Archive of Our Own ^beta

There was a time when Ivan loved the ice.

Back when his mother gently guided him onto its slippery surface at the tender age of five, eyes wide with fear as he fell backwards the moment he stepped onto the rink. His mother had expected the mishap, and stopped it before he even realized what was happening, a gentle squeeze of his little hand as she reassured him that everything will be okay, and that falling was a natural part of the craft.

She taught him the basics, and he tried his best to copy them, but it did take him a few sessions before he properly found his footing, and even longer before he could skate comfortably on his own.

After every visit and after every fall, he always learned something new, and skating became a little bit easier each time.

It feels like he’s flying when he soared smoothly over the ice, and he’ll never forget the day when he was able to confidently skate to the center of the rink without any assistance, and without the case of uncontrollable wobbly legs. 

His mother had smiled then, beamed brightly with pride in a way that made him feel so warm, and it marked a moment when ice skating became a special thing between them. A weekly ritual that they kept going for years until it stopped abruptly, the gravity of his parents fighting only getting inevitably worse, and there was never any time left for the rink anymore. No time for Ivan.

Too much hate to think about the boy who would spend hours frozen in his room with his back against the door, knees against his chest, and headphones over his head to drown out the noise.

She’d knock softly on his door later when it was all over, then apologize for not noticing how the time went by. She'd promise they can go the week after, but Ivan had slowly come to the realization that it has always been a lie, and it's best to keep his expectations low to avoid disappointment. 

It took a few more torturous months of this before he noticed the changes in the house. 

Paperwork was always sprawled all over the desk in the office, strangers in suits visited the house to talk to him, his mother had started to sleep in the guest room, and from then on, he saw her less and less with every week that passed by. Gentle promises turned to white lies, until there was nothing at all. 

Sometimes, he wondered if he reminded his mother too much of the man that she despised, but unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), that would remain a question that he would never find the answer to.

Eventually, when the time came for them to move to the city at the first opportunity, Ivan had lost all contact with her, leaving nothing behind but the love that he found on the ice.  

Unfortunately, Ivan is too aware that his father didn’t particularly appreciate his interest in it as much as his mother used to, so it wasn’t too surprising when he issued an ultimatum – that if Ivan truly wanted to keep embracing the ice, then he’d better take it seriously and make something out of it, reminding him that there was never any point to hobbies without gain.

Then of course, to add salt in the wound, he followed it with a quiet mumble under his breath, a snide remark taking deadly aim at his mother, complaining that she shouldn't have introduced it to him at all because it's useless. Obviously, Ivan disagrees, but Unsha has never cared for anything that Ivan had to say. 

Failure to make something out of it would mean an agreement to take over the family business without complaint, which, in all honesty, is the last thing that he wanted. So left with no choice, Ivan usually worked himself to the bone to excel in the sport, but he's too aware that he’s only delaying the inevitable.

Now, as the razor-sharp blades of his skates glide over the ice, it feels more like an obligation rather than something that he used to do out of love. The frigid air is harsh as it settles in his lungs, unwelcoming and unkind, but at the very least, it still made him feel free, like they can't control him –at least not here, because the ice is the only true choice that he's made his entire life – so that has to count for something, right? 

It has to, or this would all have been for nothing. 

The rink is empty today, which is expected given that it’s a week after the semester has officially ended, and summer break began. 

The university is a few blocks away, and most of its students would have gone home by now. Ivan usually stays behind, because he’d rather spend the break alone than return to an alleged home where his father only speaks to him when he wants something out of him.

Ivan is tired of it, and if he can avoid it, then that's an easy decision to make. 

At the very least, it gives him time to train on his own and perfect his program before the season picks up in a few months. 

“Training again?”

Ivan turns swiftly to the source of the familiar voice, his chest warming as he sees Till approach, arms resting on the side of the rink. He’s in a loose white graphic tee of his favorite band paired with oversized light gray sweatpants, an outfit best suited for comfortable travel.

As it usually does, his heart beats a little bit faster just from the other boy’s presence.

“Always,” he says with a smile as he skates over to his visitor, the ice shaving beneath him when he stops in front of the other boy with expected precision. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The other boy cocks an eyebrow. “Since when did I ever need a reason to see my best friend?”

“Since you already said your goodbyes this morning, and you should be on the train back home by now,” Ivan says as a matter of fact. “So obviously you’re here for another reason. Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened,” he reassures the raven. “On our way to the station, Mizi told me you were staying on campus for the break.”

The skater shrugs. “Change of plans.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“It never came up,” he lies again, and teal eyes narrow in a way that reminds him that the other boy was bound to see through him too easily. He should have seen it coming, but it was worth a try to escape the silent judgement.

“It gave me the idea,” Till clears his throat, “That… maybe you can come… home… with me.”

The suggestion is far from what he’s expected to come out of Till’s mouth, and Ivan blinks.

“You spend all your free time training in one way or another,” he reasons when the skater doesn’t say anything to retaliate, “And I think you need to have a proper break. All of this will catch up to you, and you’re overexerting yourself. You’re going to get–”

“Till,” he sighs like he usually does every single time they have the same argument, “It’s fine. I don’t–”

“Please?” His best friend mumbles, looking away with reddened cheeks. “It's not fine, and you know it. Besides, it’s just for a week because I have to get back early for training too." He sighs, looking like he doesn't really want to say the next part but he does anyway, "If you really hate it then you’re allowed to go back. I won’t stop you, but I really want you to try, at least.”

Crimson regards the other carefully, knowing that it would be near impossible to say no to him. Wishful thinking makes him wonder if Till knows about how much power he holds over Ivan, but it's probably not the time to think about that.

He doubts he’d be able to get the same level of training there, but then again, he supposes that it wouldn’t be too bad to change up his routine. Maybe he can focus on other aspects of his program, and possibly do some more off-ice exercises.

Plus, a week spent with the boy he’s been secretly crushing on for years is basically a dream come true, isn’t it? He’d be an idiot if he turned down the chance.

“If I won’t be a bother–”

“Of course not.” Till gives him a look as if he had just asked the most ridiculous question. “Eomma already knows that I’m taking someone home–”

“That’s a bit presumptuous,” Ivan baits the other boy with an amused hum, leaning forward to tease him, and he likes the way that Till blushes again. “Did you just assume that I would agree?”

“I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.” He sticks his tongue out. “Also, tickets are booked, by the way. Our train leaves in an hour… and I call dibs on the window seat.”

“When you mentioned that you were bringing someone home,” Io says as she blinks, “I didn’t think you meant the Ivan.”

Seeing them stand side by side, the similarities are even more striking than in the photos that Till has shown him in passing. 

His first thought is that Till is a splitting image of her, taking in a lot of her characteristics. It’s the same silver hair that’s cut short. Wide expressive eyes, though hers is a little bit more green than it is blue, and her gentle gaze on Ivan feels so sweet and warm, so much love and care behind them. 

They stand in the living room of Till’s childhood home, Ivan with a small black suitcase rolling smoothly over the wooden floor, and Till with a well-loved duffel bag that has his name carefully embroidered on it over his shoulder.

What catches his attention first are the picture frames that are hung up all over the walls, and a couple of them are set up on a tidy line atop a nearby hallway table. He peeks at its contents, smiling softly as he sees a few family photos.

There is one of Till as a baby while Io cradles him carefully in her arms, held so close against her chest, like she’s protecting him from the world. She’s teary-eyed, but Ivan can feel her genuine happiness purely from the image.

The next one is presumably Till’s first day at school. This time, it’s his turn to be tear-stricken, but trying to smile for the photo. He’s wearing a bright red backpack that’s too big for him, and his tie is slightly crooked.

It’s Till’s high school graduation photo after that, and he’s dressed neatly in the full navy blue school uniform, holding up his certificate with one hand, and his other arm around his mother, holding her close. Their grins are just as bright as the other.

The last one features Till with a light blush on his cheeks as he stands next to Io by their current university’s entrance, his mother excitedly gesturing at the university logo with the widest smile.

The photos alone make the house feel like a home, and that’s more than he can say about the near clinical, always empty residence that he rarely returns to. It’s a nice change, and it makes him feel welcome.

Till’s eyes widened with pure panic, dropping his bag on the floor. “No, wait–”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she beams as she takes Ivan’s hand excitedly. The sudden movement surprises him, blinking as he decides what to do next. “I can’t believe he’s finally brought his boyfriend home, I never thought I’d see the day–”

Safe to say, his attention is piqued, and he directs a raised eyebrow at his apparent boyfriend, a teasing comment already forming at the tip of his tongue. 

“Eomma,” Till says while dragging the last letter, louder this time. “It’s not like that.”

She tilts her head in genuine confusion and slowly drops Ivan’s hand. “You talk about him all the time, I just assumed–”

“Best friend,” he says weakly, but not before a quick glance of apology over at the raven. “Ivan’s my best friend.”

Io takes a moment to read her son, brows knit together for a few seconds. “Oh, silly me. Boyfriend… best friend. They sound so similar. It’s so easy to get them mixed up.”

“It’s so nice to meet you too, eomeo-nim,” Ivan greets politely, thinking it’s probably about time he helps pull Till out of the misunderstanding, as much as there’s nothing that he enjoys more than being mistaken as his crush’s boyfriend. “Till talks about you a lot too.”

“Oh, does he now?” She teases.

“All the time,” he confirms, “And he misses you a lot, even if he won’t say it. He whines about missing your cooking every single time, and as much as I try, it seems I can’t get your miyeok guk exactly right.”

Io laughs heartily, and Till looks away with the brightest blush. “What’s this I hear about attempting to recreate my soup?”

“It’s Till’s favorite,” Ivan says as a matter of fact.

She lets out a soft sigh, and Ivan thinks it sounds like something akin to a sense of relief. “I’m glad he has you to look after him. I know he can be quite a handful sometimes.”

“Hm,” Ivan chuckles, “Only sometimes?”

“No, you’re right,” she nods solemnly, followed by a dramatic pause. “All the time.”

“That sounds more accurate.”

Till looks at Ivan, then over at Io, mouth wide open in betrayal. “Hey!”

Eventually, they move over to the small dining room where the food is ready, and they continue talking until late into the night, all while Ivan tries to figure out what magical ingredients Io puts in her cooking to make it taste so good.

Io happily tells him so many stories about Till’s childhood, and in turn, Ivan shares a couple of his own from their time together at the university. Judging from the way his cheeks never dull down from a bright shade of red, Ivan thinks that Till is probably already regretting his decision to bring Ivan here.

“It’s getting late,” Till’s mother reminds them when the clock strikes just after midnight, and the raven has genuinely not noticed how quickly the time has flown by. “I’m sure you boys are tired from the train ride and I should let you get to bed. We’ll have lots more to talk about tomorrow,” she chuckles lightly.

As if on cue, Till yawns (it reminds Ivan of a cat, and he tries his best not to chuckle lest he actually has to explain why), and they say their sleepy goodnights before they head to the upper floor.

“Also, Till?” She calls out at the bottom of the stairs when they reach the top of it.

“Yeah?”

“Make sure to leave the door open, okay?”

“Eomma, it’s not like that,” Till whines.

There are seven days until they return to campus, and Till shows Ivan around the town that he grew up in.

The bell rings in the ice cream shop that they’ve just walked into, which Till confidently claims to be the 'best ice cream' in the entire world.

“Bold claim,” Ivan chuckles as his eyes scan the flavors and mentally notes down which ones he’s interested in. Most of the flavors are the typical ones you'd see in every ice cream shop known to man, and he can't imagine that a shop in a small town has much room to be adventurous. 

“It’s the truth,” Till says proudly, before he orders a dark chocolate sorbet and gets it back just as quickly, carefully holding the waffle cone while he waits for Ivan to decide.

His gaze lands on the specials board behind the bored teenager, the peculiar flavor guaranteed to give him a sugar rush for days just from its name.

Till seems to know what’s thinking before he even says it, the other boy fighting back a chuckle. “Really?”

His response to Till’s judgement is to order it, the employee seemingly surprised that someone is actually willing to try the ridiculously concoction that involved the combination of two different berry flavors, gummy bears, marshmallows, a crushed cherry flavored chocolate bar, copious sprinkles, and Froot Loops. 

After an argument about who pays for it (Ivan wins, but it’s not a competition), Till takes them up to a small trail, which leads to a lookout of the small town. 

His best friend idly leans against the railing, pointing out the landmarks that they can spot, and of course, Ivan happily listens, not noticing the hours go by. 

The breeze is fresh, trees surrounding them in the best way possible, and the stars are so much brighter. It’s away from the hustle and bustle of the city where he’s lived for over a decade, and he thinks he can get used to a life like this.

Six days until they return to campus, and the day starts with an argument (but not really).

It’s certainly on brand for the both of them, and most, if not all of their close friends would probably wholeheartedly agree with him on this.

Though if he had to be honest, they’re usually easily avoidable, but Ivan thinks it’s cute when Till gets a little worked up, so if anything, he decidedly makes it worse just to bait the other boy and get a rise out of him. It makes his day every single time, so it starts like this.

“How about that one?” Ivan points at one of the movies - it features a young boy standing ominously at the forefront of the poster underneath gloomy skies, with a typical white picket fence house behind him.

They’ve been going through the TV shows and movies for nearly an hour now since Io left to visit a friend, but they can’t seem to come to an agreement as to which one to watch for the afternoon.

The raven watches Till’s throat bob as he scrolls through the options and hovers over it so he can pretend to read the summary.

“No thanks,” he mumbles, ready to move on to the action movie next to it that’s far less terrifying.

“Scared?” He leans in close, which Till doesn’t notice until he turns to face him, tongue armed with a counterargument that he forgets when he all but jumps back in surprise.

“Pfftt,” the gray-haired boy says with a wave of his hand, “As if.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

Oh, this is too easy.

“I think we should go with that one.” Ivan shrugs. “It looks really good.”

“I’ve heard it has uh,” he clears his throat, “Bad reviews or something. So like–”

Immediately, he counters, “Well, if a horror movie has bad reviews, then surely that means the cheap scares shouldn’t be too bad, right? It’ll probably be more funny than it is scary.”

Till gives him a look that nestled somewhere between 'why do you have to make such good points?' and 'oh, I can't believe you're making me do this'  before he relents and hits play to start the movie. “Ugh, well... when you put it like that, I guess…”

As the opening credits roll, Ivan scoots closer despite the three-seater couch, grinning as he teases the other boy, “Feel free to hold my hand, if you like.”

“Thanks for the offer,” Till rolls his eyes. “But that’s not necessary. I’ll get through the movie perfectly fine.”

Now, assuming 'perfectly fine' meant sinking in his seat every two seconds, jaw clenched, breath hitching, and half-closing his eyes despite the scene not being remotely scary, then Ivan thinks Till is absolutely nailing this.

One jump scare in particular takes the other boy by surprise, and Till instinctively takes Ivan’s hand, effectively cutting off all circulation so the raven might end up dying before the character at this rate.

Not that Ivan minds.

Death by Till’s handholding doesn’t seem too bad of a prospect.

But interestingly enough, he doesn’t think the boy actually realizes their linked hands, and he pays closer attention to the boy of his dreams over the distant screaming from the television.

Ivan sighs softly. Longingly.

There is a point in the movie where he thinks Till might actually spontaneously combust from sheer fear, and Ivan thinks it’s time to save him from the guaranteed nightmares later that night (They haven’t even reached the worst part. Ivan has already seen this before when Mizi had dragged him to the cinema on opening night, and if Till’s already this terrified, then he’s not actually sure his poor heart can take it).

Safe to say, his suggestion to change the film is quickly agreed and received, then Ivan chooses the first lighthearted cartoon movie that he can spot from the homepage that he thinks would be up Till's alley.

It prompts an unexpected marathon of the entire series, and Till is tired by the end of it, his eyes fluttering close every now and then, the corner of Ivan’s vision catching the other boy slowly lulling when the final movie begins.

Eventually, he rests his head against Ivan’s shoulder, and the raven stills at the exact moment it happens, blinking slowly as he looks at the other boy’s resting form – as if to confirm that this is definitely happening, and well, it’s definitely happening.

First the handholding and now this?

Maybe Till is aware of how much power he holds over Ivan, and he's on a personal mission to ensure he doesn't return to campus with his sanity intact, because he's definitely close to losing it. 

The door unlocks behind them, and Io spots the two on the couch, the movie still rolling but Ivan is hardly paying any attention to it. She smiles at the sight, and quietly unfolds the crocheted blanket they keep at the end of the seat, placing it over them while the raven offers quiet words of thanks as to not wake Till. 

Five days until they return to campus, and Till's mother wakes them up bright and early. It would seem she’s signed everyone up to volunteer at the local market, which is... new, easily piquing Ivan's curiosity. 

On the drive there, Io explains that it’s a small market that runs every three weeks, but it’s really more of a social gathering more than anything. People usually show up with freshly baked goods, homegrown fresh produce, and intricately made items resulted from hobbies, like blankets, clothes, jewelry, and other various knick-knacks. 

By the time they arrive, the park is buzzing with much more life than when Till took him on a tour of the town, and they naturally flock over when Io calls out a cheerful greeting. Io kindly introduces Ivan first, who politely smiles at the small crowd, but he doesn't want to intrude, so he steps aside to simply observe. Most of the mothers gush over Till, many mumblings about how it’s been too long since he’s last visited, and that they hope he’s still eating healthy despite being away from home.

There are talks amongst them about carpooling so they can watch his next big game, trying to pry out the information from the gray-haired boy, and Ivan only smiles fondly as his best friend gets bombarded with all their attention.

After Io says something with a mischievous smile, one of stall owners walks over from behind her table and gestures for Till to come closer, handing him something before she says something quietly that Ivan can’t hear, but he wishes he did because whatever it is makes Till's whole face flush hotly. 

He shyly bows and thanks her afterwards, before he walks over to Ivan.

“Hold out your wrist,” he asks quietly.

Ivan does what he’s told, and Till ties an intricately braided cotton thread bracelet around it, bright teal in color, before handing him a similar one (but this time, a deep red) to tie around his own too.

It is four days until they return to campus when Ivan notices a slightly deflated basketball underneath Till’s bed.

Unfortunately, Till didn’t have a pump, so they couldn’t re-inflate it and give it a spin outside. So instead, they start passing it to each other from across the room – Till with his back against the wall while he sits cross legged on his bed, and Ivan on the other boy’s computer chair. 

“How about this,” Till says as he catches the ball and spins it. “Every time we catch the ball, we have to say something about ourselves that we don’t think the other person knows.”

Ivan thinks about it for a moment, then nods in agreement. “Alright, would you like to start?”

“Sure,” the basketball player hums. “Miyeok guk is my favorite soup because my mother used to make it for me whenever I was down. She always just seemed to know," he chuckles. "It's like she can read my mind." 

A smile quirks his lips at the sweet sentiment.

Till wears his heart on his sleeve. He always has from the moment they first met, and if Ivan could take away every single thing that worried him or made him feel awful, then he would do it in a heartbeat.

But Till is strong, and Ivan knows he can handle anything. If there ever comes a time that he needs someone for whatever reason, at the very least he can always count on Ivan to be by his side.

The ball conveniently lands where it needs to be, and Ivan catches the ball by default without much effort when it’s thrown at him.

He considers a few things that he could say about himself, but he doesn’t think that they’re all that interesting, and he’d really rather hear more about what Till has to say. Though in saying that, the other boy is always so terrible at keeping secrets because his expressions tell Ivan everything that he needs to know, but the prospect of learning even more about him is nothing short of exciting.

His eagerness doesn’t change that they can’t move forward without one of his own though, so he decides to go with something safe.

“I can start a fire with rocks.”

Which Till seems to find absolutely fascinating, his teal eyes wide, instantly making a mental note to show him one day, and maybe even teach him. “Really?”

“Really.”

His brows knit together, he asks, “But why?”

“Summer camp,” is all Ivan offers, before he throws the ball back to the other boy.

Till looks at him, his next words careful, “That doesn’t sound like your scene.”

“It wasn’t,” he agrees. Not to mention that he only knows the trick after having read it in a book while he was at said 'Emerging Leaders' camp, and he spent most of his free time trying to figure out how to do it by himself whenever he was bored out of his mind. “Though it’s not like I had a choice in the matter.”

Unspoken, a thought comes to mind, that despite everything, it was probably still a better place than ‘home’. 

“Your turn,” Ivan reminds him before it gets too quiet.

“I’m volunteering next sem,” he says when he accepts that Ivan doesn't want to say anything else about the matter. It's accompanied with a pump of his fist in the most unenthusiastic way possible. “A basketball program. Pretty sure it’s mainly for kids.”

Hm, now that’s certainly new.

“You haven’t told me about that,” Ivan thinks out loud, wondering if he might have forgotten something that Till had told him, but nothing comes to mind. 

“It hasn’t come up.” Till shrugs. “And besides, I’m telling you now. Don't look so betrayed,” he laughs. 

“Are you looking forward to it?”

A pause. “Actually... I am. I think it’ll be nice.”

Ivan rests his elbow on the table and holds the side of his face as he relaxes into it. “You know you’re going to have to let the kids win, right?”

“Hey,” TIll huffs. “I can do that.”

“Hmmmm,” he drags on deliberately. "I don't know about that-" 

“Ivan!” he whines, then throws a pillow at him.

He chuckles as he catches it just before it hits his face. “You know I’m joking. You’re just so competitive. Too competitive."

To which Till sticks his tongue out in response.

“And childish.”

In response, the other boy tosses the ball up so it nearly hits the ceiling, and Ivan has to wheel the computer chair a little bit forward to catch it.

Holding the ball, he thinks for a minute, which stretches into two, then three, before he admits defeat.

“I can’t think of anything else.”

His best friend tilts his head, giving him a curious look. “That can’t be right.”

“I’m not interesting,” he jokes, but Till's frown is enough to tell Ivan it wasn't actually funny. 

“That’s not true. I think you’re interesting,” Till mumbles.

The beating of his heart picks up at that, tumultuous and uncontrollable and fast, as he's left wondering what sort of special power Till has been granted to make him feel like a hopeless fool in love as easily as he breathes.

“How about…” he trails off, adjusting himself on the headboard and sitting up so he’s leaning against it properly, his back a tiny bit more straight. “What’s your favorite thing that you’ve received as a gift on the ice?”

Thick brows knit together in confusion. “Hm?”

“Like. You know,” he waves his hands, “After your program. Everyone throws things at you, right?”

“Oh,” he breaks eye contact with the other boy.

“What do you mean oh?”

“I don’t get to keep them.”

“They’re gifts though, aren’t they? I figured that you’d have a room just for plushies by now.”

“Well,” Ivan sighs, spinning the ball once and focusing on the grooves of its texture. “Technically I can keep them, I guess, but my father has always asked for the gifts to be donated.” He pauses. “And I guess that can be my fact, as dampening to the mood as it sounds.”

Throwing the ball back to Till, he says quietly, “Like I said, Till, I’m not interesting.”

The other boy scowls as he tosses it back immediately, and as menacing as the other boy probably wants his expression to be, Ivan just finds it cute. Like a really adorable grumpy cat that you can’t help but love. If he told Till, he's certain he'll just get another pillow to the face, though probably more unforgiving this time.

“If you did get to keep one–” he gives Ivan a look before he even has a chance to react, “Hypothetically, if you are allowed to keep one, which one would it be?”

Ivan opens his mouth, but Till beats him to it, “And it better not be something safe or whatever. What’s something you would genuinely want? I promise not to judge you.”

He closes his mouth, then properly thinks about it for Till's sake, only because he seems so passionate about it, because otherwise, there's probably no point. 

“A Tillybun plush,” Ivan says eventually.

“From the cartoon?”

He nods, not failing to notice how Till eyes him like he’s just insulted his favorite basketball player, before he crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you have a problem with Tillybun? You promised not to judge. Is it because it’s a plush toy?”

“It’s not because it’s a plush toy. It’s because it’s Tillybun.” Till rolls his eyes. “No one likes Tillybun.”

“He’s endearing.”

Till sighs loudly, in the most annoyed tone that he can muster. “He’s a little shit.”

“I’d like to hear who your favorite is then.”

“Ibanny.”

“Ibanny,” he tries to say as if the animated character is the worst scum of the Earth (and you know what? Maybe he is. That bunny is planning something akin to world domination, Ivan feels it in his bones, and he'll find a way to prove it). “I’m not taking any form of judgment from anyone who has Ibanny as their favorite character from that show.”

“What’s wrong with Ibanny?”

“Everything.”

“He’s really cute.”

“He’s really not.”

They stare at each other for as long as they can manage, shifting to a softer gaze when they inevitably break, and then, as if on silent cue, both boys burst into a fit of laughter.

When they eventually recover (after a couple more moments of simply looking at each other and laughing all over again until both their stomachs have started hurting), Ivan passes the ball to Till with a suggestion, “Last one?”

Technically, Ivan shared two facts, and Till shared one, so they had to make it even.

But then the other boy pauses for a bit too long, the way his fingers drum against the chipping paint of the windowsill, and how he chews on his lower lip like he usually does when he’s anxious. Ivan notices, as always.

“You can tell me anything,” he reassures him.

The gray-haired boy lets out a long breath, before fixed teal captures worried crimson, his cheeks blooming the most beautiful shade of rosy pink.

“I like–”

A distant shout from downstairs catches both of their attention immediately, “Can you boys help me with bringing the groceries in?”

“O-of course, Eomma. We’ll be down in a sec,” Till calls out, and he runs out quicker than Ivan could say another word, his cheeks still warmly flushed.

There are three days until they return to campus, and Till says that he’s got a surprise for Ivan.

Borrowing his mother’s car, they leave the house just after seven in the morning to go on an impromptu road trip that lasts about two hours, which does mean that his usual morning exercises have been cut short. Till is cryptic about their destination, but Ivan didn’t really care where they were going, still bursting at the seams from excitement at the sweet gesture of Till planning something for him.

The mystery is finally revealed when they pull into the parking lot for an ice skating rink a couple of towns over, only one other car in the far corner marked STAFF PARKING ONLY but it’s otherwise empty.

Ivan raises an eyebrow while Till carefully drives up to a spot near the entrance after he makes the obligatory joke about not being able to find a spot, gearstick seamlessly directed to park and the sound of the handbrake being pulled up filling the empty space for the slightest of moments.

“I thought you wanted me to stop skating?”

“It’s not that I wanted you to stop skating,” Till rolls his eyes, his seatbelt released after a faint click. “I wanted you to stop training and have a break for once. There’s a difference, and besides, I figured it’s been a while and you’re usually on the ice, so I thought you might… I dunno,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head, “miss it?”

And Ivan does, surprisingly.

The ice lets him think.

It gives him a moment of respite for an hour or two, sometimes more, where he doesn’t have to deal with people. Though it obviously goes without saying that Till doesn’t count as ‘people’ and he hasn’t counted as one for as long as Ivan could remember. But perhaps spending all this time with him is the reason why he hasn’t really felt the need to visit the rink lately.

“You coming or what?” the other boy teases.

Blinking, he slides off his seatbelt and walks with Till into the facility.

It’s much smaller than the rinks he’s used to in the city, but it still has all the same things, more or less.

Banners of the home team clad in forest green, white, and black are draped from the ceiling, accompanied with a proud display of its championship win from over a decade ago. There are a set of lockers in one corner, and right next to it is a counter, a lone employee behind it with a button down uniform in a similar shade of green as the rink’s home team sorting the skates in the racks behind him.

“Skating for two?”

“Just one,” Till corrects him, which prompts a look from Ivan.

“We travelled all this way and you’re not even planning to skate?”

“Well,” Till sighs, “I can’t… skate.”

“Are you just saying that, or have you actually tried it?”

“Of course I have,” he crosses his arms over his chest defensively. “Once. With Mizi and Sua. I can’t tell you how many times my ass landed on the ice.”

He fights the urge to chuckle, knowing Till would probably scowl at him in response. Instead, he playfully pouts, “Without me? I’m surprised I haven’t heard about it until now.”

Faint dusty red tinges the tips of the boy's ears. “They’re sworn to secrecy, though unfortunately, I think there’s far too much evidence in Sua’s phone.”

“You’re giving up too easily,” Ivan smiles. “Maybe they were just terrible teachers?”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I can show you,” he offers, “If you like.”

“I… didn’t bring a jacket,” then becomes his lame argument, left hand reaching for his right arm to warm himself as he makes a show of being cold. 

Shaking his head, he takes off his favorite tracksuit jacket and helps Till put it on.

It’s a little bit bigger on him, and Ivan thinks he needs to start finding more excuses to get Till in his clothes because this is doing something to his heart that he can’t possibly explain.

“We came all this way,” he counters while Till fidgets with the hem of his jacket. “And I’m sure you’ll just be bored if I’m the only one who ends up skating.”

“For the record,” Uncertain teal captures Ivan’s bright red gaze before he looks away and hides his face, “That’s impossible. I can watch you skate forever. It’s beautiful… like art, really.” The latter trails off into a quiet mumble, as if he doesn’t realize he’s saying it out loud.

For the second time that day, Ivan finds his mind completely blank. Normally quick with a witty response, he’s left standing there while he processes Till’s words. Mainly trying to work out if he’s really saying all of this or maybe he just hasn’t woken up yet and this is all a dream. At this rate, maybe this whole trip is one.

“A-anyway,” Till clears his throat and directs his attention to the employee behind the counter, who is currently shifting his glance from one boy to the other, “Yes, ah, skating for… two, please.”

They spend another few minutes getting the right skates, careful as he helps Till tie the laces, then once they’re both sorted, they head into the fresh rink.

Or well, more accurately, Ivan heads into the rink, the ice immediately calling for his attention. A demand for routine, a deep sated need for nothing but perfection, as he struggles in the beginning to adjust to the different feel of the rental skates, and how odd the blade bluntly cuts the ice. 

Meanwhile, Till is still at the entrance, holding onto the rail for dear life, his knees awkward and trembling.

It reminds him of his first time on the rink. A gentle smile, the warmth of the ice, and his mother calling out, 

“Coming?” 

The boy's grip on the ledge tightens, if that’s at all possible, refusing to let go. “Is it too late to back out now? Or like… uh, can I get one of those penguin things–”

“You are not using skate aids when I’m right here.” Ivan laughs softly as he skates closer. Dramatically, he teases, "Think about my honor."

"Fuck your honor," Till whines right after he nearly slips, veins basically popping out from his harsh grip of the entrance. "There is no way I'm going in without the damn penguin." 

Holding his hand out, he offers Till a lopsided smile. “I have a better idea.”

Till stares at his hand like he’s never seen it before, and he opens his mouth, then closes it, before he relents and clasps it firmly (although it’s more akin to the death grip of The Great Horror Movie Handholding™️ circa two days ago), and the taller boy pulls him in properly. 

It is uneventful for a grand total of thirty seconds (give or take), and they make it out a few meters before Till’s legs wobble and he loses his balance.

Electric teal eyes are wide with pure fear. “Ivan, I’m going to fall–”

Ivan catches him, snaggletooth peaking proudly as he grins at the other boy.

“I won’t let you.”

Till looks up at him instinctively, then he blinks, “Oh, fuck, you’re close–”

“Sorry, I–” He scrambles to help Till stand on his own until he's steady, clearing his throat. “There you go. Didn’t take too long before you lost your balance, huh?”

“It’s… well,” he stammers as he tries to find the words, “It’s slippery.”

“It’s ice,” Ivan laughs. “Of course it’s slippery.”

With a slump of his shoulders, he pouts. “Maybe some people are just not meant for ice skating... and by that I mean me. I'm people.”

“Don’t say that,” Ivan offers his hand out again, his heart skipping a beat when Till takes it without hesitation this time around, “I’ll make a skater out of you yet.”

Sighing, Till tries his best to slide forward (and it doesn't work, because he stays in place for the most part, but the effort is certainly there). “You're putting too much faith in me.”

“Keep your knees bent,” Ivan instructs, as the gray-haired boy hangs on to every word, taking it seriously, reminding him of Till's game face. “Spread your feet a little bit wider. No… too much, just a little, Till.”

He adjusts, and Ivan nods in approval.

“Center your weight,” he says next, “Try not to lean too forward.”

When Till’s other arm starts frantically waving as he leans backward, Ivan presses a firm hand against his back to help steady him.

Ivan leans in close with a reassuring squeeze of his hand, “You’re doing well. Do you want to try to move now?”

“Okay,” Till takes a deep breath in, then out.

“March forward like this,” he says before letting go of Till’s hand briefly to demonstrate the motion. Low marches on the ice as he moves slightly forward each time. He stops about a meter away from Till just to make sure he’s not too far away. “Your turn.”

His legs are still a bit shaky but they seem more controlled as he attempts to replicate the movements. It’s not as smooth as Ivan’s, but he still manages to make it back to him, albeit a slight stumble at the end.

“Good. Let’s try that again, okay?” Ivan squeezes his hand again, then skates backwards but a little bit further.

They do this for a bit longer, at least until Till is more confident on the ice, and he’s not on the brink of falling every two seconds.

In the process, Ivan finds himself paying closer attention to the other boy’s expressions.

The way his eyebrows knit together when he’s bracing himself to move forward. Flashes of surprise in his eyes when he loses his balance. The way his mouth curves into the most beautiful smile when he finishes his first lap.

In these small moments, Ivan thinks about how lucky he is that the stars have aligned and they crossed paths. Grateful that he just so happened to pick the right elective at the right time, chose the seat that he did, and that Till just seemed to conveniently forget his book for that class every single time, so Ivan would offer to share. There was something about Till that always made Ivan feel real, and he's eternally grateful. 

Till brings so much light in Ivan’s life, and yet he doubts the boy has any idea how much that means to him.

“Hey, Till?” he says quietly, and if the other boy hadn’t been paying attention, then it would have easily been missed in the echoes of the pop song that’s filling the rink speakers.

He’s lost count how many laps they’ve done together, forgotten that being on the ice was fun before it became far too serious, the warmth of the other boy's hand grounding him to reality and reminding him that he is here in this moment. 

Till looks over at him with a boyish grin, his hair swaying with the icy breeze. “Yeah?”

Ivan, who has been setting the pace for the lap, slows down.

“You okay?” Teal eyes regard him with nothing but concern, and it's so, so warm. 

“Thank you,” he says, sincerity dripping in his voice from the bottom of his heart. “This… break. I needed it, I think. So, thank you.”

Before Till can say anything in response to that, he continues, “I hope you know that means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”

Till stops completely, and Ivan pushes slightly forward to get closer to him. “You mean a lot to me too.”

“You had one more thing you wanted to say yesterday,” Ivan says just above a whisper, as if not certain if he wants Till to hear it in the first place. There is some truth in that, but he wills it to leave his mouth before he can take it back. “Can you tell me what it is?”

His best friend blushes. “Oh, that? I…” He trails off, his hands once again fidgeting so he threads them together to will them to calm down. His throat bobs before he quietly asks, “Can I show you?”

Confused, Ivan nods anyway, watching Till carefully while he inches forward slowly, fingers gripping into the other boy’s dark gray hoodie and pulling Ivan towards him.

Till kisses him.

It’s the quickest peck of his lips, a little bit cold and a little bit chapped – barely there – but it’s all that Ivan can think about.

Bright teal sinks into crimson, wild and fierce, and yet scared. Ivan knows him more than anyone, and he sees it as bright as day. Letting go of the raven’s hoodie, he swallows thickly and tries to put some distance between them. “Does that answer your question? You don’t… have to say anything. I just wanted to… at least once, be able to show you somehow–”

Ivan skates towards him to close the gap, not letting him move any further away. One of his hands is firmly placed on the small of the other boy’s back, secure yet gentle.

Then he kisses Till too, a longer press of his lips while he pulls the boy in closer, and his other hand snakes into soft locks of silver. Till sighs softly when it ends, looking up at him with the warmth of love behind his eyes, no sign of the earlier fear that threatened to take hold.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “Wow.”

Ivan chuckles, “Yeah, wow.”

Two days until they return to campus, and it’s a record-breaking scorching hot day.

“Nothing beats the heat more than extra heat!” Io singsongs while she asks the boys to come to the table to have some miyeok guk for lunch.

Till inevitably complains about having to leave the safe haven of the spot in front of the electric fan (he's camped in front of it the entire day), but he takes his seat on the table a few minutes later after Ivan threatened to finish the soup before he can even get there. 

From the first sip, Ivan finally understands that Io’s soup simply sits in another category of its own, and when their bowls are empty, he wants to ask, but the words are stuck in his throat, convinced that he has the right to.

At the end of the meal, Io’s gentle gaze is on Ivan. “Would you like me to teach you how to make it?”

He nods, and even though it made no sense, they spend the rest of the day perfecting the art of Io's soup so they end up having it for dinner too.

Their train leaves in fifteen minutes, but they’re still on the platform saying their goodbyes. Any longer and it’ll definitely leave without them, but if he had to be honest, he thinks that’s probably the more ideal outcome.

Io is teary-eyed, hugging Till so tightly that you would think she didn’t have any intention of letting him go.

On the other side, Till is trying to keep a brave face on but he knows he's trying not to cry too, his lips are quivering ever so slightly in a way that Ivan could never miss. His hands are shaking a little bit too as he pulls her close, as he promises to come visit more often. 

They’re both as expressive as each other, and Ivan thinks it’s beautiful.

When Io finally releases Till, he grabs his bag on the platform and slings it over his shoulder.

Ivan politely smiles at Io, “Thank you for having me ov–”

She tackles Ivan in a bear hug for a minute, maybe two, and for most of it, Ivan stands there blinking, the sudden contact unexpected, before he slowly reciprocates the embrace and he thinks, this is nice. 

“Look after each other, okay?” She sniffles, a dust blue handkerchief pulled out from her pocket as she wipes her face. “You know I’m just a phone call away.”

To Ivan, she gives him a soft smile. “And that goes for you too. Anytime, okay? I mean it. Make sure to tell me about your next competitions, and I'll be there, no matter what.”

They both get another round of hugs before one of the staff reminds them about the train departing soon, and they board it shortly after, a final wave at Io from behind the window while the silhouette of Till’s hometown disappears behind them.

Ivan's fingers take the first opportunity to walk into Till's hand before he slowly threads them together, a quiet sigh as the gray-haired boy relaxes and leans against his shoulder, all while Ivan nuzzles the other's soft hair. 

Right in front of them, Till's phone is delicately set up on a makeshift stand as their chosen movie starts, the boys sharing a wired earbud each, and the opening scene gets to play for a few minutes before the tray buzzes with a notification, two messages in succession quickly popping up at the top of Till's phone screen.

The boy scrambles to swipe them away so Ivan doesn't see them, but what he ends up doing is opening up the messages application. 

He tries to close the app nonchalantly to put the movie back on, but he's nowhere near quick enough to successfully pretend that it didn't happen.

"So... boyfriend," Ivan teases while he leans forward as close as he can get away with. "When are we visiting again?" 

With another blush, Till squishes Ivan's cheek to get him to turn back to the movie.