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I am going to kill someone, Till thinks, his leg bouncing up and down from his perch on a folding table at his campus’s laundromat. No one is going to find the body and the person might be myself.
He slept through three of his four alarms for his night class, he stubbed his toe on his door frame as he was leaving, it was pouring outside and he lost his umbrella a month ago. Running through the rain had just barely gotten him to his class on time, thank fuck, but then the assignment for the period was announced and Till wished he hadn’t come at all.
They were working on scenic painting.
Don’t get him wrong, Till fucking loves art. He wouldn’t have gone into his theatre and film major if he hadn’t. But scenic painting and regular painting were two completely different ballparks.
But wait, it gets worse.
His partner (some kid named Marty he thinks?) hadn’t been paying attention. This wasn’t unusual. But due to him not paying attention, Marty had knocked an entire shelf of paint onto Till’s head. So now, not only was Till exhausted and soaked with water, he was completely covered in paint too.
His professor had taken pity on him and let him use the paint sink to rinse himself down but there was nothing anyone could do about his clothes.
Which is what led Till to the laundromat at one in the morning clad in only his underwear contemplating either homicide or suicide (he hadn’t completely decided yet).
This was his fourth cycle in the washer trying desperately to get the paint out of his clothes and Till was starting to lose his mind. His phone had died an hour ago and there was only so many times one could count the tiles on the ceiling and the floor before they started to run together.
There are seven minutes left on his washer when the door to the laundromat is opened by a tall man around Till’s age with dark hair and dark eyes. Till straightens, overly aware of his lack of clothing, but the man doesn’t even blink at him. He does however begin to load his clothes in the washer directly beside Till’s. Despite there being twenty billion other machines all around the fucking place.
What the fuck? Till leans forward, eyes catching on something about the man’s clothes. Wait. WHAT THE FUCK?!
All of the clothes the man is handling are drenched in blood. Till can feel his brain rebooting at the sight.
Now he really isn’t one to talk, his clothes have so much paint on them you couldn’t tell what color they originally were. But Till knows blood, having been a scare-actor for a few seasons in high school and early college. And what was on that man’s clothes certainly wasn’t paint or jam.
Till is suddenly all too aware of both the time of night and how deserted this part of campus really is. He doesn’t even think the cameras outside of the laundromat work, they were just for decoration. If this guy is a serial killer he is absolutely fucked.
”Hello, is this seat taken?”
He snaps his head up to see the man smiling down at him with a little snaggletooth digging into his bottom lip. His washer cycle had started and when Till glances at it he is horrified by the red sloshing against the door window.
“Uh.” This man may or may not kill me tonight. Fuck, I am going to be involved in a homicide but as a victim. “No.”
Seemingly satisfied, the man sits down on the chair immediately to Till’s right. Even sitting down he is taller than Till. Why the hell did someone sit down right beside him when there were four separate rows of seats all around? Till looks up at his washer. Four more minutes.
Ugh.
“What brings you here at this time of night?” The stranger asks.
Till aggressively doesn’t look over at him. “…Laundry.”
The man laughs. “Yes, that would make sense, wouldn’t it.” He gets ignored, Till’s total attention on the clothes spinning in his washer. If this man was going to kill him, he isn’t going to engage at all! That has to fucking work, Till is begging. The man leans towards him and mutters in amusement. “You know, it’s normally polite to return the question.”
“It’s normally polite to not trap strangers in conversations.” Till grumbled under his breath, putting his chin in his palm.
“What did you say?”
“Er,” he leans away and feels his ears go hot. “Nothing.”
The stranger blinks as a smile spreads across his lips. “What’s your name?”
Nunya.
“Till.”
“Till…” He repeats it as if he is savoring it. Till feels a thrill going up his spine and pointedly chooses to ignore it. “I’m Ivan. It’s nice to meet you, Till.” Ivan’s smile grows wider and he tilts his head like a puppy. Till finds himself entranced.
BEEP! BEEEEEEEP!
“Oh thank god.” Till exhales, scrambling off of his ass and to his finished washer. His heart sinks when he opens the door and he picks through the clothes. His shirt? Never going to be green again. His jeans? More color than black unfortunately. The only thing that was even remotely normal was his zip-up jacket. Thank fuck, that had been an expensive gift from his aunt before he had moved for college.
“What happened?” Till jumps upon feeling a hot breath on his neck. Ivan is leaning over his open washer and peering curiously at its contents, eyebrows furrowed. “Your clothes look…”
“Uh.” His heart is pumping in his chest. How did a man of his size sneak up on him? “Someone dumped paint on me in class. That’s why…” Till looks down at himself awkwardly. “Uhm…”
“I was wondering about that.” Ivan chuckles, eyes never leaving Till’s face. Till’s ears get even hotter.
“Listen, man.” He starts, getting louder in his embarrassment. “It’s one thirty. Me, personally? I don’t think strangers should be questioned for weird things past midnight.” Till had once seen a man taking a swim in the campus fountain. Shit, that had been a weird night.
“That’s fair.” The other man concedes, stepping back. Him and Till just stare at each other for a few seconds. “So are you going to put your things in the dryer?”
“Huh?” Till startles, averting his eyes quickly and reaches up to touch the back of his neck. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”
“No problem, Till.”
The laundromat is quiet as he transfers all three pieces into the dryer. He sets his timer for forty minutes, praying that that was enough time to dry. He did not want to be here with Mr. Psycho longer than necessary. He watches the machine start and tries not to let the eyes he still feels on his back bother him.
Maybe, if he is quiet and doesn’t move a fucking muscle this man will forget he is here and leave him alone. Till heads back to take a seat, but instead of perching on a folding table he goes to the other side of the table where his bag is. It is only a coincidence that only the table is between him and Ivan. The unsettling eyes don’t leave him. If anything they grow heavier. Till suppresses a tremor.
“Are you cold?” Ivan asks.
“Wha? No.” Till replies, a bit too quickly. “No, I’m fine.”
Ivan’s mouth dips down. Till feels his heart lurch. “You look like you’re shivering.”
“It’s just drafty. I’m fine.”
The man just can’t take a hint. “I can give you something to wear if you want.” He continues, gaze only sharpening on Till. He can feel the heat climbing his body and can only hope Ivan can’t see too much of his reddening back. Ugh. This man is washing bloody clothes, he feels like he has much more to worry about.
“I’m fine!” Till snaps.
“A warm drink maybe?” Ivan muses. “I’m not sure anything is open this late…”
Till stares at him, incredulously. “I don’t go to secondary locations.” He deadpans.
Ivan stares at him with his big bug eyes before chuckling very delayedly. “Ha! Oh you’re funny!”
“I was being serious.” Till mutters, sinking down in the most uncomfortable plastic chair known to man.
“You are super cute.” Ivan sighs, leaning onto the folding table between them.
He blinks, shoulders rising up to his ears. “That’s weird, dude.”
“Weird?”
“To say to a stranger, I mean.” Till sits up. He doesn’t think that he can get anymore red anyways. There is no point hiding it now.
“We aren’t strangers anymore,” Ivan argues, stretching his arms above his head “we know each other’s names.”
Till aggressively does not sneak a peak at his now exposed stomach. “And literally nothing else.”
A smug smile makes its way to the man’s face. “We could change that.” He sing-songs.
“No!” Till exclaims, jumping up and pointing menacingly. “Nope! You stay over there!”
“Aw, Till.” It is so unfair that Ivan’s face still looks like that while pouting. “I thought we were bonding.”
“I don’t even know you-!”
“Which is really too bad.”
Till stops in his tracks and stares at Ivan. The man's eyes are focused on him and the pout had melted into a charming smile. None of that was necessarily weird (well, Till would argue this entire interaction was two steps past bizarre) but it was the amount of attention Ivan was giving him that took Till off guard.
“Do you ever blink?” He blurts out.
“Hmm?”
Till lowers his head, sitting back down. “Uh…Nothing.”
“Alright.” Ivan continues pleasantly. “What’s your favorite color?”
Oh this bastard. Till glares, pointedly keeping his mouth shut. Stop trying to fucking trap me in conversation!
Ivan shrugs upon seeing Till’s lack of response. “You are the one who insisted we were strangers.”
He sighs. “That doesn’t mean I want you to start up a round of twenty questions.”
“So you aren’t going to answer?” Ivan taunts, shit eating grin now present as he leaned over the folding table.
Till weighs the pros and cons of engaging with a (hot) potentially murderous lunatic. “…Green.” He finally says.
“Mine’s blue.”
“…” They sit in silence looking at one another for a few seconds. Till glaring, Ivan smiling.
“It’s your turn.”
Freaking smug bastard.
“Fine.” Till spits. “ Are you a morning or a night person?”
“Oh, night for sure,” he replies sunnily. “You?”
Till shrugs. “Morning, I guess.”
Ivan gets a glint in his eye that only a psychopath could make look hot. “If you had to burn down one building on campus what would it be?”
“Where the fuck did that come from?!” Till splutters, jerking back unconsciously.
“It was the first thing that popped into my mind.” Ivan laughs, leaning his chin on his palm.
“Shit, man,” Till breathes out. “You are so fucking odd.” SHIT. FUCK. WHY DID I SAY THAT? Till swiftly slaps a hand over his mouth. “Ohgodpleasedon’tkillme-!”
Ivan stills, eyes widening like a puppy had just snapped at his throat. He straightens in his seat. “Kill you? Where did that come from?!”
“You-” TIll flinches, “uh- well-“
“Till?” The evil bastard has the audacity to seem concerned. Maybe for Till’s breathing. Maybe for Till’s sanity.
“The blood.” Till wheezes. “On your clothes.”
“You saw the blood on my laundry and decided I was a murderer?” Ivan says haltingly as if his brain couldn’t compute.
“Erm. Yes.”
“You’re so…” Ivan seems to shiver. And maybe withhold a laugh, Till couldn’t tell. “Interesting.”
“Leave me alone, it’s late.” He feels even more hot than earlier, his entire back a splotchy, flustered red. He slipped down so he can just barely see Ivan from over the table
Ivan’s gaze doesn’t stray from the top of Till’s head. “I didn’t say it like a bad thing.”
No, you just said it like you want to eat me.
“If you aren’t a murderer, why is there blood on your clothes?” Till mutters.
Ivan laughs dryly. “I’m a fashion modeling major.”
Oh.
“We had a photo shoot,” Ivan continues “and the washer and dryer in our building was broken. I pulled the short straw and had to find a place to clean them.”
“Oh. Uh, sorry, man.” Till stutters, wishing he could sink down further onto the floor and melt through the tiles.
“It’s okay.” Ivan’s smile slips back in place. “It led me to meeting you so it’s all worth it~”
“Dude, stop fucking with me.” Till exclaims, cradling his flushed face in his arms.
He looks confused the next time Till glances at him. “Why would I be fucking with you?”
“All that.” Till scoffs, hiding his face once again. “Compliments. Flirting. You’re making fun of me.” God, he hates how Ivan can probably still see his red ears.
“Nope. I am decidedly not doing that.” Ivan declares. He shuffles in his seat to somehow focus more on Till. At the sound of movement, Till’s head jerks back up to see Ivan staring with his eyebrows scrunched together. “Is it so crazy to think I find you cute?”
“Yeah.” Till replies breathily. “I’m in my underwear in public in the middle of the night. How the hell is that cute?”
A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Ivan’s lips. “Unfortunate circumstances aside, I really do wanna get to know you. Maybe we can go for coffee tomorrow?”
Coffee. Tomorrow. The idea hardly sticks to Till’s unfortunately low self-esteem. There was no way this wasn’t some prank to try and get him which is really immature. They were in college, not high school.
Damnit, of all the times for his phone to be fucking dead. Till scrambles for his phone in the bag next to him and makes a whole scene out of dramatically pretending to open it. He figures might as well put his degree to use.
“Wow,” Till coughs theatrically “uh, my friend is texting me.”
“Your phone is dead, Till.” Ivan deadpans.
Till fidgets in his seat. “Uhm, no it’s not.”
“If you haven’t touched it before now it’s definitely dead.”
The embarrassment that had been starting to fade flares right back up. “Fuck off!”
“Here.” Ivan takes it in stride, only chuckling and pulling something out of his pocket. A… pen? He thinks? Fanciest fucking one Till has ever seen. Ivan grabs at Till’s arm and quickly scribbles something down. The pen tickles and Till is sure he messed up… whatever Ivan is doing by trying to yank his arm away. ”Now you have my number.” Ivan says, letting go of Till’s arm.
Till snatches it back, cradling it and eyeing between the ink on his arm and the darkness of Ivan’s eyes. ”What the hell, dude?! That’s my arm.”
“I know. That’s why I wrote on it.” Ivan sounds as smug as can be. It makes Till’s stomach turn. He opens his mouth, probably to cuss Ivan out some more but jumps at the shrill sound of Ivan’s washer completing its cycle.
Ivan stands, the pleasant expression from when he arrived stuck onto his face once again. Whatever freak he let slip to Till seemed to have been locked away again. “Well. That’s me.”
Till is left staring incredulously. ”Don’t you need to dry your clothes?”
”Nah,” Ivan’s smile cracks a bit more genuinely as he gently gathers the clothes from the washer. “They all need to air-dry.”
”…Are you sure?’
”Yeah. Why?” Ivan cocks his head, his stupid grin getting bigger. “Don’t want me to leave?” He teases.
”I did not say that!” Till shouts, clenching his fists.
”Oh, you really are so cute, Till.” Ivan chuckles. He hefts the laundry basket onto his hip like someone’s housewife in a sitcom.
…Wow Till wishes that picture wasn’t attractive. He was trying to make fun of the other man! “If I don’t get a text from you I’ll be very disappointed!” Ivan calls over his shoulder.
And with that, the hottest, most confusing man Till has ever met walks back out into the night.
Till blinks. Takes a deep breath.
”What in the hell was that?”
Till is really, really, really glad this was not his bisexual awakening. If he had met that man any sooner he was sure that the amount of mixed signals would’ve sent him to an emotional constipation closet case.
He glances down at the numbers scratched into his arm and feels a tug at his lips. That was so fucking odd. Even odder was the amount of excitement he could feel from that one interaction. The interaction where he spent most of it fearing for his life and the other half fearing for his pride.
Should he message him? Ivan was intriguing, sure. And he clearly had plenty of interest in Till. Maybe…?
Oh, who was he kidding. Luka would mock him forever if he found out someone hit on Till and Till did nothing. Hyuna would too, but she would probably be more amused by his lack of dignity and clothes.
Ivan, Till mouths, liking the way his lips shaped the word. Ivan.
Yeah, Till was definitely texting him when he got home and charged his phone.
-
XXX-XXX-XXXX
hey, this is till
XXX-XXX-XXXX
from the laundromat
XXX-XXX-XXXX
you told me to text you ig
XXX-XXX-XXXX
srry had to get home and charge my phone
Ivan grins stupidly down at his phone, a giddy feeling in his chest. Till just texted him! He was two seconds of unfiltered joy away from kicking his feet like a teenage girl. He has literally been waiting for this moment for years.
Freshman orientation was years ago, but he still remembers the person who sat in front of him quite clearly. The grey hair was longer than it is now and his shoulders were significantly more scrunched then, but Till has always seemed to shine in Ivan’s memory. This would be the point where Ivan’s cousin Sua would call him an incompetent homosexual while cuddling with her own girlfriend like a hypocrite.
Ivan couldn’t help it though. He didn’t have the courage to talk to Till during orientation. He hadn’t caught even a glimpse of him throughout the following three years of college. Which was kind of odd since he was pretty sure all of the arts departments were split between two buildings right beside one another but whatever.
He genuinely had pulled the short straw this time. He hadn’t lied to Till about that. But watching him squirm was so much fun.
loml
btw i wouldn’t mind going to the coffee shop downtown tmr
loml
but no secondary locations
”Heh.” Ivan rolls over onto his back and types out his response. “He’s so cute.”
ivan
I’ll see you at 11am!