They walked for what felt like an hour through tall apple trees, and Ivan's attire did not help with the uncomfortable feeling at all, despite it being shorts and a white button-up shirt. But yet again, he forced himself to power through.

When Sua stopped at a clearing near a short red brick wall, separating their land from others’, Ivan guessed this was their destination.

He took his spot behind a berry bush of some sort, nostrils overwhelmed with the smell of something, and it wasn't the berries. It didn't smell wholly unpleasant, just too much. 

 Ivan continued to keep his eyes fixed on Sua, watching as she dabbed her handkerchief on her face over and over again while continuously adjusting her floral dress. The purple pattern stood out among the green shrubs like a sore thumb, and Ivan wondered what in the world she was doing. 

Perhaps he should just leave. He got up, a twig catching on his shirt– “Hey, what took you so long?" 

The boy whipped his head around in a flash. His sister was talking to somebody. 

"Sorry sorry! Didn't mean to make you wait, but you know I can't just come here all willy nilly!”

It was a girl's voice, unfamiliar and new, high pitched too. The two seemed well acquainted, judging by the way his sister was speaking comfortably.

“Yeah, I know." 

From where Ivan sat, he couldn't properly tell what was happening or who his sister was talking to. So he decided to move up just a little bit, just to get a little idea of what the other person looked like. 

 Thankfully his nosiness didn't get the better of him this time, and he successfully made it to another big bush without being noticed. This one was definitely a better vantage point, and he finally got to see what the girlish voice looked like. 

She had pink hair tied into pigtails, glasses a size bigger than necessary, wore blue jean overalls, and he just realised, a slight country accent. Well, that was his mission complete. This was probably the person Sua had been going to visit for the last few years. 

That's it then, he thought. There was no point staying any longer.

The black-haired boy turned to get back to the lonely house with its air conditioning, careful not to step on any twigs till further away. 

And then he heard a loud thunk. 

Not just heard, saw, a loud thunk, a few meters in front of him. It was a rubber ball, red and yellow with mud all over it. 

He looked over his shoulder to see if the two girls had noticed, but they were too busy in their own world of whatever. 

He stared at the ball a bit, before tentatively stepping towards it. It had fallen over from the other side of the wall, from which he hadn't heard any sounds so far. 

Just as Ivan was about to pick it up, he heard a shrill,

“Hey! Over here, that's mine!" 

Trying to find the source of the sound proved fruitless. There was noone there but him and the weeds. 

"Not there dummy, down here!”

Down where? He looked down, straight at his feet, earning a groan from the invisible voice. Maybe the heat was getting to him, and this was an auditory hallucination because of it. 

And then he heard a second thunk. The shrill voice spoke up again, “Over here!" 

His eyes searched down everywhere and he managed to spot a pink hand sticking out of a hole in the wall. Next to it was a fallen wood plank.

 He walked towards it, ball in hand, and then poked at it. Just to see if it was alive. 

"Eh, what was that for?”

Ivan replied, “Just." 

A huff was heard on the other side, before it changed to, “So can I have my ball back now?" The voice then paused a bit, as if contemplating, “Jus’ throw it up the wall." 

Sure, Ivan could do that. He held the ball in both hands, drawing it back, before throwing it over the wall as asked. Except, it didn't go over it. It hit it in the head. And fell back down on the ground. 

"Hey I heard a clunk. You kay’?" 

Ivan didn't know what else to do except give a positive noise in response. Atleast the person on the other side didn't know he just failed. 

So he picked it up again, and threw. It hit the top of the wall and bounced back onto his chest, causing him to wheeze. 

“Dude.. are ya not able to throw the ball?" 

Ivan gave no response. 

He heard a loud rustling on the other side, and then a scurrying of footsteps growing fainter. Guess the voice got tired of waiting. 

Ivan prepared to leave, picking up the ball and deciding to just leave it on a rock. That way it'd be visible, in case the voice wanted to come back and take it. 

"So that's watcha’ look like.”

Ivan turned his head. His head had been turning alot today.

 A boy about his age stood behind the brick wall, arms resting on top of it with ease. He seemed to be standing on something to reach his current height. He had sharp looking downturned eyes– but they weren't scary. In them were pupils of teal that were almost ocean-like. A white flower that Ivan couldn't name was nestled comfortably in his gray-blue hair, tousled and spiky. His yellow graphic shirt was stained brown, rips decorating the seams. There was also a distinct scent that Ivan could make out coming from him, even from where he stood. Flowers and something fruity. Nearly the same as what had overwhelmed his nose a little while ago.

 And he had a gap in his teeth, seemingly being the cause of his words not coming out quite right, along with his kind-of-but-not country accent. 

"Soo.. are ya gonna say something??”

Ah, Ivan hadn't noticed he'd been staring.

"You talk funny.”

The reaction was almost instant. The other’s face turned red, because of embarrassment or anger Ivan couldn't tell, and he began to ramble about how it wasn't his fault his teeth were taking time to grow in. He said something about how his mom told him ‘the tooth-givin’ fairy just got a little stuck in the ol’ windmill’. 

Ivan hadn't meant to be so unfiltered with his thoughts, being taught by his father that the best way to strike lasting and benefiting connections was to say nice things, he had just been caught off-guard. But this person’s reactions were really funny. 

"It's not like you don’ look silly neither, I mean–" He paused, with a concerned expression on his face, “The hell are you laughing for??" 

Huh, was he laughing? Again, Ivan hadn't noticed. He seemed to not notice many things around this boy. 

"I.. I'm jus’ gonna go..” (and preferably never come back, the other didn't add). 

The ashen-haired boy hurried down his platform— and if he fell down while trying, no he didn't— leaving the odd newcomer laughing by himself with the soon to set sun. 

The ball was still left on the rock though, painted hues of flaming orange.

Safe to say, that was not the last time they met. The teal-eyed boy needed his ball back, after all.

The funny boy would be there, and he'd stay for many summers after.

And Ivan, he'd come back for that much more, and he'd find that summer wasn't so bad after all.

Ivan didn't mean to get into another fight, he didn't, really. But Till was just too easy to rile up. 

 Oh yes, he'd learned the funny boy's name. He came back the next day for the ball, and Ivan was waiting. Till had snatched the ball away from Ivan's smaller hands, calling them ‘grubby’. And then Ivan asked him his name, and Till answered. 

Now they meet everyday. Sometimes to teach Ivan how to properly throw things, or to play games of whatever kind Till could invent, or to eat little snacks that he'd bring from his house. No matter what it was they chose to do, it almost always ended in a fight. 

And oh did Till fight. 

 Ivan didn't necessarily like the fighting aspect, going back home with bruises all over him did not result in anything good. 

But Till's expressions were so fun, so vivid. Everything he felt showed up clear on his face, like he had absolutely nothing to hide because he wasn't ashamed of anything. 

 There was something behind those ocean teal eyes that Ivan could only begin to explain as a fire. Fire in water, and it burned. 

A bony fist landed on Ivan’s face, all the while Till was shouting and kicking under him, and Ivan decided he'd had enough for today. He was usually the one who ended the fights, Till didn't know how to stop. 

He flipped onto his back next to Till, sighing and saying, “I give up." 

The gap-toothed boy smiled, prideful, "Course ya do, wimp.”

Ivan tilted his head to face his former opponent, “What's a wimp?" He'd never heard such a word, and he knew a lot of words.

The other boy scoffed, as if to say ‘You really don't know?’, "A wimp’s a scaredy-cat who don't know how to fight for themself!”

“Oh.." Ivan said, “Then that would be you." 

“Wh- You little!?" 

And thus began another round of how long can the two go punching and kicking and pulling before Ivan ‘surrenders’.

Fights in summer are pretty fun.

–––––

"Don’ say stupid stuff like that anymore.” Till warned as he sat on a rock, wiping himself off with his own hands. It was definitely not helping, instead just making himself even dirtier. 

Ivan stared at him. Honestly, he looked to be the more beat up from the two with bruises and scratches galore, and yet he still had so much energy left. If Ivan were to instigate him again, he'd probably start another fight. 

Till leaned back on his rock, looking down at himself and then at Ivan who sat on the grass and grimaced. 

"Darn, you look horrible.” He mumbled under his breath. 

“We've fought countless times before, now is when you decide to notice the effects?" Ivan asked, matter-of-factly. “Also, you look 10 times worse.”

Till only rolled his eyes at the comment, guess he didn't have the energy to start another fight.

Before Ivan could say anything else, the taller boy got up from his rock seat and took Ivan by the hand, offering only, “Come on, I'm taking you to Eomma." as an explanation. 

––––

The large wooden door whined in protest to being handled so roughly when Till opened it. He kicked off his shoes, and Ivan followed. As soon as the two children stepped inside, the scent of something cooking wafted through the air. 

The taller of the two still held on to the other's hand, and he called out, "Eomma, 'm home!!”

Following this was the sound of soft steps on wooden floorboards. Then a woman wearing a painted apron popped out from an open door which presumably led to the kitchen. 

There was no mistaking it, this was definitely Till's mother. The resemblance was uncanny. The same gray-blue hair, cut short and hugging her neck, sharp eyes that somehow still seemed soft, and a black mole under her left eye. It was like her youth hadn't ever left. 

"Ah Till, did you get into trouble again?” She said with her voice showcasing all her worry. Till just shrugged sheepishly.

She stepped forward, bending down to meet Ivan’s height, "And would you be the Ivan my dear Tilly has been talking about so much?”

Till talked about him?

“Eomma!" Till complained. 

Her smile and voice were so welcoming that Ivan felt compelled to answer everything she asked him. “Yes, Ma'am." 

"Well Ivan, you both look a mess!” She exclaimed as she stood back up with hands on her hips. “Pray tell, what were you kids doing?”

Both kids stood in their spots without moving their limbs or their mouths, you would've thought they were role-playing paralytics. Unconsciously, Ivan broke character and stepped closer to Till, squeezing his hand behind his back. He was a little afraid he'd start telling the truth.       

 As if spurred on by this, the boy started, "Uhh.. Well, ya’ know that- that- hill on the south of the orchard? Me and him were a-tumblin’ down it to see who'd be the better porcupine." 

Till's mother raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but she let it slide with an amused smile. 

“Hmm.. well, whatever the reason, we need to clean ya’ll up.”

Ivan looked up at her, questioning. 

As if reading his mind, she stated, “You can take a bath here too, if that's what you want. Till has clothes you can borrow.” 

Till interjected, “Duhh he's taking a bath here! Why's else would I bring him?” He tugged on his muddy shirt, “You're not walkin’ back home like this are ya?" 

Ivan shook his head no. He didn't want to walk back with caked mud on his body. Eugh. 

A wide smile formed on Till's face at this answer. "That's right.”

Till's mother shook her head with a sigh, and that sigh had a hint of something Ivan couldn't put a name to, walking away saying she's getting towels. Her son then promptly collapsed on their couch, a poomf sound coming from the action. 

 He didn't seem at all worried about getting the cushions or seats dirty, something unfathomable to Ivan. Was he allowed to do that??

Ivan wasn't very sure what to do with himself at that point. He was standing at attention in the middle of the living room, with his ‘host’ dozing off to dreamland. So he began to observe his surroundings as he always did when unsure. The walls were a warm yellow, paint peeling in the corners. There were also vases in nearly every corner of the house, each filled with a bouquet of sweet-smelling flowers. It was the first thing Ivan had noticed about the place. Crayon drawings clearly made by a toddler adorned the walls. They were of sceneries, of flowers, and of a son and mother. The furniture was all wooden, different types of wood, but all wooden. He rubbed his socks on the floor and listened to the creaks it produced–

Poomf!

A cream-coloured cushion found its way to his face, although he knew it didn't just find its way. The black-eyed boy looked up, tilting his head at the single raised eyebrow on the other's face. 

 The question was graciously answered with a, “Sit down, ya look stupid standing there!" He then comfortably plopped back onto the couch turned bed.

Ivan obliged and made his way to the edge of the couch, sitting on the floor and resting his back on it. He wasn't as silly as Till as to completely ruin its off-white colour. 

Silence returned with only the sounds of Till’s snoring filling it. It was strangely grounding to Ivan. 

A few minutes passed until the spiky-haired boy’s mother returned. She had set the bath now and she let Ivan go ahead and use it first. He had thanked her after she thrusted a few things into his hands, to which she said softly, much more softer than he felt deserved to fall upon his ears, "Sweet kid."

 Whatever that meant.

Till's family was weird.

Till was weirder, though. After they both finished their baths, he had gotten reprimanded for the damage he did to their couch. So it wasn't allowed, Ivan thought. Well, maybe he was more dumb than weird. 

Till's mother then kindly patched them both up with a variety of differently colored and patterned band-aids.

An hour after that was spent playing boardgames that Till sucked at and at which Ivan had ‘beginners’ luck', as quoted by the host himself.

 The young boy had noticed the absence of a father around the house, in the present and in the doodles on the walls. When he asked, Till scowled and explained how his dad ‘ain’t here anymore and he wouldn't have it any other way’. Till didn't like him, evidently, so Ivan may as well not like him either. 

So time passed, quicker than anticipated, and before Ivan knew it he had already eaten lunch and dinner at their house. Oh, what would Father say? He wouldn't be proud, that's for sure. 

The guest made his appeal on how he had to leave, and Till made him promise to have a sleepover next time. Ivan was skeptical he'd be allowed but he promised anyway. He'd have to try asking now.

 The gray-haired boy waited with hands behind his back for Ivan as he slipped his shoes back on, saying he'd drop him off. Ivan didn't mind so it was decided. 

Till stopped at the dilapidated brick wall. He didn't say anything but Ivan guessed he was a bit intimidated to cross over. His orchard was a lot more fancy. 

  He sighed, feeling his snaggletooth annoyingly catch on his mouth. And he ruffled up the taller boy's hair, forcing the other to bend down slightly with a sound of surprise. As he let him straighten his back, he said, 

“If we did have a porcupine competition, you'd definitely be the winner.” 

Till caught the insinuation immediately and shouted a final, “Shut up!" 

This was a nice form of goodbye. It was how they always ended the day.

Climbing up the wall, he heard a mumbled out, "Hey. Goodnight. Sleep well.”

The words were merely a whisper into the cool night air. The wall-climber would not have heard them had it not been silent, and if he hadn't already tuned his ears to catch every ‘Till frequency’. 

“G-goodnight.." Ivan wished back. He pushed his other foot on top the wall, and tumbled down. And in the darkness, he became another traveling shadow. 

A confused shadow. 

Till's family was weird. Till was dumb on top of that.

But he liked his family. 

––––––

When Ivan came back from Till's house, the lights were already mostly down. He had dinosaur and Hello Kitty bandages plastered all over him, sporting a new set of clothes, and his old ones nowhere to be seen. Safe to say, his parents were positively horrified. 

 Ivan tried his best to explain that he had just tripped on a hill and fell down, so his friend’s mom had helped him out and taken his clothes for washing. But this ‘tripping’ and ‘falling’ had happened so many times this past week that they were suspecting he was getting bullied by some farm kids.

 Funny, if they asked Till he'd say Ivan was the one bullying him.

Despite all that, they let Ivan go to bed. 

And as he slept, he dreamt of that cozy little cottage in which he had spent the day in. The warmth of its yellow walls and the smell of the multitude of flowers still not leaving his senses. 

He liked Till's mother too, she was nice. Offering food and letting him use their facilities. Patching him up too.

Yeah, he liked Till's home. That sleepover was coming up soon.

Families near your summer estate can be pretty nice.

It was in his second summer on his family's orchard. Other people always did the work on the apple trees. Although Ivan did admit the people who picked the apples looked like they were having some amount of fun, he was grateful his father didn't make him and Sua pick them too. Above all, it looked to be hard and uncomfortable labour, and under this hot summer heat he did not want to stand and climb trees and pluck fruits.

But it was in this second summer that he worked on Till's orchard. 

Ivan was sitting with Till under the shade of a guava tree in the orchard, it's leaves making glowing patterns on their skin. The black-haired boy watched Till intently as the other peeled guavas and threw pieces at him to eat. Before coming here, Ivan had never tasted guavas before and he sure had been missing out because they were delicious. He loved the way the pink flesh of the fruit tasted and melted on his tongue, albeit it was annoying how the seeds would get stuck in his molars. Till's skin never got stuck in his molars, although granted he never tried swallowing it. 

 Till, in return for feeding him the heavenly fruit, would ask him to bring his orchard’s apples. Ivan had eaten his apples aplenty and saw nothing special in them, they were a bit disgusting actually, the manufactured after-taste left his tongue bitter, but Till would go on about how he'd never tasted any apple like it. To each their own, Ivan supposed. 

Just when Ivan had caught a piece Till threw at him, Till saying, “You're better at catching than throwing." Till's mother rounded from behind the tree and scolded, 

“Till! How many times have I told you not to eat the guavas before harvest?" 

The perpetrator looked away guiltily, rubbing his hand behind the back of his head. “Sorry, I forgot Eomma..”

She sighed, fondly– Ivan had figured out now, she was fond of her son– and gently tugged the fruit-skin peeler away from his hand.

 She turned around, heading back to the house, before she decidedly said behind her back, “If y'all want to have some more, you can help with the harvest.”

Ivan felt his face light up at that. More guavas? Sign him up. Till agreed with a vigorous nod, so they both followed Till's mother all the way back to their house to get equipment.

 The trees were easy to climb on, even Ivan who couldn't throw a rubber ball could get up on the smooth brown branches.

 Till was having a field day traversing the trees like they were staircases meant for his feet and his feet alone. He would pluck a handful of the green fruits, stuff them into his pockets and crowd them in his arms, then scurry down the tree in true squirrel fashion. 

 It was interesting to watch him go up and down, and he caught himself forgetting his own portion of the work in favor of staring at Till in fascination more than once. 

 Suddenly Till shouted, “I got it! Let's have a competition!” 

Ivan listened as Till explained how they should see who could get the higher amount of fruits in a given period of time. 

He personally found it silly, but he went along with it. 

Till's mother set a timer and the race began. 

The taller boy started strong, climbing up the trees in record speed and gathering bunches to put in his basket. 

 Ivan tried the same tactic as Till, climbing up and throwing down, but he wasn't as fast as Till. So he started to shake the trees’ trunks, like he'd seen in cartoons and movies. The more experienced one had told him trees didn't work like that and the fruits wouldn't all fall down, but it seemed to be working fine for Ivan. He'd pick the fruits off the ground, drop them into his basket, and continue like so. 

By the end of the competition, Ivan had won by two more guavas and Till scowled. 

“That never worked for me!” He said, crossing his arms.

Ivan shrugged, "You're just weaker than me I guess.”

Till flicked his forehead, and Ivan laughed. 

The guava trees' trunks were soft and when you scratched the bark hard enough, a green sticky layer could be found underneath. Till said that if you left the scrapes alone for some time, it'd become permanent just like a carving on any other hard tree. With the help of Till's mother, they carved onto a particularly tall one:

T & I

When the day came to a close, Ivan was happy since he'd already gotten permission to have a sleepover at his friend's. There was still tons of work to be done, and Till's mother said to him, "You did good work today, rest up so you have energy for tommorow, kay’?”

"Yes’m, thank you.”

She smiled, "You can call me Eomma.”

And as Ivan and Till, who looked so, so pretty under night sky, ran back home shouting and giggling,– and that was what Ivan thought of it as; home– he was grateful his father didn't make him work on the apple orchard. He liked guavas better than apples. 

He liked Till’s home better than his.

Above all, he liked being with Till better than he did alone.

Maybe he just liked Till.

Funny boy-turned-friend that you made in summer vacation can prove to be quite likable.

Till liked Mizi.

That much was obvious. 

Mizi was the girl Sua had been visiting since young. She was the one with the pink hair and the big glasses. Now though, her glasses fit and she was tall and she was pretty. Ivan got to know her from the times Sua brought her to their vacation house. And she was.. a cheerful one for sure. Her smile was so achingly bright that it filled an entire room and Ivan felt as though their house would soon burn down from the warmth of it. 

It was no wonder Till stuttered and was generally a mess around her. She was so joyful and kind. So much so it felt forced, but Ivan kept that to himself.

The 13 year-old could only watch as Till stumbled on his words around her, a pitiful sight.

That was when the hollow feeling, phantasmic in its dealings, formed in the pits of his stomach. There, but not visible, not really existing, and hurting all the same. 

Ivan didn't have the right to feel that way, honestly. He wasn't supposed to. 

“Harvest begins tomorrow doesn't it?" 

The recipient of the question only grunted in the affirmative, too focused on the book in his hands. The black-haired boy sat comfortably beside him, playing with the grass or poking at Till to get a reaction.

Till was either writing or drawing something. It was about Mizi anyway, indefinitely. He kept it covered with his arms, glancing at Ivan every once or so to check if he was looking. Black eyes did indeed roam about his arms out of nosiness and to keep Till on his toes, but he soon got tired and resorted to staring at the trees. 

This was his fourth summer here. He came every summer, no matter what, and each time he never failed to appreciate the trees Till's orchard held. Tropical Guava was the main produce; Ivan had found out through Eomma, since Till didn't know himself– along with lychee. 

 He had grown to much like the scent of both, and Till always smelled like them. 

Till would always like his family's apples better. Anna Delicious, Ivan would remind him, just to piss him off.

“I'm coming over tomorrow to help.”

He always came over to help at harvest-time. 

When he got no response other than a hum, he did a fake pout and said in a tone that he knew annoyed Till to no end, “Oh come on Tilly!! Do you not want me to stay? I’ll leave and I won't come back if that's the case.” 

He made a show of clinging onto Till's arm, while the other made a face that showcased clear disgust and flipped him off, “Fuck off." 

The evening flew by like that. Them sitting on the hill as one furiously scribbled in his book and the other made snide comments every now and then. Night soon fell as it always did, and the two parted as they always did.

–––––

Ivan could not find Till anywhere. Which was odd, because usually Ivan knew exactly where Till ran off to at any given moment. 

He had expected them to meet today at whatever tree Ivan found him situated under this time to get started on the work. But he was nowhere to be found. 

 Ivan naturally became worried, so he ran to Eomma and asked her where Till was. It caused her to laugh and tell him, "I think you'll find he's at that hill all the way in the south.”

 And Ivan listened to her advice and walked to that hill. He'd only ever seen it, the two had never hung out there before. What in the world was he doing there?

When he reached, Till had his back turned and was crouched over something. He kept on muttering curses under his breath, occupied with whatever was held in his hands. 

Ivan cleared his throat, and began in a sing-song voice, "Till~ what are you doing over there? Weren't we supposed to begin the harvest today?”

The crouched boy flinched at the familiar voice and turned around. Till coughed,

"Oh- uh- Ivan. How'd you find me?”

“Eomma told me you'd be here.” Ivan smiled.

He really did look breathtaking under the morning sunlight, with his hair just right, sitting on the grass like he had always been there.

 Ivan felt that incessant need as he always did to reach towards the beacon of light, to come as close as possible, to touch it, to feel it. 

So he made his way over, his shadow eclipsing Till as he towered over his sitting figure. "So, what's that in your hands?”

Till's eyes widened at the mention of the elusive object. 

  Slowly, he took out a flower crown from behind him.

It was beautiful. It was made with sunflowers and bougainvillea, the stems intertwined in a connecting dance. 

Ivan smiled, already feeling as though he was beginning to sink. "Oh? Who's that for?”

The black-haired boy’s stomach twisted at Till's flared cheeks when asked the question. 

Till began to mumble with his mouth contorted into a squiggly line, “W-well.. it's for.." 

Ivan always felt the need to reach for that beacon of light. He sometimes felt like Icarus daring to touch the ever present sun in the sky, but Icarus was always bound to fall. 

Ivan laughed mockingly. He didn't mean to, kind of. 

As he said, he couldn't help it, he snatched the pretty thing from Till and held it soft in his hands, asking, “Aww, is it for Mizi?" 

"Wh- No! Give it back, Ivan!” Till shouted, face red and eyebrows downturned.

“You don't need to be so shy!" Ivan laughed, voice kept steady with all his might, “I already know all about Mizi.” 

He kept his hands hovering above his own height, knowing Till wouldn't be able to grab it no matter how much he stood on his tiptoes. Time did that; changed things. It made Till no longer the taller one, and Ivan the one who had to get the fruits on the higher branches. 

Till turned even redder, somehow, "What?! Ivan, I moved on from her months ago. Earlier than that, really-” 

Ivan didn't know whether to believe him or not. A part of him wanted to, to believe he had a chance. But deep down he knew Till was just deflecting. Pretending. 

 Ivan tutted at Till, swiping his hands away periodically whenever they crept too close to the crown.

  He sighed condescendingly, "Tsk tsk.. I thought you trusted me more than that Till.”

Till had begun to get really pissed at this point. It could be seen with the way his fists were tight clenched, a last attempt at keeping himself calm. Ivan wanted to see him crumble and let loose. Like the fire of the brilliant sun. 

Just as Ivan was about to give the final blow, just as he was about to open his mouth, he felt his foot twist and lose balance on a singular patch of irregularly loose grass. 

"Oh.” 

He fell face first. 

Crash!

He landed half on top of Till who yelped upon impact. The black-eyed boy groaned as he rubbed his back, the fall had hurt. The other didn't look much better, hell, he just had a 51 kilo human being fall on top of him. 

Wait, the flower crown. Ivan quickly got off the other, silently sorrowful over the loss of warmth, and began to rummage below them both. When he found it he swallowed audibly. 

 He reluctantly glanced over at the maker of the crown, who had just now gotten up. His eyes became the size of dinnerplates when he caught sight of what was in Ivan’s hand. It was the flower crown. But its petals were crushed, its stem flattened and overall mangled. 

Ivan felt a lump form in his throat. He hadn't meant to go this far. The flower crown was undoubtedly something Till had spent time on, and he'd meant to give it to Mizi too. 

“I- I'm sorry Till. I can help you make it again.” He dug his snaggletooth into his lip. "Mizi likes clematis better anyway, right?" 

 A hoarse laugh– though not really a laugh– escaped Till's larynx. He began to sniffle a little, eyes stinging red. He kept on rubbing his eyes over and over as if that would make the tears disappear altogether. And even at that moment Ivan thought Till was breathtaking. 

 He hesitantly approached Till with a hand brushing his leg. “Till-" 

"Don’t– don't touch me!”

The ashen-haired boy pushed himself off the grass, wiping at his face. 

He mumbled, sniffling and talking to the ground, “Why.. are you like this..?" 

Ivan doesn't know. Why is he like this? Why can't he just be what Till needs? Why wasn't he born with pink hair and a calming smile? Why can't he be a good friend?

Standing up, Till looked down at Ivan who held the flower crown in his hands. The one sitting down kept staring at it like that would fix it and bring it back to its original form. 

"Happy belated birthday asshole.” He spat the words out like they were poison on his tongue. He threw a piece of paper at Ivan and without another word, he turned on his heel and ran.

 Huh.

The flower crown was meant for him..? Ivan's birthday fell on February fourteenth so he never got to celebrate here. Till had wanted to celebrate his birthday. 

Ivan picked up the paper. It was crumpled and wrinkled now, either by being in Till's hands or stuffed in his pocket. 

 Unfolding it revealed the simple words ‘Happy Birthday’ and a drawing of a red anemone. His favourite flower. 

Ivan’s twisting stomach finally crashed and burned into a shallow black hole, for a reason he had never even considered in all his very reasonable rationale.

––––––

He knew he was going to follow Till again. No matter what he did, knowing that it was cruel and mean, his own interest always came first. Because to be away from Till for very long was like taking away his eyes or his ears or his head. He couldn't bear to be apart– even if that was all the other wanted. 

 To be apart from Till meant a dry and scorching and dull summer, and Ivan had become fearful of dull summers. 

He went over to his place two days later. When he knocked on the door he smiled at Eomma, said, “Good morning Eomma. Sorry I couldn't come earlier, but I'm here to help now.”

If Eomma knew about their fight, she hid any knowledge about it perfectly. She only welcomed Ivan in, beaming, “No problem dear. Till's over in his room.”

 He made his way to Till’s bedroom, steeling himself for whatever verdict on his fate Till had in store. He could take it, he just needed to see Till's face again. 

He knocked on the door 5 consecutive times. They had agreed that this style of knocking would let each other know it was them when Ivan was 12 and Till 11.

He heard footfalls on carpet on the other side. The door cracked open slowly, Till with that familiar glare pointed onto him. When he began to open his mouth, Ivan braced himself, readying his apology and his ears. 

But all he got was, “There you are dipshit. Was wondering when you'd come around for your part of the work.” And then, with a an embarrassed look, “Me and Eomma haven't been able to reach the higher branches in the lychee trees." 

Huh? 

"Oh..” Ivan said intelligently. His brain was still in ‘Brace For Impact’ Mode, and his control panel was taking time to switch back. His wires were probably faulty, always have been. But could you really blame him, because what the hell was happening right now?

When Till didn't get a continuation of his conversation, he cocked an eyebrow, “Well? Aren't you gonna come in?" 

"Oh er.. yeah.”

Ivan forgot to close the door behind him as he stepped inside, much too distracted.

After their promise made all those years ago, Ivan had been in Till's room so many times that it was uncountable. 

 The walls had posters of several bands and art pieces hung about, the walls themselves a desaturated blue. He slept on a colorful bed of green and red and blue, above which there was a singular glass window. Next to the bed was Till’s old desk, scattered about with books and pencils. He knew where Till hid all his poems, songs, and drawings of Mizi (under his wardrobe), where he hid his snacks (although they were basically Ivan's at this point, Till hardly ever got to eat them), and yet right now he felt like the place was utterly new. Possibly because of the underlying tension between them that Till seemed to not want to address at all. 

Ivan sucked in a breath. Guess he'd have to be the one to bring it up. “Till, I.." 

 He was promptly cut off by Till jumping off his blue bed and crying out in surprise, "Shit, the rice!” Ivan adjusted his ears and heard the noisy whistle of the rice-cooker.

Till walked out the half open door and peeked behind his back, sighing at him standing stationary in the middle of his room. “Well come on idiot, the rice and trees aren't gonna wait for your sorry ass.”

Ivan heard himself laugh at his statement. He shouldn't be laughing. They shouldn't be having this conversation at all, really. Ivan should be apologizing right now and Till should be mad and then they'd make up and all would be well again. And even if things weren't well again, it's what Ivan deserved. 

But he found himself following Till's command, because what was he but a devout acolyte of Till's wishes? One full of shit, that's for sure. His feet betrayed him and he was soon standing outside under the blazing sun, picking apples from tall and shady trees. But the heat didn't matter, didn't bother him, Till was with him.

Summer would never be dull with Till and even if all his attempts to actually talk with him were shut down unsurreptitiously, it was okay. It had to be.

Because they were fine like this. 

Ivan wanted this as much as Till seemed to. To skip the hard part and go back to how things were. He was a cowardly, cowardly person who didn't like conflict. Or maybe he was just a half-assed friend who couldn't care less about his friend's feelings and only prioritised his own shallow emotions. Perhaps. Probably. 

Ivan stood right outside the dark oak door of his summer house. Being in front of the door with its ornate floral carvings and stained glass windows in the top was nothing new to him, but what was new was standing outside it with Till. 

A few days ago Till had brought up staying over at his place for a sleepover completely randomly. Not just hanging out, but a sleepover. The guy had never even been on his lawn before. And when he showed confusion, Till just colored and said, “What? You've been at my place plenty, it's my turn now.” 

Ivan had no reason to refuse, and now they were here. Till was sweating buckets and stood frozen on the first step of the staircase leading to his door. Ivan sighed, “Look, Till- if you can't do this it's fine. Let's just have a sleepover at your house like usual.”

  Ivan didn't care where they had a sleepover, he just wanted to spend as much time with Till. He smiled at Till to reassure him, and that seemed to flip something in Till.

“Hell no loser. We're doing this at your place.”

Ivan chuckled at his oh so admirable resolve. 

With newfound confidence, the boy with messy hair strided toward the door and opened it. As soon as he did, cool air-conditioned air hit his face like a punch and Ivan saw the visible wince in his face. 

Till mumbled out, “Sweet, air conditioning." 

They then hurriedly made their way upstairs to Ivan's room, mostly because of the younger boy voicing nervous worries about having to meet his parents.

 Ivan didn't really get Till's apparent fear of his mother and father, but he whisked him up towards the stairs anyway. 

When Ivan entered his bedroom, he saw that Till had already settled himself down on his carpet, taking in the room he'd never seen before. 

Ivan's room was simple, really. The walls were a plain white, one or two posters that Till had gifted him hanging on them. He had a study desk, a black bed, and a wooden closet. The only interesting thing about it was the shelf Ivan kept on the far left of the room, opposite of the window on the room's right which overlooked nearly the whole farm. It was full of classic literature and a few astronomy books here and there. 

“Your room's.. clean." Till remarked, probably not knowing what else to say. Well, there was a truth to that.

Ivan smirked as he sat down on his bed, 

"Looks like a certain someone could learn from me.”

Till rolled his eyes, “My room has character alright?" 

"Nearly as much as it's owner.” 

A book landed on his face.

And with that, the sleepover began. 

–––––

Seventeen-year old Ivan doesn't think he's ever been more mortified in his entire life. He has though, of course, and he will face more mortifying situations in the future to come, this is just his adolescent brain talking. 

At this very moment, Ivan stands in his living room between both his parents wearing an uncomfortably tight suit, shaking hands with some old man business investor, while Till sits on the plush cushion that he no doubt wants to tear apart while looking completely out of place in his white shirt and blue jeans and covered in bandages and shooting bullets into Ivan's skull with his eyes.

The whole world is out to get him today.

Ivan and Till had been playing videogames on the ashen-haired boy’s 3DS, when one of the maids knocked on Ivan’s door, saying the Master and Madam were calling for him. Oh, and his friend too. 

Till looked like he was about to faint but he got up and followed Ivan anyway. As quietly as possible, the host was trying to calm the guest down as the maid led them to his Father's study. 

 Ivan just knew Till was conjuring up a thousand possibilities in his head that all involved Till being kicked out or inadequate to staying at their house, although the idiot could never be inadequate for something as silly as that. He however had no time to tell him so because the maid had already pushed open the study’s entrance. 

“Ivan. And your friend." His father boomed out in his voice that always sounded like he was going to announce something important.

"Hello, Father.”

Till cleared his throat, "He-Hello Sir.”

His father sat at his desk, holding some documents and filing them neatly into a pile. His mother spoke from where she sat across her husband, “Come, sit, Ivan's friend." She gestured towards the empty seat beside her. 

When Till only blinked at her, she laughed, “We don't bite." 

 He cautiously sat down on the seat, like it would catch fire if he didn't sit on it the most stiff and awkward way known to him, which he was. 

Ivan bit back a snicker at the way he was acting. Sure, his parents were rich and fancy but when did that ever make Till this scared? 

His father started, "Ivan, we have something important to tell you. It's going to mess with you and your friend’s plans a bit, so pay heed." 

 Ivan gritted his teeth ever so slightly, mess with his and Till's plans?

"Of course, what is it?” Ivan asked, willing his jaw to be relaxed. 

“Do you recall the conversation we had a while back about the investors coming over?" 

He felt his tighten jaw again. “Yes.”

“Well, it seems their journey took less time than originally supposed.” His father smiled a little, “They were excited to meet you.”

The bulky man that was his father got up from his seat, the metal chair screeching against the wooden floor. His steps though, were graceful when walking towards Ivan. He placed his heavy palm on Ivan's shoulder, saying softly, “Sorry son, I know you don't like them that much, but can you entertain them for just a bit?" 

He wanted to vomit, but he knew this was just a small thing he had to endure for his parents. He smiled, "I see. Sure.” 

Mess up his plans it would, and in more ways than one.

After that, the maids handed him a suit to wear and Till just sat there watching him dress. On most accounts, he would have found it flattering but those ocean teal-eyes were doing anything but admiring him. 

 On the contrary, his expression was scrutinizing. As if Ivan was a mathematical operation to solve and Till had never been good at maths. It was weird, being on the receiving end of bottomless staring. Like he was worth being stared at, no matter the reason.

When Ivan exited his room, Till stayed back. He didn't want to hear about all that business shit, he said. Understandable. Ivan would like not to hear it too if he had the choice.

So then imagine his surprise when the very boy comes down the stairs accompanied by some maids, with hands thrusted into his pockets, eyes on Ivan, reading clearly ‘I don't wanna be here, free me from this cage.’

“Ah, Till! There you are." His father said. When did they learn his name? "We can't have you just stay in that room all day. Sit here.”

Till obliged and sank down into the plush of the white couches, eyes surprised for a second at the softness and then fixing themselves on Ivan’s. He had been staring at him too much today, it wasn't good for Ivan's heart or stomach. Especially not right now. 

 The raven-haired boy darted his eyes away, lest he start seeming weird infront of the investors. 

One of the investors finished sipping his black bitter coffee, put it down and asked Ivan, “So, I assume you are Unsha’s son?" 

Ivan smiled and nodded, “Yessir." 

––––––

Midway through a conversation about how Ivan's studies are, and midway through one of the old men investors patting his head, and midway of Ivan’s eye twitching throughout a smile, one of the investors asked,

 “And this boy?" He gestured his head towards the currently halfway sank into the couch Till, whose eyes hadn't left Ivan's every move this whole time. They leave him now though, to look at the man asking the question.

He looked so intimidated by the rich, grown-up people that Ivan almost wanted to laugh. He couldn't though, not there in that room and that sucked. 

Ivan's mother laughed her practiced jingle bell laugh, and said, "Oh! This boy is a friend of Ivan's. They had plans today but your arrival cut them short. No worries though, they seem to be enjoying themselves well." 

Ivan brought himself to laugh along, Till only narrowing his eyes at him. 

As the hour went by, attention started to drift more towards Till and by the end of it, the investor who asked the original question was dead set on finding out the ashen-haired boy's ‘talent’. 

 He asked him if he sang, to which Till answered, “Kinda." And then he asked him if he danced. “No." Till answered. And so on and so forth, and Ivan thought he was about to vomit and run and fight all at once. 

What really did it was when the wrinkled old man put a hand on Till's knee. Till noticeably flinched at the touch, and Ivan unconsciously jolted upwards to stand on his feet. 

 The whole room looked at him stunned and he wanted to die right there, but first he had to get Till out. 

“Ahem. Father, I should think me and my friend can take our leave now, if that's alright?”

His father looked at him with knowing eyes, although what they knew Ivan was unsure of, and nodded his head with a sigh. 

As he dragged Till out of the room, he last heard his father apologizing to the guests, "I'm sorry. Usually he's such an exemplary child.." 

Till plopped down onto Ivan's bed face first, groaning into the sheets and pulling at his hair. He turned to look at Ivan still clad in tight pants and ironed shirt, who sat at his study table with his entire concentration on Till. 

 Ivan was sure Till was mad, annoyed, disgusted. Disgusted at the investors, annoyed at his behaviour, mad at his parents. Ivan wouldn't blame him if he got up and left right now. 

Till asked, “How often do those guys come here?" 

The black-eyed boy blinked, and hummed a bit in thought before answering, "Twice or thrice every summer." 

Till pinched his eyebrows, "And back at your home?”

Ivan winced. He hated when Till referred to where he came from as home. If home was anywhere, it was here, where Till was. 

“It's different people every few visits, but I suppose my father meets them at least a dozen times.”

At that, the boy in the bed let out a long, despondent, "Hmm..” 

"Aren't you like, grossed out when they touch you?” 

Ivan looked at him and smiled the best he could when he told the wholly tangible truth, "Immensely, Till.”

“There. Right there. That fake fucking smile." Till pointed at him, and got up like he'd just won the lottery, like he'd just cracked a cold case. 

“Although, this one was kinda sad.." Till reflected, tilting his head as he held it on his palm. He crept his way over to the edge of the bed, and cupped Ivan's face in his hands, and in that moment Ivan forgot how to breathe. 

"Listen here dipshit. You're gonna follow me, and once we're outside of this stuffy place, you're gonna answer truthfully. Okay?”

“O-okay.." Ivan heard himself say, not so much as actually say it. Outside? How were they gonna-

And then Till slammed open the window on the left of the room. He scanned the tree beside it and smiled, "We're lucky there's a tree right here! I was worried we'd just have to jump down and hope for the best." 

Ivan was standing beside Till, watching as he carefully placed a foot on one branch and then the other on another branch. He watched in awe as Till expertly maneuvered about the leaves.

 When Till was situated at the part where the trunk branched out, he extended a hand and said, “Come on, you’re not gonna stay here are you?" 

The taller boy took his hand, rid of all hesitancy now. Till was offering escape and who was he to decline?

With a relieved giggle, he said, "No, no." 

They ended up stopping at the old dilapidated wall, after weaving through countless apple trees and eating countless more. The whole time, the blue-gray haired boy looked sick. 

  The two sat down cross-legged on the pebbly ground to catch their breath, knees inches apart. Till looked around the whole of their surroundings of mainly acanthus and wild shrubs, like it needed to be observed in minute detail just now. And then he started, 

 "Kay’ Ivan. I need you to understand right now that to ask you all these things is costing me my pride and confidence.” He mindlessly picked at the grass at his crossed feet,

 “I might actually run away at lightning speed at any second." 

Ivan snickered and Till glared. 

 “So please listen, and I don't want any of your bullcrap." He knew what Till meant by bullcrap, but that bullcrap was sometimes all he had when things got too difficult for him. 

But Ivan nodded. He didn't honestly know if he could answer all of Till's questions, but he'd try. He would always try for Till. 

"We're best friends, aren't we..?” Till asked, as he began to pick at a bandage on his arm. Till had been getting more and more bandages over the years. Ivan wanted to ask about them, but he'd always known that Till would never tell him anyway. Being too pryful, too nosy. 

When the question fell on his ears, he felt his eyebrows twitch. Obviously they were best friends. Even if Ivan selfishly wanted to be something more, he wouldn't trade the relationship he had with Till for anything in the world. 

"Of course you're my best friend.”

Till glanced away, expression vulnerable and wrong. "Then why.. why do you smile at me like that?”

Ivan tilted his head involuntarily. “Like what?" 

"Y’know..” He brushed some hair behind his ear, “..the way you smiled at them. So fucking.. I don't know– Calculated? " 

What was Till going on about? 

 Till took Ivan's silence as a sign to continue, watching his expression intently, "I-I thought I was your best friend, you know? And best friends are supposed to tell each other shit, not smile creepily and pretend that makes everything alright." 

“When-" He inhaled sharply, “When you came back on your fourth summer vacation. That's when it started, I think." 

Fourth summer vacation. When he was 14 and Till was 13. The year he learnt the benefits of keeping mum and being polite. Chivalrous. Till's knee was touching his now. 

"You started smiling a lot. Not your freak ass happy smile, but like- a creepy one. A practiced one, it felt like." 

He went on, “And then today. Those- God, I wanted to barf so bad when I saw em’ patting your head and touching your arm." 

His eyes landed onto Ivan's again. Ivan was barely registering what was happening at this point, but he was trying. He wanted to try understanding what those fierce eyes so full of life were trying to tell him, even if he just wanted to drown in them right now. And then Till sharpened his voice, 

“And you, you let them. Your parents let them. Why!?" His voice broke at the last part, eyes seeing the beginning of tears. 

Bony hands found their way to his hair and yanked lightly, “And this stupid fucking hairstyle. Why'd you change it?”

His hair, really? What did his hair have to do with any of this? Sure, he didn't let his hair lie dormant anymore and usually slicked it back these days. But it was what was trending back at where he came from, it looked more proper, and his classmates said it looked good on him. So he kept it. 

Till didn't say anything more, and it became apparent that he was waiting for an actual response. 

"Uhh.. my hair?” He couldn't hold back an amused half-laugh. 

"Yeah, your hair.” Till coaxed on. He leaned in so that their knees were flush, his face too close. “Change it back." 

This was too much. Proximity initiated by Ivan was fine, normal. But when Till did it? The back of his neck warmed. The sun was too warm, the breeze too strong. Ivan was sure he was losing it, this was another sort of weird dream, and he would soon wake up in his bed and-

"I want answers, Ivan.”

Ivan could feel the other's breath on his face, and he wanted nothing more than to lean into it and close the distance. But now wasn't the time for such thoughts, so he leaned backwards in an attempt to reestablish some form of normalcy, and took a deep breath.

"Okay.”

He peeled his gaze from prodding teal eyes, and thought back to the first question. If Till could stop running, why couldn't Ivan stop pretending? He spoke softly, afraid to make the other run away, “The way I smile.. I don't think I ever told you about it, huh?”

“I’m sorry, Till. I'm sorry for treating you like them.” He was sorry for many, many things. And this didn't even begin to scratch the surface. 

"You and them are leagues apart. I- I didn't know you'd be so bothered by it. It's become habit, after being told so many times to practice my smile. So I wouldn't look so.. the way I do.”

Till's furrowed his eyebrows at his choice of words, “What do you mean-" 

Ivan shhed him. “I'm answering your questions, be patient." 

Till clicked his tongue, annoyed by the ultimatum he himself had given. 

"I started smiling like that because it was what my parents wanted.” He cracked, "I don't know, I thought I was getting pretty good at it.” Till was not amused. 

The shorter boy drew circles on the top of his hand as the taller one continued, "As for today.." His hand tickled, he kind of wanted to vomit in the best way possible. “.. This happens alot. The old men don't know what boundaries are, and I'm just sorta expected to let them do whatever they want. It's good for investment, my father says. My parents say I have to get used to such behaviour in the business industry. They treat me to expensive dinner afterwards, always, like that makes everything alright.” Ivan couldn't help the bitterness that seeped into his tone, "They act like it too.”

It was silent for a bit afterwards. Ivan was trying to gather his thoughts for the next question, and unbeknownst to him, Till was trying to fit everything he'd just said into what he'd known about the black-eyed boy from all these years. He found that he'd really known nothing at all. 

Ivan twirled his own hair haphazardly. "This hairstyle.. it's simple really. I can teach you how to do it if you want.” He joked.

Till glowered at him. "You know that's not what I meant, jackass." Ivan knew he shouldn't make stupid jokes now, but it was second nature. And old habits die hard. 

"Okay, okay. It's just a hairstyle that's trending at the school where I study. People like it so I keep it.”

Till didn't say a thing, lips pressed shut and eyes scrunched in what could only be disappointment. He was tired of hearing Ivan's sorry explanations on these things for sure. 

“Sorry, I know that's not what-" 

And then Till grabbed Ivan's face, lifted his head up, and snapped something into place on his hair. The snap had the distinct sound of plastic, of clips Sua used that were gifted by Mizi. 

Till’s hand drifted to Ivan's cheek, and he smiled. A small, decided thing that held so much of Ivan. His whole being depended on it, its existence. 

Out of his pocket, he took out a small green plastic mirror and a hairclip. He showed Ivan his own face in the mirror, and he saw the pink clay heart clip snapped onto the left side of his hair. He felt his nape warm at the implication and hope that it was for him. 

Then Till wordlessly snapped the other hairclip onto the right side of his own hair, a green clip with a red flower and yellow inside that Ivan could only guess was an anemone. 

 He grinned, wide, effortlessly cute and lopsided and said, “Happy Belated Birthday." And hugged Ivan so that he was tackled on the ground and nearly couldn't breathe, but not because of the hug, and they laughed while Ivan desperately tried to will his face back into its original color. 

After that fourth summer, Till didn't try wishing him again and Ivan didn't mind. After the disaster that was the first time, who would ever want to celebrate his birthday with him again? 

When Till finally got off of Ivan, he huffed, "You know, it really pissed me off that we only ever celebrated my birthday. It's not your fault you weren't born in the summer.” He adjusted the clip on Ivan's laying down head. "And then you had to go and be a fucking prick when I did try to celebrate it.” 

Ivan couldn't refute. He had been a prick. 

“But uh, you know. Here I am trying again. Like the idiot I am, but at least it worked. We're matching now.” 

Ivan looked up at Till sitting above him, shading him from the scorching sunlight that reflected off the piercings on his ears. Like a perfect being, his paradise. He itched to eradicate any form of distance between them, to meld them into a single object.

He wouldn't.

Till’s hand crept its way to Ivan's hair, tousling it and fiddling with it. He said in a hushed voice, “I know it doesn't mean anything, but I'm sorry you have to go through that every year. I'm sorry you have to go through that at all." And since there was only one that, Ivan simply understood and nodded.  

The boy’s voice cracked when he requested, "Please, tell me these things. Stop hiding everything from me. How can I help you if I don't know the first thing about you?”

Having Till say that out loud was like a bullet to his chest. He made him cry all too often, for reasons that should be cleared up easily by any two normal people that weren't them. But they were them, nothing could be done about that. And even if to promise was to throw away the bitter pill he'd been relying on for his whole life, he did,

“I.. I promise." 

It'd take time for the pill’s effects to wear off, but he could try. He could try for Till. 

A minute passed. Ivan got up and placed his head on Till's lap, the ashen-haired boy didn't protest. Sniffles could be heard coming from Till, red eyes and stuffy nose. Teardrops were trickling down his face and Ivan knew it was Till being his needlessly empathetic self because Till had always been emotional and full of heart since young. Even for people who had done nothing to warrant it. Ivan stretched his hand to the boy's features, wiping the tears with his thumb. Till grimaced when he put the same thumb to his mouth. 

 His hand still carded softly through black hair, until he broke the silence and said, 

"If you wanna keep these matching clips, you've gotta change back your hairstyle." 

Ivan beamed, voice dancing in mirth, and said, “I mean if you want me to soooo bad, I don't see why not.”

They walked back to Till's house for a sleepover just like originally planned, just with a different venue, under the star-filled sky, hand-in-hand, Ivan refusing to let the other go. Ivan most obviously wore his hair with his bangs back in front, and they both had their clips proudly on display. The cicadas chirped their buzzing melody for just the two, the cool night air fresh on their skin. Ivan felt goosebumps erupting from the pleasant chill.

 Especially so when Till turned, his face washed in the pale light of the moon, looking so utterly divine. His teal eyes sparkled with the life Ivan held so dear. The very scene seemed so distantly familiar, and yet completely different in every aspect of its way.

 He announced with all the determination of stubborn youth, of people who think they are invincible, like he could and would take life by the reins unscathed, “One day Ivan, I'm gonna take you far away from that place, from your city, and we're gonna live surrounded by guava and apple trees and we're gonna eat til’ our stomachs burst and you're gonna be so happy. Just you wait and see." 

Ivan didn't doubt him.

No matter where they looked, they couldn't find it. They had already turned Till's entire house upside down looking for it, under the drawers, on the shelves, above the tall cabinets. And what was this very important thing they were looking for? It was a video tape filled with recordings of when the two were kids, of them plucking flowers and fruits, chasing each other until out of breath, and playing games that made Till want to smash Ivan's head in. 

 The two now official adults had suddenly felt a wave of nostalgia wash over them, and being nothing but spontaneous they had now made it their life's mission to search for that old cassette tape labelled ‘The Kids’ by Eomma, and watch it in the garage where the old cassette player was. 

But as Ivan said, they were unable to find a trace of it anywhere. The only place left to search was the basement but the duo had been putting off going there since Till–although he insisted that was not the case– was scared to go down there. He'd always been imaginative since a kid, perks of being an artist Ivan guessed. Ivan didn't understand being afraid of the dark or anything like that (perks of having an unimaginative mind), so he teased Till non-stop about it. 

After some prodding, the younger boy finally relented and agreed to go down there with the older boy. When at the basement’s entrance, Ivan jokingly offered Till his hand to hold on the way down the stairs. He didn't expect Till to actually accept the offer but he lapped up the attention anyway. 

Till switched on the light of his phone's torch, warm and slightly shaking hand gripping Ivan's. Cute.

  The raven-haired boy barely paid any mind to the dozens of cobwebs that decorated the journey downwards like decorations on Halloween. This place definitely hadn't been cleaned, let alone entered, in a long time. He faintly worried about the hygiene in the back of his mind, but at the moment that cassette tape was his topmost priority.

They reached the final cobblestone step, the shuffling of their feet bouncing off the empty walls. The singular white light pointedly scanned the corners of the room, travelling across spiderwebs and dust bunnies along the way, until it stopped on a tall wooden shelf with metal legs. It had at least a dozen cardboard boxes stacked on its different levels, each labelled differently in black marker. 

Till groaned, “Yay.. More digging.." 

Ivan let go of Till’s hand and cheerily made his way to the boxes, cooing, "Don't be a downer Tilly! You've got me to help, aren't you glad?” Till scoffed, rolling his eyes, and Ivan got started on the top shelf, pulling down a box labelled ‘Stuff’. Very helpful. 

 Till continued to shine the light on the box Ivan held. He rummaged quickly through the items, and finding no cassette tape, moved onto the next. They carried this out for three or four boxes, when Ivan noticed Till spacing out and letting the torch light sag towards the floor.

 He'd been spacing out a lot this time that Ivan came for summer break. So, in order to give him a little spook, he pretended to grab another box before he turned around abruptly and shouted, 

“Boo!" 

Till let out a high-pitched shriek and dropped his phone on the stone floor with a loud plunk, and then they were plunged into total darkness. Amazing vocal range, Ivan had to give it to him. Standing ovation. 

Now, the darkness confused Ivan. Even if Till dropped his phone, the light from the living room should have been entering the basement. But they couldn't see a thing. It must have shut by itself.

"Fuck.” Till cursed. “Damn it. I can't see anything!" 

The swiping motion of a hand was heard, "Ivan, where are you? Fucking idiot, why'd you do that.”

Ivan reached his hand out towards Till and sheepishly smiled, “Oops.” 

Till pinched Ivan's palm and he fake yelped, but the other knew it was exaggerated. The ashen-haired boy tiredly huffed as Ivan heard him crouch down to search for his phone. 

 "Come on, help me find it.”

They crouched down together and searched for the phone on the cold stone floor, hands joined the entire time. 

 And maybe it was the warm hand, and the feeling of security coming from the loss of sight, but Ivan asked the question plaguing his mind the entire summer,

"Till. Why have you been acting odd as of late?”

Even if Ivan couldn't see anything, he knew Till stilled when he heard the question. The boy laughed nervously,

“Wh- what do you mean?" 

"Just, you've been spacing out a lot. Not paying attention to conversations.” 

"O-oh? Is that so?”

Ivan could imagine Till's face, he was the one thing he could imagine vividly, red and eyes darting around in nervousness. 

He sighed, “Come on, just tell me what's wrong. We promised we'd tell each other things." 

 Even if he sounded like the largest hypocrite ever right now, it was true, they'd promised. 

There was a rustle of fabric, Till toying with his shirt, undoubtedly.

“Okay, fine. It's just.." Till sucked in a breath, “Um.." 

And then a hand found its way to Ivan's hoodie and played with it. “You're gonna go soon. And I'm gonna miss you.”

Oh. 

Ivan had graduated from school weeks ago. He'd already gotten a few acceptance letters from various universities, and he was waiting for the final few. He didn't know which he was gonna accept, but everyone was aware that his parents wanted him to study abroad. 

“I'm breaking my promise to you." He chuckled bitterly, raspy, "You're leaving and I can't stop you. I can't do anything.”

Ivan swallowed. Their hands still twisted together, Till's fingers calloused and rough against his due to years of playing the guitar. Ivan fought the urge to press them on his lips, swallow them whole. He always did. 

 They let the silence settle in the dark room, thick and heavy. 

Ivan had been trying to imagine it lately, living without Till. He'd done it before and it was tortuous, staying in school surrounded by his school friends, knowing Till was just 80 miles away. When he learned how to drive a car in the beginning of his junior year, Sua caught him multiple times getting ready to drive off to their summer estate alone. She never let him, it would never end well.

But it was all survivable, because he knew what was to come in the summer. Color and sun and Till. 

And if he went and started living in some far-off state with his only company being medical books and people who couldn't see past his background? Ivan doesn't think he'd be able to live. 

 So he let a relieved smile form on his face. He sighed, “Oh, that's what it was about?”

He could already picture Till fuming at his tone, “Huh?! Dumbass, did you not get anything I just said?!”

 The raven-haired boy pursed his lips, but alas, he let a snicker escape. It only caused Till to emit more confused noises, that served to make Ivan erupt into laughter.

“Hah?? Are you making fun of me." Till said, a hint of a quiver in his voice.

Ivan wiped the tears from his eyes, internally dancing in the knowledge he had that Till didn't. 

"No, no, of course not! I'd never make fun of you Till!” 

He pushed Ivan's chest, “Spit it out man. What's so funny?" 

"Uh.”

Well, now that he had to actually say it.. he'd hoped he could bring this up at the last minute, after spending the summertime together like usual. But now he had to say it, 

“Ikindamaybeplanningtoleavemyparentsandamhopingthatyoullletmestayatyours.”

There was a beat of silence. “What?" 

 Ivan looked down at the outline of the hand gripping his hoodie. He could barely make it out, but it was there and it reminded him of what he'd resolved long ago. To talk, to stop with the facade he kept up to hide the worst parts of him. Till was the person he wanted to reveal himself to the least, and also the one he had to show himself to the most. 

"Okay look, one thing I know for sure is I am not going to a far away state in who-knows-where,” He waved his hands around in the air for added effect, even if Till wouldn't be able to properly see it, “and although I'm not sure if my parents would even let me think about it, and I'm not sure if I wouldn't agree to their plans like I always do if push came to shove..” He inhaled deeply, out of breath from the mouthful he just spoke, “I'm sure I want to be wherever you are. I've been planning to cut ties with them for a while." 

“So, I guess I'm your new tenant..? If you'll let me be." 

Till didn't speak. Neither of them did, for what felt like an hour to Ivan's relentlessly pounding heart. He was sure the other could hear it too. Thump thump thump.

He knew it. This was all too sudden and Till couldn't let him stay even if he wanted to let him and now he had to find a way to let Ivan down easy without breaking his sorry heart.

"Um..”

Thump. Thump.

“Idiot.” 

Laughter filled the room, the strength of it oscillating to and fro the walls and Ivan's ears. The grip on his hoodie only became tighter, both hands held on to it now, and his palms clawed it like it was the only thing anchoring Till to the ground. The laugh sounded so relieved, joyous and resounding through the four walls of the musty basement. Ivan had to keep him company with his own laugh. To keep him laughing alone wouldn't do.

Till rasped, "Why'd you choose to tell me this in the middle of vacation?? Don't tell me you were planning to break this news at the very end.”

Bullseye. He couldn't say anything to refute.

"Really? Wow..”

And, in an act of not thinking straight at the moment, Till placed his right hand on his cheek, and gently, ever so gently, caressed it with his thumb, rubbing the spot below Ivan's eye. The boy felt his breath hitch. Air wouldn't enter his lungs and it wouldn't go out. Thank goodness for the dark.

The younger boy murmured something so quietly it was rendered unintelligible, at least it was amidst the din of Ivan's malfunctioning brain and heart. 

The semblance of a laugh came from Till, dipped in silent amusement.

Amused. What was he amused by?

If anything, Ivan's amused by the string of occurrences just now. Till hardly ever touched him first. The last time he'd ever been so physical was the first time they celebrated his birthday. 

Still, honestly Ivan can't be one to talk because in another display of not thinking straight in the moment, and he shouldn't have, he really shouldn't have but he did, he leaned in. 

In his head he reasoned, Till was just too close, too near and right in his grasp. He reasoned, if one came across treasure on the surface up for grabs, who would go and give it up?

And yet the press against slightly chapped lips was slow, and he was scared, and frankly he was frightened by his own actions. All those years of restraint, to what? Go down the drain because of a dark room and a hand on his face?

 Was he really that weak?

Still. Still. It was everything, it was warm, it was whole. The shadows gave him the confidence to search and find the warmth he craved, if only for a split, impulsive second. 

When their lips parted, Ivan sighed shakily, already feeling the sinking feeling of the mistake he'd just made, the mistake Till would call it, and the crashing of everything falling down on him and he could see it all. Down, down, down he was falling and he'd done the stupidest thing. He was the worst idiot there ever was. 

Suddenly a hand yanked the back of his head, and their faces crashed together again. He gasped in surprise at first, and then he readily met the kiss with the fervency of a man getting water after years of drought. He was soaring. 

 Till was amazing to kiss, he'd never thought he wouldn't be. But the real thing? They kissed, kissed, kissed, and Ivan thought he could stay like this forever, he could live without breathing if Till was the reason his lungs had no oxygen. 

 The hand wouldn't let go of the back of his head, it forced their faces next to each other, not that Ivan wanted to be anywhere else. Right now, all his dreams were coming true, unraveling, the taste of Till, his breath hot on his face, his sounds, calloused hands on his body. 

The dark room has definitely been his ally. 

In a while, Till's hands trailed down to his waist and the boy pulled away first, making Ivan whine pathetically. And oh right then, Ivan wanted nothing more than to see Till's face. The dark had been his ally, but he needed to know if Till had been affected by this as much as he was, just how red his face was, because he had returned the kiss. 

And like an answer to his prayers, Till let him know through his voice. The disbelief in it mirrored Ivan's own.

“Ivan. Ivan. Ivan." He repeated breathlessly, resting his head on the boy's shoulder. 

"Yes?” 

“Why'd you do that?" There was a hint of something wonderfully frantic in the way he spoke. Ivan had never heard anything like it from him, and hell, it was doing something to him. That, and the constant nuzzling in the crook of his neck.

He asked incredulously, "Do what?” 

A huff was heard in the void, “That." 

Ivan was giddy and in the mood to tease, he copied Till's tone, "Why'd you do that?” 

Instead of exasperated shouts or acerbic rebuttals, the boy replied seriously, “Because I like you, duh. That's why you did it isn't it?”

Then softer,

“Please tell me that's why you did it." 

Till. Likes. Him. Till said it from his own tongue. Ivan replayed the words over again and again. Till likes him?

Till likes Ivan??

And then he remembers he has to actually respond and not just celebrate the three words in his own head.

“You.. like me..?" 

The boy snorted, “Kinda what I just said Iv." 

The abbreviation of his name made Ivan's heart race faster. 

“So.. Do you like me too?” 

Indubitably. The answer was obvious. Ivan liked him, now he had to wonder did he like him? In the way his books and shows portrayed liking to be? He'd always thought the answer to be no, that yes he had this gnawing want to forever be part of and by Till for his whole life but he didn't like him the way romance stories said he should. 

 But everything seemed perfectly crystal clear now that Till had asked him with his own voice, his own mouth, like undisturbed water down by the river where the two had oftentimes played.

 Without ever even knowing, it had been planted into Ivan's subconscious long before he knew its definition, waiting for him to discover it. The answer would always be, for however long Till would let him say it, yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.

“Yes." He felt Till's fingers twitch where they held onto his hoodie.

"Yes. I like you." Ivan kept his arms glued to his sides, afraid he'd just pounce if he let them out of bounds.

He added truthfully, “I like you very much Till. Have for a long time." 

Even if Till couldn't see him at the moment, he hoped the grin he was unable to control from traveling across his face reached Till. Telepathically, perhaps. 

 And maybe it was able to reach Till, for he could feel him spluttering and mumbling on his neck. Ivan giggled from the tickle it gave. 

“Then I suppose we reach an impasse.” 

Till said.

His hands crept up to Till's face, just to feel him in them. "Mmhm." 

Till jerked his face back. Ah, too much.

Though, he seemingly changed his mind and rested his head back on Ivan's shoulder, this time hugging Ivan. 

"You surprised me..”

Of course, Ivan shouldn't have gotten so carried away.

Then the younger boy pecked the side of his neck. "Um.. so.. does this make us boyfriends?”.

Another peck. “I-if you want that- like labels and stuff, I don't care.”

Oh. 

Ivan felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, in a good way. 

 He'd never get used to a Till like this if this is what he would be like when they, uh, dated. 

He replied, “Please." 

He felt Till's fingers twitch again. "Oh. Okay then. Good.” He also felt the smile against his neck’s skin. 

“Dating.. Till is my boyfriend. I'm Till's boyfriend." Ivan tested the words out, seeing how they rolled off his tongue. Would he really get to say these things now? The things he'd never even dared to imagine he'd get to say. Oh he felt dizzy. 

Till got up from his resting place to make Ivan's face captive to his hands again, “Okay that's enough, you sound crazy. I'm tired of sitting here in the dark, let's search for my phone.”

Search they did, and wouldn't you know it they found it right next to Ivan's foot. 

 No matter how much Ivan told him the truth that he didn't know it was there, Till wouldn't believe him.  

Not that it seemed to actually annoy him much, because the boy still got on his toes and kissed his cheek when they found the cassette. 

 He still snuck one final kiss on the lips when they got to the basement entrance. 

“O-Oh wow. Isn't someone eager?” He knew his face was red, visible now thanks to the half-open door giving way to the fluorescent light of the livingroom, and it gave away just how much a simple kiss affected him. Damn it. 

 Till smirked in triumph, his own face tinted red interestingly enough. “Mmhm. Aren't you? I'm certainly thinking of a lot of things.”

“Huh-" 

"Kids! Did you find the cassette tape?” Eomma asked as she opened the door fully.

Till full on shouted at the intrusion, putting his arms in his pockets in one fluid motion. 

Ivan was still buffering, but he managed to say naturally enough, “Yup! Over here.” He waved the evidence in the air.

  Eomma smiled, looked at the two of them for what felt like too long to be purely meaningless, and bid them to their own business. 

Ivan glanced over at Till who had hunched himself over like he was trying to seem smaller. 

“Oh? What happened to Mr. Confident?” He bent down to get a look at Till's face, “Continue with what you were saying." 

Till glared at him with flushed cheeks. "Oh shut up.”

He giggled. Back to normal Till. Ivan had been wondering where he went. Where did normal Till go when the Till who kissed him and hugged him (and said some mildly shocking sentences) appeared? Ivan wanted to find out, to know and memorise the very fibres that made Till like he did science. 

Till firmly took him by the hand and led him to the garage, stomping all the way. 

Maybe now he had the tiniest chance to do so. 

––––———

Ivan woke up to a thin arm plastered around his waist. No matter how much he tried to extricate himself from its grip, he couldn't get it off. He gave in to his fate after a little while. 

The cassette player glowed faintly, left on from last night. It was still the ‘ass-crack of dawn’, as Till says. A habit of Ivan's was to wake up early even if there was no need. Years of mind-numbing routine did that to you. So Ivan just stuck to it, getting up early to exercise or study. 

 But he'd never had a literal human claw keeping him stuck to the bed. Or, blankets, he should say. 

They had fallen asleep in a makeshift bed of cushions, pillows and blankets while watching the video last night, the fatigue of a long day both physically and emotionally finally wearing out the two. 

Oh yeah. They were boyfriends now. Oh God. 

If he was slightly hazy before, he sure as hell wasn't now. The arm on him was Till's, ie. his boyfriend’s. 

The head that lay next to him, breathing in and out in shallow breaths, was his boyfriend's. 

He had kissed Till just yesterday, multiple times. He could still taste him, he swore, guavas and lychee and something undeniably Till. 

He made a move to stroke Till’s locks of silver-blue. And they stayed there for a while, Ivan awake and remembering, Till asleep and dreaming. 

(But what Ivan didn't know was that Till's dream was remembrance too.)

He kissed his forehead gently, it held all the words he couldn't describe and the words he wish he could say out loud.

 It roused Till back to consciousness and he slowly blinked, waking himself up from slumber. 

The first thing he saw was tear-soaked eyes. 

Ivan quickly noticed his arrival to the land of the lucid, wiping his face with his forearm. Shit, shit, he thought. Please don't let him see me like this, he's just begun to kiss me.

“Ivan, why are you..?" He sounded so caring, it only made Ivan cry more. 

Till frowned, tightening his hold on Ivan's waist, "Hey, hey, what's wrong?” 

 Now Ivan was making him needlessly worried, why couldn't he just stop wailing like a child. 

He drew closer to Ivan's face, “Ivan. Talk to me." 

"I-Its nothing. Really.” He sniffled. Ugh, can't he just shut up when he needs to?

This was one thing he'd made sure he would never ever show Till. Despite the promise, this was one thing he just couldn't. What would Till think of him? Till probably wouldn't see him the same again.

Till sounded desperate, “Please." 

"I- I don't..” The tears wouldn't stop streaming down his face. This was one emotion he'd never practiced enough, and now the consequences were coming to bite him in the back. No matter how much he tried to school his expression, he couldn't. He tugged on Till's shirt, “Do you really like me..?" 

He expected Till to get annoyed, confused, a little of both, because who would ask such a question after the events of yesterday? 

 And yet Till, with such an expression that made Ivan want to just die from guilt, said quietly, "Yeah. Quite a bit.”

A fresh flood fell down his eyes, and Till's eyebrows scrunched tight. Yes, that would be the appropriate reaction to Ivan's current outburst, if only his ocean-teal eyes didn't have that glimmer of outright concern. 

 And the boy he couldn't understand as to why, hugged him so tight that he felt his bones were about to break. 

“Shh..It's okay, you're okay. I'm here." 

He kissed him where the tears fell, replacing them with his tender ministrations. If he kept this up, Ivan would never stop crying. 

 But eventually Ivan did, reduced to only hiccups and slight sniffles. Till continued hugging him, gliding his mouth lightly on different parts of his face. It must have been gross with the tear-soaked stains.

A few minutes ticked by, and Till asked, "Are you gonna tell me what that was about?” 

“Mm.." Ivan blushed, embarrassed about everything that just happened and the fact he had to try explaining it. 

"It's stupid.” He bit the inside of his cheek. Where was he even supposed to begin?

Till smiled, "I'm very used to stupid.”

Ivan gazed directly at him, his perfect paradise, his beacon of light, shining down on him willingly, choosing to grace him with his presence. Much more than his presence. 

He clenched the moth-eaten blankets below them, “I guess.." He paused, trying to look at Till with all the sincerity he could muster. "I'm just really happy.”

The ashen-haired boy's mouth twitched, face starting to redden. He burrowed his face into Ivan's chest and he said, voice muffled by Ivan’s hoodie, “Me too." 

Ivan grinned, he grinned so much his face muscles hurt. He nestled his nose on Till’s hair, taking in his scent, the feeling, as sleep overcame him once again. 

A certain someone smiled when she peeked through the garage door and found two young boys asleep together peacefully, and she prayed that peace would be all that followed them wherever they went. 

The smell of coffee drifted through the kitchen, reaching all the rooms of the apartment. Ivan hummed a simple melody as he stirred two cups; one ‘overly’ sweet, and one appallingly bitter. 

 He stepped out of the kitchen with piping hot mugs in hand, the only thing separating it from the living-room/ dining-room being the kitchen islands.

 It was cold, since winter was at its peak just now. The change in weather didn't change Ivan's usual attire of woollen sweaters. 

The living-room cum dining-room was mostly empty save for a singular wooden table with two similarly wooden seats. 

Laying his head down between his arms on the table was his favourite sight in the world. 

He dragged the other seat next to Till’s, nudging his shoulder lightly to get him to wake up saying, “Love, I made you some coffee.”

Despite successfully getting him out of bed earlier, the man had fallen asleep yet again on their dining table. Ivan didn't blame him for it, he deserved the rest after all the work he'd been doing lately, but he needed to at least have something. 

The ashen-haired man blinked, yawning as he lifted his head up. The eyebags under his eyes had gotten heavier. “Oh, thanks Iv.”

 He smiled before he took the cup handed to him and began to sip it. 

Ivan watched him drink, and he knew the adoration was clearly visible in his eyes. The couple drank their coffee silently, Till wasn't a morning person, and Ivan knew not to bother him then. 

It was the weekend, both were exempt from any sort of work so much of the morning was spent lazing around in their new apartment. Yes, this was their new apartment and oh did Ivan love it. It was cozy, he had to admit. They'd moved in just the week before after tons of scouring done by Till. 

“I'm keeping good on my promise, huh?" He had asked, grinning with all his teeth smugly.

Ivan answered immediately, "Indubitably.”

 Ivan's sure he couldn't have chosen any better. (Although frankly Ivan would have been happy if Till made them live in a sewer.) It was far away from his summer house, it was far away from his city, and very soon they'd get their guavas and apples.

So now Till was tired and looking forward to years of sleeping. Yet he still sat with Ivan on the mini-porch of their apartment. 

Yeah, the best part of this place was undoubtedly the fact that they lived on the apartment building’s bottom floor, and by proxy practically had a garden all to themselves. 

 Ivan's adorable boyfriend prided himself immensely on this fact, he kind of looked like a peacock when he puffed himself up and acted all proud at his housing choices. The best part was really getting to live with the amazingest person in his life.

The two sat on the pretty bench they bought specifically for the porch, Till leaning on Ivan's shoulder and Ivan on his head. The blue-gray haired man had his arm snaked around Ivan's waist, their hands twined and watching the snow fall. 

 Till squeezed Ivan's hand gently, “Let’s plant guavas and apples there." He pointed towards a direction somewhere on the left of the yard using the hand still conjoined with Ivan's. 

Ivan smirked into Till's head, "Don't know if those can grow in winter, love.”

He could feel Till rolling his eyes at the comment, before he continued, “In the season, duh, and there,” He lifted both their arms as he pointed to the right of the yard, “we'll plant flowers. Bunch of ‘em. Anemones, hydrangea, edelweiss, rhododendron, clematis, everything.”

“We're gonna make this home, Iv." 

Ivan willed his eyes open to witness one of Till's smiles, the kind that always left him breathless and tingly all over, his stomach all hopelessly aflutter. Suspended in time, for him to burn into his cerebrum and dream of at night. Till was his to hold, his to worship, to forever cherish, and to really, wholeheartedly love.

 He'd always thought he was incapable of loving the way a person should. And here was Till telling him he was wrong. Forever was in his grasp and he was never going to let it go.

 The start of it would bloom right here in this garden, it's roots taking shape in the cold snow-ridden ground, crawling up, up, up to finally burst out in radiant summer, the only season he'd ever liked. 

But with the prospect of Till being in them, he was starting to see the appeal of all the other seasons too, even cold and dreary winter. 

He smiled back, and he knew it reached his eyes, “That sounds lovely.”

They laughed together, jubilant, and pressed their lips together for a gentle kiss.

Summer would never be dull with Till, the only reason summer had ever been interesting at all, hell, for Ivan he was summer, was the radiance of it. And now by the looks of it, Ivan's whole year would never be dull again.

                                   ── .✦