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1.
When Till heard the banging at his door, his first instinct was to grab a bat.
He'd always been a light sleeper, though lately it had gotten worse. These days, sleeping barely felt like a period of rest and seemed more like a temporary suspension of bodily functions. It was like a badly edited fade-to-black where Till would close his eyes, exhausted, then wake up a second later with that same tiredness plus a headache. Rinse and repeat.
Naturally, that meant his eyebags had gotten worse—not that they were any better before—and that he was more prone to snapping at anyone unfortunate enough to piss him off at the wrong time.
2:37 a.m. was definitely one of those times.
Sitting up on his bed while attempting to calm down his body’s initial flight-or-fight response, he groped for his phone in the darkness. The harsh glare of his screen greeted him mercilessly. Till squinted, confirming that no one (highest likelihood being Hyuna) had sent him a text or a call in the past few hours. The alarms in the building hadn’t gone off too, so it wasn’t some sort of emergency.
Which meant that whoever was rapping at the door right now was either some rude stranger, a jetlagged salesman, or a robber being an asshole about the crime.
He frowned.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Till clenched his jaw, trying hard not to start a series of curses as he navigated his way outside the room with muscle memory. He didn’t want to risk going blind by turning on the lights. Belatedly, he realized he could have just brought his phone and used it as a flashlight instead.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
It was a miracle no one else on the floor seemed to be stirring at the disturbance yet, but maybe because it was too early for anyone to care. Till certainly wouldn’t have, if it wasn’t his door that was being assaulted. Myabe the fact that the unit next to his apartment had been vacted last week was also another reason.
Standing before it now, he could hear the full intensity of each heavy strike and rattle, shaking all remaining drowsiness away. Definitely a hundred percent awake now.
Common sense told him to check the intercom first.
He grimaced at the screen's light, blinking. The person outside had their face pressed to the door panel, obscuring most of their body from view. Still, Till immediately recognized the lavish coat. Even if they weren’t wearing that, there was no mistaking that black hair.
Almost by instinct, he reached for the handle and swung it open, startling the other person mid-knock.
They stood there for a moment, looking at each other in a stillness that could only be possible because everyone else in the world was asleep.
Till was the first to open his mouth.
“... Ivan?”
His eyes were hazy, and his hair was a mess—something that highlighted the jarring difference between his actual age and his usual mature demeanor. There was a faint red spot on his forehead where he’d pressed too hard on the panel along with a slight flush on his cheeks. Till caught the strong smell of alcohol floating around him and resisted the urge to gag.
Ivan was stared at him for a few seconds. Then, as though finally registering who was standing before him, a wide, childish grin spread over his face.
Till felt something heavy drop at the pit of his stomach.
“Till,” Ivan breathed.
—And then, he promptly passed out.
The headache wasn’t that bad in the morning.
Groggily, Till checked his phone as he sat up and swung his feet off the bed. Half past eight. Classes didn’t start until eleven, so this was relatively early for him.
He yawned.
The first indication that something was amiss was the fact that everything was unnaturally clean.
For the past couple of weeks, his room had been in a state of perpetual mess—laundry and papers and energy bar wrappers strewn around haphazardly. He could have sworn he left Freddie on the floor beside the door last night, but the electric guitar was miraculously propped in its stand beside his cabinet.
As if by cue, Till glanced at the bed behind him. The opposite side was neatly arranged: blankets folded and beddings taut.
Slowly, Till stood up and made his way outside the door. He could vaguely smell a familiar scent of something sweet down the short hallway and before he knew it, his legs were already moving on their own.
“Hello.”
Ivan was standing near the sink when Till rounded the kitchen, sleeves rolled back while holding a plate of pancakes and grilled bread. The sight was painfully familiar.
Till’s throat felt dry.
“... Hey.”
“I made breakfast,” Ivan offered, placing it on the table. “Help yourself.”
Till shifted awkwardly at the doorway for a bit, mumbling a quiet “thanks,” before sitting at his usual side. There was already an empty plate prepared in front of him.
He watched wordlessly as Ivan washed his hands and took his seat on the opposite end. He smiled a small, polite smile when their eyes met. Till averted his gaze by reflex.
For a few minutes, there was only the sound of cutlery as they took their portions of the food and began eating. There was a familiar rhythm to that action and it surprised Till how easily they settled back into it. One of them would soon start a conversation and the other would humor with a response and then they'd argue or banter or share or joke.
But that didn't happen, of course. The familiarity ended there, because none of them spoke for a good five minutes. If tension was a solid thing in the air, Till was certain he was being suffocated by it.
When the silence had gone on too long, he startled himself by opening his mouth before he could bolt out the kitchen or do something worse.
“Got a hangover?” he blurted.
Ivan paused for a brief millisecond, so quick that even Till had barely noticed it.
“… It’s not that bad,” he replied, cutting into his pancake with a fork.
“You don’t usually drink unless you have to.”
“Mm. Last night was unavoidable.”
“A business party?”
“Something like that.”
The answers were short and precise. It was clear as day that Ivan didn’t want to elaborate any further about it, and Till didn’t know why he kept digging either. A sense of annoyance bubbled inside him, first directed him, then at Ivan who was the cause for it. The questions only made it sound like Till was interested in hearing about his life since… since the last time they’d talked like this.
Till stiffened.
When was the last time they’d talked, face to face?
The answer, of course, had been weighing at the back of his mind this whole time: half a year ago, at this very table.
The memory of that night was something he had been trying to avoid at all costs. Months ago, any mention of it had given Till the urge to pop open a can of beer or furiously scrawl on his sketchbook or grab Freddie and play until he could barely feel his fingers anymore. Most of the time it had left him with a horrible lump in his throat and the urge to scream into his pillow.
“—Sorry for earlier,” Ivan apologized suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. “That was unprofessional of me.”
Till glanced at him across the table. Ivan was looking down at his plate, highlighting his annoyingly long eyelashes that flushed gold whenever his head angled just enough to catch the sunlight from the window. Till always thought it was ridiculous for Ivan to look this good without trying, but that was something he'd never admit out loud even if he was at gunpoint.
He blanched, stopping that train of thought before he could get carried away and took a bite of his food. Chewed it slowly. Swallowed.
“… It’s not like we have a business relationship.”
They didn’t have any at all now, in fact. He wasn’t quite sure what to call Ivan anymore. His ex-lover? His best friend? His childhood playmate? All of those sounded wrong to him, and more importantly, they hadn’t been speaking or seeing each other since the breakup. It was probably more fitting to say they were acquaintances at the moment.
“You get what I mean.”
The words hung in the air like a thin veil, featherweight but present. Till did get what he meant by that. They had agreed on this arrangement after all, after Ivan had moved out of the apartment.
'No contact. No meetings.'
The first few days had been the hardest for Till. Then weeks passed. Then months.
Then, now.
Till thought he had been doing a very good job at moving on, really. After all, six months was a long time. He only thought about Ivan once or twice a week now and even convinced himself he could handle talking to him normally once they met again.
But Till had imagined that scenario happening outside and in public and preferrably in a group setting where he could count on Mizi or Hyuna or even Sua to lighten the mood. Not like this—alone with him in the apartment they had lived in together since freshmen, in the same room where they had decided to end things.
Whoever it was that said that time healed all wounds was talking absolute bullshit. All those days and nights and distance barely meant anything to Till now. It was like someone had forcefully ripped off the scab from a healing wound and was pouring saltwater over it.
Ivan, on the other hand, was a stark contrast to that.
Except for the way he avoided the long conversations, all his actions seemed as natural as Till had remembered them. He didn't seem bothered at their reunion, as if the past few months barely made a dent in his perfect, organized life.
The idea of that left Till feeling like shit.
“It’s fine,” he said stiffly. “You were fucking heavy to carry, though.”
“… Sorry.”
Till grunted, standing up a little too fast and hitting the table by accident. The plates rattled. Till felt his cheeks warm and tried to act like he had meant for that to happen, making his way to the sink with his plate and ignoring the smirk Ivan was trying to hide as he lowered his head.
“Sohow’sthenewplace?” he asked too quickly, turning the tap.
“Big.” Ivan replied. “Unfamiliar. A little too quiet for my tastes.”
“You should get a dog, then.”
“A dog?”
“Yeah, Mizi got a poodle last week. You didn’t know?”
“Oh. I was a little busy with a group project.”
That was understandable. They were graduating that year, after all, and Till himself was also swamped with project deadlines that only contributed to cutting down most of his sleep and pronouncing his eyebags. At the very least, they had helped him get his mind off of thinking too much.
“Can I borrow the bathroom before I leave?”
Ivan was suddenly standing beside him, carrying his own empty plate. Till hadn’t noticed. The sudden proximity made him jolt in surprise and he stepped back by reflex.
Ivan’s eyes narrowed at his reaction. Till looked away, frowning a little.
“Sure. Yeah. Whatever.”
Minutes later, he was watching Ivan putting on his shoes near the front door.
He had changed into some clothes he had forgotten to bring when he left—black turtleneck shirt and pants. Typical for his fashion. Neither of them raised the question of why Till hadn’t thrown them out yet.
After tying the last lace, Ivan stood up and gingerly reached for the door handle. His back was to Till. He seemed to be contemplating something.
Till watched without saying a word, waiting. He belatedly realized he was holding his breath.
“Thank you again,” Ivan said, finally.
Till's breathing hitched, but forced himself to relax. He waited some more.
“… And sorry for the disturbance,” Ivan added as an afterthought.
Without looking back or waiting for Till's reply, he turned the handle and slipped outside.
The door closed with a soft, anticlimactic click.
Till stared at the bottom of the doorway, seeing Ivan’s shadow standing there. He counted the passing seconds in his head before it finally moved away.
Just like that, stifling emptiness began creeping its way back into the apartment. Till was suddenly aware of how quiet everything was when he was the only person in it.
He didn't remember when he had crouched on the floor and was pressing his forehead to his knees.
Till breathed in, then out. A shaky laugh escaped his lungs.
#1
School festival night.
Till had just gotten off the stage after singing his first performance.
A wide, beaming grin was plastered on his face. The adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet.
Mizi was holding up a camera.
“Till! Smile!”
Hearing that, he grabbed Ivan who had been standing by his side.
He laughed.
2.
“So,” Sua pointed out without removing her gaze from the laptop. “I heard my brother left from your place today.”
Till almost spat out his milk tea.
They were sitting at a corner table of a cafe near their university, working on a project due next week. Or technically, Sua was. Till had been tasked with the menial jobs of fixing the paper format and triple checking the references.
The question had caught him off guard. He took one sip from his straw and gingerly placed the cup beside his laptop, nervous at where this conversation was going.
“... Yeah.” He winced at how weak that reply sounded and cleared his throat, trying again. “Yeah, I mean… he was drunk.”
“A rare occurrence.”
Till shrugged. He watched her fingers clicking away the keys on the keyboard in swift, precise motions.
“Are the two of you on speaking terms now then?” she asked.
“I don’t know. We had a pretty normal conversation.”
“So you didn’t cry.”
“What?” Till frowned, feeling a little defensive at the random accusation. “Why the hell would I even cry?”
Sua finally stopped typing. She pushed her reading glasses up her nose and tilted her head, eyes gazing deeply at his. Till fidgeted in his seat. Sua was intimidating to people most of the time, but Till only really felt it whenever she did this kind of thing. It was something close to the feeling of being put on an examination table, her leaning over and jotting down whatever deep secret he was trying to hide on her clipboard.
“Because you haven’t seen each other since you broke up, I think.”
He coughed at that.
Objectively, that statement was wrong. Till had seen Ivan since that time—in his Instagram posts, his other social media accounts. In the pictures Till couldn’t find in his heart to delete from his phone. Hell, he’d even taped a few of their pictures on his desk, something he had never done back when they used to live together because Till would rather eat dirt than admit that he missed him a lot more than he could imagine after he left.
“As if I’d cry over that,” Till said, keenly aware that Sua could easily call out his pathetic attempt at lying. “A-Anyway, nothing happened, in case you were gonna ask that next. He left in the morning right away. In and out.”
That was him being honest. Really, nothing had happened. Ivan had simply barged into his life again out of nowehere and then disappeared just as quick.
He didn't even know where that left him. Them. Did that mean they were okay now?
Maybe it was Till’s fault for keeping that tiny hope of rekindling something with Ivan someday. He had secretly hoped that was at least the first step to fixing their relationship. They had spoken again, which should have counted for something, because even if they weren’t lovers anymore, it wasn’t like they could erase all the history they had together before that. Their lives were already too intertwined with each other’s to make a clean cut. If that was the case, then it wasn’t too much to ask to return to being friends, right?
—Friends. Till had never realized how bitter that word could sound in his head.
It had been four years since they started dating. Thrice as long since he had known Ivan. Half a year since they’d broken up.
Thinking of the timelines made Till feel sick and angry at the same time. He picked up his drink to wash that feeling down, disappointed at the sweet taste. He needed something stronger. Something with more substance.
“I see,” Sua said. “I hope you two can go back to talking again soon. Mizi’s been having a hard time planning trips now that the two of you are actively avoiding each other. She's been hoping all of us can visit the ski lounge this winter, at least.”
Till made a troubled face, feeling a pang of guilt about that. He was vividly aware of the rift that their breakup had caused in their group. He especially felt terrible about making Mizi worry over him and Ivan. She was always so kind and considerate. An angel, really.
“Yeah… just… give us a little more time I guess,” Till croaked. How long though, he had no idea.
Sua hummed monotonously.
It was three days later when he realized something was missing.
Till had been playing Freddie on his bed and listening to ear-bleeding music through his headphones when he noticed his desk looked unnatural.
Gingerly, he put Freddie down and walked over to it.
His gut feeling told him that something was wrong. He couldn’t tell what it was specifically yet, but it was the sense of imbalance someone had when they messed up a usual routine, like wearing the left sock first instead of the right or when an object in a mirrored photo wasn't centered properly.
Till’s eyes scanned over the things that he usually placed on top of it: his laptop, digital clock, a pencil holder, a stack of sheets, papers, clips, doodles he’d tacked up, and then—
He felt his blood run cold.
The photos he had taped to the wall of his desk. One of them was missing.
Till looked through each of them carefully, as if it would magically become a complete set if he just viewed them in order. But no matter how many times he backtracked, there was an unmistakable empty space at the bottom of the column.
He picked up the things on the desk in half-panicked motions, sorting through them. Looked underneath. Double checked to make sure that it wasn’t just an oversight.
Till had taped it securely. After all, the rest of the set were still there, and even if there was a probability that the adhesive had failed, the photo wasn’t where it should have logically fallen. The window was too far, and he rarely opened it. It couldn’t just randomly disappear like that.
The only explanation was that someone had taken it. But no one else lived there, and no one had come over for the past few days, except—
Till’s stomach churned.
—Ivan.
He’d dragged Ivan to his room that night not only because it was closer to the front door, but because there was only one bed left in the apartment since he moved out. Till had been using Ivan's old room as a storage space.
A sudden wave of panic and fear and embarrasment crashed over him.
Shakily, he whipped out his phone from his pocket and swiped furiously across the screen. The action was more of a force of habit since he was barely paying attention. He was just about to click on the green phone icon when he stopped himself.
On the rectangular interface, a picture of Ivan was smiling up at him. It was an old one—a candid he’d taken back when they were still in high school.
Seeing that felt like a sudden reality punch to the face.
Somehow, his finger seemed to have brushed the surface by accident, because the screen had suddenly changed into a call interface. Till was too startled to react, unsure if he should hang up or keep it ringing.
While contemplating about it, the call was already ringing once. Twice.
—Click.
He hadn’t expected Ivan to pick up right away. Till thought he had even blocked his number, as unlikely as that seemed to him, because then again Ivan breaking up with him had been unlikely too. There had been many times where Till would just stare at his phone and resist the urge to check by calling. If he had done that before, would Ivan have answered just as quick?
He realized no one was speaking.
If the call duration timer hadn’t been moving, Till could have mistaken the other line as dead.
He bit his lower lip, aware of how each passing second only made it even harder to speak up. He braced himself without even preparing what to say.
“H-Hey–” Till tried, voice sounding too dry to himself. He took a sharp breath, intending to get straight to the point. “Did you… uh… Did you take anything from my desk that night?”
A brief pause on the other side of the line.
“No,” Ivan replied. Then, he added politely, “Did you lose something?”
Till swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling the walls of his room pressing in.
“… Nothing important. Sorry for calling you.”
“It’s fine.”
“…”
“…”
The silence was unbearable.
Till stayed there, phone pressed to his ear as he waited for Ivan to hang up. A minute passed when he didn’t. Then two.
He heard a quiet sigh on the other line.
“Till.”
“... What.”
“... I think I left my coat there. Is it alright if I go back to get it tomorrow?”
Till felt like an idiot for expecting something else. He made a small laugh at that, shaking his head knowing Ivan couldn’t see him. He covered his eyes with his palm.
“Yeah, sure. You know the password. Just get it whenever. I won’t be home until late tomorrow, anyway.”
“Okay.”
“Bye, then.”
“Goodbye.”
This time, he finally pulled the phone away and hung up.
#2
High School Graduation Day.
Standing in a less crowded corner outside the gymnasium, the two of them were holding a bouquet of flowers.
They had just finished a group picture with the girls, but Io had insisted on a separate photo.
“Come on, stand a little closer, please?” she asked sweetly.
Till was frowning, but he could never really say no to his mother.
Ivan, on the other hand, was already flashing his camera smile.
“--Yeah, like that is fine! Okay, On the count of three now. One. Two–!”
3.
“So I heard Ivan was at your place the other day.”
Sitting at the bar counter of their local livehouse, Till frowned and raised his voice to be heard over the roaring noise of the crowd.
“Seriously. How does everyone know about that?”
Till sure as hell didn’t tell anyone about that night, and he was fairly certain Ivan wasn’t the type to talk about that kind of thing to others either.
Hyuna laughed as she saw his expression and took another swig of the near-empty bottle in her hand, the flashing lights of the stage washing her in various colors. “In the gc, Till. The same one you never check on.”
That made half a sense. Till had muted everything except mentions there, because he didn’t like being barraged with unread notifications every time he checked his phone.
“That still doesn’t explain how you guys know though?”
“Well,” Hyuna placed her now-empty bottle on the counter. She barely looked drunk, despite it. “Luka was the one who dropped him off your building.”
Till gripped his glass drink. At least that explained how Ivan had gotten there now. At the back of his mind, he had wondered how he could have driven in his car in that state without getting fined by traffic police.
“They were drinking that late?” He didn't even know Luka could drink.
“It was a group project afterparty thing. Luka said that was the first time he’d seen Ivan down that many glasses. He even sent a picture!”
Till was half tempted to check it, but stopped himself. In exchange, he took a few gulps of his glass, draining it halfway. It burned down his throat.
They watched as a new band got on stage and began playing a cover of a song Till liked. He tapped his feet along to the beat, humming along. After the performance had ended, Hyuna turned back to him.
“I thought you got better lately, but guess you aren’t entirely over it yet."
The bubbles forming at the bottom of his drink were very entertaining to look at. Till traced his finger along the rim of the glass, starting to feel a little warm inside.
“It’s obvious?”
“Who do you think you’re talking to~” Hyuna reminded, swinging an arm over his shoulder and pulling him in for a nuzzle. Till made a muffled protest but had learned long ago that it was a useless resistance. “You can’t hide anything from me! You know I’m always here if you need someone to vent to again.”
Till felt his cheeks turn red at that, hoping he was intoxicated enough to pass it off as being drunk. Hyuna had been the one to witness the entire messy aftermath of the breakup. There had been lots of tears and alcohol and at that time she had been the only one Till trusted enough to call and keep quiet about it, because no way was he going to show that pathetic state to Mizi or Sua or even god forbid Luka. Till had gotten through the worst of it because of her help.
As much as he was grateful for her company back then, though, it was also something he wished he could erase entirely from his memory.
He groaned, covering his face. “That was such an embarrassing period. Shit.”
Hyuna laughed at that.
Their attentions were called to the front as the crowd near the stage cheered in tandem again. Some famous local band had stepped up.
“Hyuna,” Till said quietly, eyes fixed on the stage. “I wasn’t even the one who ended it, you know.”
In his periphery, he saw her freeze up.
“What?” She turned to face him, incredulous. “You mean, Ivan let you go?”
Let him go. He grimaced at the words echoing in his ears. It sounded as if Till had been the one at Ivan’s mercy this whole time. Maybe that was true.
Till always remembered that time with vivid clarity whenever he wanted. It was like a film burned at the back of his mind, ready to be played at will. He could hear the way Ivan said it, remember the unreadable look on his face after uttering the four words.
Let’s end this, Till.
By the time Till had halfway understood that it was not a joke and he was completely serious, Ivan had already moved out. The bastard had planned it for months apparently, renting a new flat in the opposite side of the neighborhood. He had paid for their—Till’s, now—apartment half a year in advance so Till practically had no choice but to stay there until he graduated.
Ivan final request was that they distance themselves.
Only until it feels like we can go back to being friends again.
Half a year had passed.
The asshole. In the end, he had been the one who broke that agreement first and Till hadn’t even had a say in that either.
He didn’t even notice he had been scowling the whole time until Hyuna poked him in the middle of his eyebrows.
“Hey! No need to think about that if you don’t want to spoil your mood.”
She waved at the bartender who handed her a new glass. She tapped it against Till’s, then tipped her head back and gulped it all in one go. Till watched her in fascination. No one he knew could ever match her drinking tolerance.
Hyuna grinned at him afterwards. She gestured towards the stage, tugging his arm as she prepared to stand.
“Let's just enjoy the music!”
#3
Christmas. Freshman college.
The six of them were at Till’s apartment. Ivan and Till’s apartment.
It was too big for Till’s taste. Too fancy.
But Ivan had offered to shoulder half the rent and they had gotten it for cheap because of his family’s connections.
They were having a karaoke session with everyone.
Sua had been taking candid photos.
Only Ivan had noticed when she snapped a picture of the two of them.
4.
The lights were off when Till returned to the apartment.
That was normal to expect. The silence that greeted him, too, was natural. No matter how lonely it made him feel, it was something he knew he would have to get used to eventually. February was still far away, after all.
Which was why—stumbling in a drunken haze towards the kitchen and getting a drink from his sink—Till hadn’t noticed someone was there with him until he turned the lights on and saw the figure sitting at the table.
To say that Till’s soul jumped out of his body was an understatement.
“—Jesus Ivan, you just scared the shit out of me!”
Ivan was looking at him.
“You’re drunk,” he stated.
Till gave him a dirty look. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest.
“No shit.” he snapped, wincing at how harsh the words sounded out of his mouth. “What the hell are you even here for?”
“I told you I would drop by yesterday. To get my coat.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me you’d be staying and hovering in the dark like some kind of freaky serial killer. What the actual fuck, man.” Till could feel the blood rushing in his ears more than he could hear it. He leaned back on the sink to face him properly, crossing his arms and blinking a few times.
Ivan stayed quiet. He was staring at his hands.
Something was wrong.
Like with the missing photo on his desk, Till couldn’t point out which part felt off with him. At first glance, Ivan looked the same as ever with his immaculate hair and designer shirt and that irritating handsome face.
But.
There was something in his gaze and that seemed so different from usual. Till was never crazy enough to say he could understand what went on in Ivan’s head most of the time, but he could notice that much at least. He was one of the few people in the world who could see through his facade when Ivan was careless enough.
“... You didn’t change the password.”
“What?”
“The door. You didn’t change the password,” Ivan repeated.
“So?” Till didn’t understand why he was making such a big deal out of it. “What exactly are you trying to get at?”
Ivan opened his mouth slightly, trademark snaggletooth barely touching his lower lip.
“… Till,” he said, softly.
Till’s finger twitched. Ivan wasn’t being fair. There was something about the way he called his name that sounded so painfully familiar, like it was the most precious thing he could utter. Till had heard it countless of times throughout the years, in different tones and different scenarios, but always with the same loving fondness.
Now, Till loathed hearing it.
He grit his teeth, feeling some final cord in him snap. Maybe it was the alcohol’s influence that contributed to it. Before he could stop himself, the words had already left his mouth to ask one burning question:
“Did you fall out of love?”
The sentence hung between them, silent and heavy and full of pent-up emotions that Till had tried ignoring for the past months. Because he was too afraid to hear the answer, too terrified of the prospect of hearing a truth he didn’t want to acknowledge.
“—No. That could never happen.”
Ivan’s firm reply reached his ears before Till could even prepare himself for it and something about that sucked all the air out of his lungs. Till turned away, staring at a spot on the wall and blinking away the tears that were beginning to form. He could feel Ivan’s eyes on him, unbearable. Unrelenting.
“Then…” he continued despite the tremble in his voice. Till could barely get the words out of his throat. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Nothing at all.”
He grit his teeth. It really was unfair how Ivan could say all of this without missing a heartbeat, unaware of how much weight each answer carried.
“... Then why?” Till finally asked in a small voice. Why did you end it? Why did you leave?
He rubbed furiously at his eyes with the back of his hand.
On the table, Ivan laced his fingers together. He pursed his lips.
The silence stretched on, long and drawling.
“... Because our relationship was straining you,” he finally said.
Till stopped dead, processing what he had just heard.
"... What?”
Ivan’s expression was even more difficult to figure out now. He breathed a low sigh, shoulders visibly sagging. He tapped the surface of the table with his finger, refusing to look at Till. Tap. Tap. Tap.
“You weren’t happy with me, Till.”
It sounded like a statement he had been mulling to say this entire time.
Till blinked.
“Who the fuck said so?”
“It was an observation.”
“… Based on what?”
“Well,” Ivan said, “In the four years that we’ve dated, you’ve never once shown an indication that you held any romantic affections for me. There’s also your original preferences, and the fact that you’re susceptible to being swayed by your emotions.”
He had stopped tapping now, finally meeting Till’s shocked expression.
“I can elaborate further,” he offered. “Would you like that?”
Everything seemed to have stopped in time. It was so quiet, Till could hear the low hum of the fridge. A tense few seconds passed between them. And then—
—He laughed, loud and unrestrained, bending over to hold his stomach. Till's head was killing him and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for the next 48 hours, but that was the most hilarious thing he had heard today and he couldn’t resist it.
"Are you a fucking idiot?”
It was a rhetorical question, because Till knew Ivan was smart. It ran in their blood. He had the awards and the records on his shelf to prove it.
And yet, somehow, that was the dumbest thing Till had heard him say in all his life.
Till straightened up, leaning his head back on the cupboard now. He closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose.
“So you think we fucked, just because?”
“There are people who see each other for sex.”
“And the preference thing? That was years ago with Mizi. We were in middle school, for fuck's sake.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
Till scowled. “The last part, too. What, you think I dated you because I’d feel guilty for turning you down?”
Ivan was quiet for a bit, reflecting about it.
“No, not even that,” he shook his head. “I suspect it’s just because you’re too kind to me.”
Till breathed in shakily, then out. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“You… Hah. Wow. I really wanna fucking hit you right now.”
The distance between them was less than a few steps. Till didn’t recall how he had made his way over to him, but by the time he had come to, he was already grabbing Ivan by the collar, red from anger. The chair had fallen on its side.
“Shit. You want me to say it? Admit it? Okay. Alright!” Till leaned into his face, glowering at him. “I love you, bastard. Satisfied now?”
Ivan blinked a few times. His face was hard.
“You know this doesn’t count, Till.”
Till snarled. He raised his fist, attempting to land at least just one punch to wipe away that stupid expression. Instead, a wave of nausea suddenly struck him and Till lost his balance, stumbling forward.
Ivan’s eyes widened in surprise. He caught Till as they fell onto the floor, cushioning him from the impact. It must have hurt, because he saw Ivan wince. Till didn’t care.
He straddled him, balling his shaking fists, raising it and stopping in midair when he saw Ivan wasn’t even resisting.
“Well?” Till prompted, breathing heavily. He grabbed his shirt again, tugging until the cloth ran and closed the distance of their faces to a few inches. “Nothing else to say anymore? Done with your bullshit speech?”
Ivan’s eyebrow twitched.
His voice was low and controlled as he spoke out. “You were doing fine this whole time.”
Till growled at the back of his throat, anger rippling.
“… Fuck you,” He rasped. “That should be my line. You’re the one who—”
His sentence was cut abruptly when he suddenly noticed something sticking out of the pocket of Ivan’s inner coat. It was a flat, paper-like thing, and the sheen of colors were familiar. Till reached out reflexively, snatching it before Ivan could even react. He held it out between them.
It was a photo. The very same one that had been missing from his desk.
Ivan looked startled to see it, too. “Till—”
“Liar.”
The accusation was a guilty verdict. Ivan shut his mouth.
Till’s hands were shaking as he continued looking at it. So were his shoulders. His temple throbbed painfully. He breathed in, then out.
He could feel something wet running down his cheek as he blinked a few times. Ivan’s hand was achingly gentle when he reached out to wipe his face.
“… Don’t cry, Till.”
“I’m not. Crying.”
Till bit his inner lip so hard he tasted blood.
The world was spinning around him. He also wanted to puke. Till dropped his head onto Ivan’s shoulder, feeling the rest of his body go limp. Ivan jolted at the sudden motion, but didn’t move. Fresh tears wet his sleeve.
“I…” Till rasped quietly. “You think I’m some kind of idiot? You think I would have spent all that time with you if I didn’t like it? You don’t get to decide how I feel. What about you? Do you love me?”
He could feel Ivan stiffen at that. Then, he scoffed, like it was the dumbest question Till had ever asked him.
“—So much that I’d die for you without a second thought.”
Till felt another set of tears. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead deeper into his shoulder. “I don’t get it. I like you, you like me. It’s basic fucking math.”
He inhaled sharply, finally addressing the massive, massive elephant in the room.
“... Why are you here, Ivan?”
It was as if someone had pressed a mute button.
Ivan was quiet for a while. Only the occasional sound of Till's low sniffles broke the silence.
When it seemed like it had gone on for too long, Till felt a pair of arms wrap around his back, hesitating at first, before finally resting him in a small embrace.
“I’m not sure,” Ivan finally admitted, voice unsteady. “... I don’t know, Till.”
It was such a senseless answer but somehow, it didn't surprise him. Even if the person in question couldn't even begin to understand it, Till already knew what Ivan was trying to say. After all, what else could have been the explantion for him showing up at his door? Why he'd taken the picture? Why he'd waited here for hours?
And the irony of it was that: it wasn't just Ivan who felt that way. Till was the same, even if he had been convincing himself he had gotten over it this whole time. Maybe if Ivan hadn't appeared that night, he would have eventually been the one to show up at his place, drunk and stupid and spurred on by his emotions.
He laughed at them.
"You’re the idiot here,” Till spat.
#4
A year ago, morning.
Till was still sleeping. Ivan was beside him, scrolling through his phone.
Hearing the former mumble something in his sleep, Ivan had a brilliant idea.
He leaned down and nuzzled his face.
Then, with his camera in reverse, he raised his phone over them and smirked.
5.
His headache was terrible when he woke up.
It wasn’t even morning yet. The room was still engulfed in darkness, and Till could barely see anything. He tried sitting up to look for his phone.
A hand gently placed itself over his chest, stopping him.
“Don’t get up,” Ivan advised. “You have a really bad fever. How do you feel?”
That explained why he felt like a corpse.
Till blinked in the dark, craning his neck to look at him. Although he couldn’t see too clearly, Ivan's faint outline was definitely lying beside him. He could sense their faces only a few centimeters apart.
“… Like shit,” he answered, voice hoarse. His throat also felt as dead as it sounded. “Why are you here?”
“I can’t just leave you alone like this.”
Till grunted as a reply. “… Thanks.”
“Do you want water?” Ivan asked.
“No.”
“Go back to sleep, then. It’s still too early.”
Till closed his eyes at that, feeling too tired to reason back. He noticed something had been placed over his forehead this entire time and reached weakly to touch it. A wet towel.
Something warm spread in his chest, painfully nostalgic. He covered his eyes with the back of his hand.
“I had a dream when we were kids,” he mumbled. “We had a bet... Loser gets to do whatever the winner says thing. I won, of course.”
“I see,” Ivan’s tone sounded amused, like listening to a baby babbling nonsense. It probably seemed that way to him. “Good for dream you, then.”
“Yeah. So now you get to do what I ask for.”
He could almost imagine Ivan’s startled face after hearing that.
“… That's how it works?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, then,” Ivan was definitely smiling. “What do you want me to do?”
Till told him.
#5
“A photo?”
“Since you took the one on my desk.”
“I returned it though.”
“Keep it. It’s too embarassing to put up when you move back in.”
“Hm. So you’re planning to display the rest, then?”
“Fuck. Okay. I’m gonna burn them all and ban you from my room from now on.”
"Hahaha!"
“Shut up! Anyway, move back. I set the timer. Should be about right… 3… 2…”
“Till.”
“What—?”
