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Till had many flaws. Many, many flaws. And the biggest of them had to be the fact that he never really knew when to shut up. Okay so maybe he did know but he never did care, and that often landed him in serious trouble.
Even right now he didn’t stay quiet. He continued shouting back, shouting whatever came to his mind without a filter.
He could see the vein in Urak’s temple burst, his fists clenched to his sides as Urak yelled strings of curses back at him.
Till resisted the urge to smile smugly— he wanted Urak to be angry. That… that man had been constantly berating and screaming at him since this morning (and since his entire life to be honest), somehow even dragging Ivan in, either comparing him to Till or insulting him due to his lineage (some petty rivalry with Ivan’s father).
The final straw had been when Urak had mentioned Till’s eomma in a degrading manner, knowing full well that he had crossed a line.
It was just too much for Till and so he exploded.
“Fuck you!” Till screeched, repeating the words over and over again like a chant.
Urak crossed the distance over to him and raised his hand.
Smack
That was the first hit of the night.
Till wrapped his arms around himself, nails digging crescents into his jacket as he tried pulling it tighter over him. Urak had locked him out the house and of course luck just had to be against him. He stared bitterly at the sky as snow fluttered down delicately, creating a crisp blanket that sparkled like stardust under the mechanical lights that lined the streets.
He had nowhere to go.
He bit his tongue. Had he bitten it earlier, would he not be wandering the cold streets late at night, bruised and beaten?
Well, regardless of the outcome, he wouldn’t have changed a thing.
But that didn’t change the fact that he still had nowhere to go.
There was one place though.
Ugh, he really didn’t want to go there, already imagining the teasing remarks the other would throw at him.
To be honest, he wouldn’t really mind the company.
It wasn’t like he had any choice either. Going to Ivan was something, and something was better than nothing, wasn’t it? Even though, nothing in itself was a bar nonexistent.
He sucked in a breath.
He knew Ivan’s house like his own, considering the two basically grew up together. They were fairly close despite the fights and mess they got into.
His feet knew the path to his home, and so he let them lead him and his aching limbs through the darkness, guided by the artificial lights.
Ivan’s home was a ten minutes walk, but it felt like hours. It didn’t help that he felt like he was one step away from passing out. Almost there, he consoled himself, much like one would an impatient toddler during a long car ride.
And now he was here.
The building towered over him, pristine walls mirroring the colour of the layer of snow on the lawn. The gate, in perfect condition like the rest of everything Ivan owned, was nudged open the slightest in invitation, as if having anticipated his arrival.
Till rested his hand on the freezing metal, sighing as the coldness brought temporary relief to the cut on his palm. He squeezed through the small gap and crossed the distance over to his front door, carving his footsteps into the snow, leaving a trail, a proof that he was here, that he was the one that chose to seek Ivan’s presence. He was the one that came crawling to him.
Till stared at his silhouette that loomed over the front door. The silhouette was shaking, legs trembling as it curled even more into itself, looking smaller than usual.
His finger hesitated an inch from the doorbell.
He didn’t want to be this vulnerable around Ivan. Ivan did care about him— or however it was that Ivan cared— but he wouldn’t give up an opportunity to mock him, either.
His hand dropped to his side and he collapsed to his knees, back pressed against the door and head tipped backwards. His eyes locked on the shade above him. At least he wasn’t in the snow anymore, though it was still very, very cold.
All this walking only for him to not even find the courage to ring Ivan’s doorbell. How silly of him.
How stupid of him.
How stupid he was.
How stupid this whole situation was.
Here he was, on the verge of tears, curled outside the door of his best friend while it was snowing, after being beaten and locked out his home by his father. He hated it all. He hated Urak. He hated how sensitive he was.
His head fell forward on his knees and he let the tears fall, wetting his trousers.
Why couldn’t it all end at once?
Why did his eomma had to be the one to die?
Why not Urak?
Why couldn’t he find the strength to ask for Ivan’s help?
Whywhywhywhywhywh—
His train of thoughts crashed into a wall as he heard a faint murmuring, before it grew louder. It was undeniably Ivan’s voice, and he was… singing. Ivan could sing?!
“So black, black as it can be.”
He had a nice voice and Till liked it.
“The dark sea gets deeper as you approach.”
His voice was soft, gentle, delicate— all the characteristics increasingly uncommon in Ivan. And for a fleeting moment, Till imagined Ivan was singing to him, comforting him, holding him, telling him everything will be alright in the same soft tone.
“Like a black, black sorrow.”
Till uncurled from himself, his sobs dying out, replaced by steady breathing. The pain in his limbs ebbed away, the gaping hole in his chest filled with something temporary to keep the hurt at bay, and his mind registered weariness. He wanted to rest.
Laying himself down on Ivan’s front door, he closed his eyes, focusing on no other sense of his than his hearing.
He slipped into darkness before he could register the door click open.
Ivan didn’t know what he expected when he heard a thud outside his door.
On second thought, he did expect something— he expected it to be a raccoon or any of his neighbours demanding something.
What he didn’t expect was to find Till curled on his doorstep, wounded and cold and shivering and hurt.
Burning rage flooded his senses. Urak was behind this. He always was. How he wished he could free Till from that man. He even offered to, promising him a home and a future and a livelihood— promising him a happily ever after. But Till refused every single time, wishing to earn his freedom, not to be handed it on a silver platter. Till was stupidly stubborn.
He didn’t let the anger blind him as he kneeled down before Till, flipping him over so that they were facing. Dried tears painted paths down his cheeks, the tip of nose and ears was red, and his lower lip was trembling.
Ivan pitied him.
“I don’t need your pity, stupid idiot,” he imagined Till saying had he been conscious and able to hear his thoughts.
Wrapping both arms around Till, he picked him up. Till’s body was limp, relying entirely on Ivan for support, to be the one to lift him even when he was at his lowest. And support was what Ivan offered. Ivan lifted him.
“I don’t need your support, I don’t need you,” would be what Till would’ve said, though both he and Ivan knew it would be a lie.
The neighbour across the street, who was clearly enjoying the weather, paused to stare at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He always thought Seo-yoon was always far too nosy for her own good.
Ivan flashed one of his charming smiles and with much struggle, thumbs-upped at her. That was enough for all suspicion to leave her mind. She smiled back at him and disappeared into the warmth of her home.
Ivan carried Till with him until they reached his bedroom, dropping him unceremoniously on the bed. Locking the doors behind him, he stared at Till.
Till being hurt wasn’t something new to him. He remembered when, as children, Till would show up to school with purple and yellow painting his skin, hardly concealed by the coating of makeup. Ivan always noticed. Till always brushed it off and pushed him away, never letting Ivan too close, never letting himself appear vulnerable.
And now here he was, exposed and fragile.
Till would’ve punched him already, simply for staring at him too long… again, had he been awake. But he was not. That was a shame. Ivan liked being punched by Till. It was fun.
Ivan took the first-aid kit from his bathroom and sat down on the bed next to Till’s body. He supposed he could start by tending to the injuries.
It felt wrong to see Till so… so unmoving and docile, even when Ivan touched him, dabbing ointment onto his bruises. Till was supposed to push him off, fight him, punch him in the face, and run away from him (and his true feelings, too). He only twitched and whimpered in response.
It felt wrong, but oh well.
Ivan continued nursing him and when he was done, he placed the first-aid kit on the drawers.
Till was still twitching and whimpering, brows furrowed, whines escaping his lips. He was distressed. He needed comfort.
Ivan doubted he could offer the comfort Till needed, but he could try.
Cupping Till’s face with his hand, he leaned forwards and brushed their cheeks together, occasionally rubbing his nose, too, and nuzzling against him gently. He paused simply to study Till’s reaction.
Till appeared to be consoled as his face rested and all the sharp edges softened.
Till looked so… Ivan didn’t know how exactly to describe what Till looked like but the sight of Till made Ivan want to protect him from the world, to hold him and never let go, to carve a hole into his chest and live there so that they may never be separated.
He wanted Till to be safe. Safe with him.
Ivan crawled fully onto the bed, lying next to Till who was still very, very cold. Even multiple blankets wasn’t enough to warm him.
Ivan shuffled closer to him, pressing their bodies together and taking Till’s palms between his own, rubbing them. This would surely warm him up. It certainly was warming Ivan up considering how he felt heat pool in his cheeks.
“‘Van?” Till croaked out, eyes fighting to open.
“Yes?” Ivan asked, hands resting on his cheeks once more, thumbs running up and down the skin.
Instead of a verbal response, Till lunged forwards, burying his head in the crook of Ivan’s neck, hands fisting in the collar of his shirt as his body wracked with sobs he couldn’t bother fighting.
Ivan didn’t know what to do except for wrapping his arms around him in a loose hug, “Cheer up…” he whispered in his hair.
“I can’t,” Till cried.
“It gets better. Everything will be okay.”
“What if it won’t be? What if I won’t be?”
“I’m here to help you through it. I promise, I’ll make sure everything ends up right.”
Till cried some more. He cried until he had nothing left, letting out shaky breaths instead.
Ivan wrapped his fingers around Till’s chin, giving a little squeeze before using the hold to lift his face until teal met crimson.
“Can I lick your tears?” Ivan blurted out suddenly.
Till made a bewildered face at him before shoving him, “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he rolled his eyes, even though the faintest of smiles was on his face.
That was the Till he knew.
Ivan hugged him, “A lot.”
“Weirdo,” he smiled wider, and best of all, he didn’t push Ivan away. Ivan held him and Till wasn’t holding back, instead Till sought more of the touch.
“I know,” he hummed simply, “But you still love me, don’t you?”
“I… do,” he sighed.
Wow, Till admitted to loving him. If Ivan had a tail, he supposed it would be wagging madly.
“Now shut up and cuddle me more,” Till demanded.
And who was Ivan to refuse?