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Ivan was very particular over a great number of the things he owned. A certain deadpanned senior of his liked to say it was because he has a stunted childhood and no siblings, but Ivan liked to call his behaviour pragmatic. An item of his would have been moulded to suit his sensibilities, or would hold a sense of sentimentality, one he didn’t feel the need to taint with a stranger’s.
He had often found clever ways to go about this apparent characteristic of his. When fellow students would ask him for a spare pencil mid-lecture, he’d hand them the specific borrowing-only pencil he had specifically kept in his person for such a situation. There, he was technically sharing; just being a little meticulous.
“H-hey,” A boy with a flushed face from the row behind his taps on his shoulder with an aggression akin to nurses poking at the arm crook to stick a syringe into, “D’you think I could borrow your laptop?”
Now, a laptop wasn’t one of those things he could simply reproduce a guest-safe copy of— but nothing ever came easy when it comes to this particular teal-yet-ashen haired individual.
Ivan quirks an eyebrow suggestively, his snaggletooth piercing through a playful smile, “And what do you plan on doing with a laptop, something to relieve you of listening to how Poisson distributions work?”
Till (Ivan could never forget his name, he’d etched it onto the linings of his pericardium ever since he heard him belt out a rock number during their orientation week’s talent show), narrows his eyes, “Get your head out the gutter,” He snaps.
Ivan’s eyes light up at the shift in tone, he loved how extensive the range of Till’s emotions were, being at the receiving end of it after months of menial stalking felt about a dozen times better. Always meet your heroes, or whatever that saying was, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Take it.” Ivan instantly hands Till his laptop, narrowly avoiding decking the guy next to him with the hunk of plastic and metal, “Password’s two-one-zero-six.”
Belatedly, Ivan realises that this was a very stupid thing to tell Till, before being reminded of the fact that Till was ever oblivious to most of his very obvious signs of insane behaviour. As expected, Till mindlessly types in the password, and Ivan briefly wonders if there were a way to engrave Till’s fingerprint marks over the keys they lingered on, maybe he needed to ask a forensic science major for a thing or two.
The noise of Till’s lengthy fingers click-clacking against his keyboard sent Ivan into a slight daze, resulting in him failing to pay attention to an already mind-numbing lecture. Something about using lambda or the other, a discrete measure of a rare event—
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
The lecturer’s voice drops to a halt, as the room reaches pin drop silence. Rows of heads turn back, Ivan’s included, to meet a single, mortified Till staring bullets into Ivan’s laptop. Ivan cocked a brow, and Till sends him the most terrific glare in existence.
“Is something the matter?” The lecturer asks, unimpressed.
Till, upon realising how much attention he had drawn to himself, practically withdraws into his hoodie, turning a shade of red rivalling the ripest of tomatoes, “Uh. I just, uh,” Sharp eyes dart towards the projector, “Thought I saw a wasp…” His voice trails off shyly.
“There are no windows in the room.”
Ivan’s seatmate poorly stifles in a chuckle at the poor boy’s expense. Ivan’s tempted to join him, if not for the fact that the cogwheels in his brain were beginning to turn, possibilities of what had actually startled Till beginning to arise.
“I said I thought I saw a wasp,” Till counters, glowering, “But I… didn’t.”
The silence persists.
“You know what,” Till shoots out of his seat, the tip up seat holding his weight ricocheting backwards with a loud bang, only adding to the man’s embarrassment, “I-I should just, clear my head. Maybe I’m high.” He stumbles our of the row, mumbling a curt, “I sure hope I’m fucking high.”
The lecture resumes moments after Till’s absence, much to Ivan’s chagrin. He slowly rises from his seat, excusing himself from the lecture in an unassuming manner. The lecture hall’s door hinges shut before Ivan darts towards the bathroom, face to face with a very distressed Till, who was currently attempting to splash water over his face a dozen times, as if he thought this were all a dream.
“Ahem,” Ivan clears his throat. Till stiffens.
“Get out.”
“I have to pee.”
Till narrows his eyes, “No you don’t.”
“I don’t think that’s something you can dictate.” Ivan states, matter of fact.
“Fine.” Till crosses his arms, his gaze flitting between the free urinal and Ivan, “Prove it.”
“P-prove it?” Ivan was at a loss for words, “You want to… watch me pee?”
“I—” Till stumbles, the reality of what he had just uttered coming to fruition in that tiny head of his, before feeble pride took over, “Yes.” The words come out meek.
Ivan stares at him. Then at the urinal. Then at his crotch. He gulps.
“I don’t actually have to pee.”
Till sighs with relief, “Thank god,” He blinks rapidly before coughing weakly, “I mean— I knew that.”
“Sure,” Ivan says, breathlessly, “So, what was that outburst all about?”
Till’s eyes widen with rage, “You fucking know what that outburst was about!” He inches closer to Ivan, backing the taller man up against a locked stall door, “Why the hell do you have a thousand pictures of me in your fucking downloads folder?!”
“Ah.” Ivan smiles, placating, “And why were you looking at my downloads folder?”
“To access the worksheet we needed to use in class you little—!”
“Well,” Ivan interrupts him, “Maybe If you’d give me some space to explain,”
“No.” Till inches even closer, his lips but a breath away from Ivan’s, both arms now caging him against the stall door, “I’m not letting you use that wrinkly brain of yours to get you out of this one. I want the truth,” A hand slides to Ivan’s waist, and Ivan lets out a rather undignified squeak. As if he were just processing the suggestiveness of such a stance, Till freezes, his face rapidly gaining heat as he lets out a shrill yelp.
“I just wanted to hold you in place so you couldn’t run!” He reasons, “Get your head out the gutter! Now get to it!”
Ivan decides not to tell him that his hand was still, on his waist.
“I just,” Ivan’s brain struggles to turn against Till’s, quite literally, caging, presence, “Uh,”
“Was it fun? Taking ugly pictures of me to send to your little bitchy friends?” Till bursts, sparks of angry tears beginning to gather over his eyeliner, “This sort of stupid bullying shit may have flown back in high school for you mister popular, but it’s not going to fly here.” He inches even-fucking-closer, their crotches only separated by denim, and Ivan practically swallows a muted moan down his throat, biting his lips raw.
“Sure,” Was all he manages to utter. He didn’t even know what Till was talking about, but it was probably better than the truth, for him at least, “I was doing it to humiliate you, aren’t you clever.”
Till frowns, “You said that too monotonously.” His eyes glaze over Ivan’s figure, “And you’re still all flustered,”
“Maybe because you’re pressed up against me,” Ivan drawls, poking Till’s cheek with a flick of his wrist, “I think I’m having a perfectly normal reaction to being in such a precarious position, don’t you?”
“Whatever,” Till’s cheeks flare, “What’s the real reason?” He repeats, “I barely know you, and I’m pretty easy to miss—”
Ivan scoffs, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
The smell of Till’s ocean spray perfume had to be killing his working brain cells, “You’re not ‘easy to miss’. If anything, you’re exceedingly difficult to miss, I’m incapable of missing you.” Ivan pauses, “Wait, let me rephrase. I’m incapable of not noticing you,”
“You make a scene everywhere you go, whether you intend to or not, your presence is invigorating,” The sound of the toilet flushing behind them fades into the background, “I couldn’t help it, I had to capture every candid,”
“Why?” Till splutters, as Ivan breathes shakily, “Because you—”
His gaze drops to Till’s lips, he couldn’t help it, they were right there. Dry, chapped, flaky, tantalising as ever. Till gasps quietly.
“Oh.”
“Oh.” Ivan echoes.
“You,” Till licks his dry lips, suddenly self conscious. Oh, sweet stupid Till, your lips look just as ravishing with or without adequate hydration, Ivan thinks, delirious, “I thought you were making fun of me.”
“That would be an incredible waste of my time,” Ivan says, simply, “Making fun of you wouldn’t require this much effort.” His gaze stayed locked onto Till’s lips.
Till’s eyes narrow, “You talk a big game, but you can’t even look me in the eye.”
Ivan then looks him in the eye, praying his shaky pupils didn’t betray him, “I was distracted.”
Till raises an eyebrow, “I can tell." It was his turn to look at Ivan’s lips, and god did Ivan suddenly thank the gods above that he remembered to swipe on chap stick in the morning, “You’re staring,” He says.
“A-As if you weren’t doing the same thing?!” Till splutters.
“It’s different.”
“It’s not different,” Till snaps, “You can’t be this dense, you’re fucking hot, like, objectively. I’d obviously take notice.” He grumbles, before his voice lowers, “I’ve already… noticed,”
“Noticed what?” Ivan blinks rapidly.
“You, idiot,” Till seethes, “Why do you think I asked you for your laptop when I had my own? I wanted to, I dunno, open up a conversation,”
“You had your own?” Hell if Ivan knew, “I wasn’t questioning my luck.”
Till sighs frustratedly, before slamming his lips over Ivan’s. Ivan lets out a shuddered gasp, his lips instantly parting, Till practically bullying his tongue into his mouth. Ivan’s hands drift to Till’s waist, as Till’s does to Ivan’s face, both of them pulling each other closer, their lips messily smacking together over and over as both of them attempt to take the lead at certain intervals.
The stall door behind them aggressively rattles, but they hardly pay mind. Till bites at Ivan’s neck, and he lets out a raggedy moan in response, doubling over in volume when Till’s knee hits his crotch. His arms move to stabilise Till whilst he nips at his ear.
Nearly fifteen minutes pass before Till finally pulls away, a wet string of saliva at his wake, and Ivan whines at the separation.
“You’re insatiable,” Till gasps, catching his breath between gulps of air.
Ivan laughs, “Oh? Says the man who bit my neck raw,”
“At least I picked a normal place! You started licking at my armpit!”
The stall door creaks open, and Ivan and Till’s heads snap towards the sound. An entirely red faced man stumbles out, refusing to make eye-contact with the pair as he practically sprints to the main bathroom entrance. They stare at the now open and empty toilet stall, broken lock and all.
“He didn’t wash his hands.” Ivan says, eventually, “Not very hygienic of him.”
Till sinks to the floor, his head buried within the confines of his lanky knees, “Don’t tell me we were making out against an occupied stall?!” His incredulous wail comes out muffled against his jeans.
Ivan shrugs, “He should’ve made a louder racket if he wanted us to notice,”
“You’re fucking horrible.”
“But,” Ivan squats next to Till, before leaning against him cutely, “You like me, don’t you?”
Till doesn’t respond for a few moments, and Ivan begins to break into a sweat. His hand aimlessly grasps Ivan’s chin clumsily, before tilting it forcefully in his direction. Till lifts his head, placing the softest peck over Ivan’s lips.
“Your lips are really soft.” He murmurs.
Ivan shivers, “So, is that a yes?”
Till rolls his eyes, “What do you want it to be, asshole?”
Ivan slips his phone out his front pocket, swiping through the lock screen to get to his display camera, and tapping to switch to selfie mode. He lifts his arm, and angles the phone down towards Till and himself.
Till looks at his phone with a sense of despair, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“This is the angle K pop-idols use to look hotter,” Ivan responds, “Smile, or don’t. I’ll print it out either way.”
Till balks, then groans, and then finally accepts his newfound fate, landing a quick peck to Ivan’s cheek, but not before flipping Ivan’s godforsaken camera off.
Ivan couldn’t have wished for a better picture to print all over their drafted wedding invitations in his Google Docs.