Archive of Our Own

At the ripe age of nine, Till’s mother, Io, watches a movie that changes the trajectory of his life. 

12 months: on the eve of Till’s birthday, he says his first word: “Ma.” Io tells him that she cried after hearing it and that the crinkle of his laughter brought her back, soothed her, lulled her, and she hummed a nameless tune until the clock struck 12 and Till’s breathing evened out. 

She kissed his temple and gently nuzzled his cheeks, “Happy birthday, my shining star. I love you so much.”

She kisses his cheek one last time and feels the ghost of his smile against the corner of her lips.

Three: Till sings more than he speaks. Io loved to sing him lullabies when he still slept in the crib, so he learnt most of them. He sings the chorus of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on his mother's lap and reaches for her when he says, ‘Like a diamond in the sky.’ She gathers him into her arms and gently squeezes; he’s tiny in her warm embrace.

She calls him her ‘little star’ over and over again, and Till, at the age of three, sings until his voice grows tired and his eyes grow drowsy. When she says, ‘I love you’ before placing him into his bed, he smiles, and she kisses his temple.

Seven: His mother buys him an electric guitar, and he also gets into a fight with one of the second graders. His name was Ivan. Yeah… Io wasn’t too happy with him.

Nine: He watches the slow blink of his mother’s eyes until she drops her head onto his shoulder with a light snore. He gathers his side of the blanket and gently drapes it over her before bundling his knees up to his chest, and when the credits finally roll, he stifles a sob. The movie was Atonement.

Till was seven when he threw the first punch; he was seven when Ivan punched back, and he was seven when he realised he and Ivan had matching bruises.

Now, at 14, Ivan latches onto him like a parasite. Ivan is weird; he’s popular at school and plays for the school's football team, and everybody loves him. The guys always want to play sports with him, and the girls crowd around him like he’s limited edition stock, but he follows Till, a stereotypical loner, around everywhere like some baby chick. Till swears that even the teachers have a thing for him. 

One time, their algebra teacher gave Ivan an A+ for a test he missed because he climbed into Till’s bedroom window to visit him while he was sick, and the creepy bastard didn’t even bring any soup! The very next day, Till had to retake the test, only to find out Ivan was retaking the same test with Till, despite receiving a colourfully passing grade! Just take the fucking A, you weirdo!

“Ivan, why did you even bother resitting the test? Mrs Chen gave you an A!” 

“It was an A+ Till.”

Till yanks his ear, “Whatever, same difference!”

He smiles, snaggletooth popping out, and pinches Till’s ass in retaliation. (i.e. Weird!) “Because I didn’t think it was fair.”

Till falters in his step, “Unfair that you got an A+ and I didn’t?”

“No. It was unfair for her to leave you alone.” Till squints his eyes at the setting sun, the zephyr caresses Ivan’s hair, and that’s when Till sees it, amongst the mirage of the road and the telltale signs of the traffic up ahead, the hints of a soft smile gracing Ivan’s lips.

“Come on, Till, let’s go home.” He holds his hand out, beckoning.

Till slaps it, mumbling with rosy cheeks, “Who says you’re sleeping over?”

“Aww, come on! You know Io loves me.” 

“What?! No, she—Oomf”

Ivan laughs, throwing his arms over Till and slamming his body into him. Till pushes Ivan’s cheek away with a yelp.

“Fuck off! Not for what you did to me when we were seven, she doesn’t!”

Ivan pouts, “Does it still hurt? Let me kiss it better.”

He pulls Ivan’s ears until he’s begging for mercy (ultimately, it never happens, and Io sees her son coming home with a bite mark on the very same cheek his friend punched seven years ago)

Till was nine when he witnessed Cecilia and Robbie, a fated pair with a future that saw them with wrinkles and grey hair, get destroyed by ruin and war. He was nine when he realised he also despised Briony. 

He was 10 when he saw the ending of Titanic, and cried his eyes out on Io’s lap.

11, when he yearned for the quiet, burning passion in Before Sunrise. 12, when his heart fluttered like Ben’s did seeing Andie with her yellow dress in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, and 13, when he realised there was something wrong with him after he found himself deeply attracted to Noah in The Notebook.

14, when he cried seeing Mr Darcy propose to Elizabeth during their walk in Pride and Prejudice; he was 14 when Ivan thumbed the remnants of his tears, and he was 14 when Ivan pinned him with his heated gaze, and said: “Till, I didn’t know you were a hopeless romantic.”

Now, at 21, he sips on his iced mocha latte and chews on the paper straw like the world’s saddest creature.

Hyuna flicks his nose with a laugh. “Dude, the paper can’t be better than your mocha latte.”

“It sure as hell is right now…” His forehead slams on the table. He feels like jelly, a mindless blob whose only purpose in the world is to be stepped on, seriously? What’s happening to him?

“I can’t believe Mizi and Sua are engaged already.”

Hyuna throws him a judgmental look, “Seriously? Are you still hung up on the fact that Mizi’s a lesbian? I mean, it was pretty obvious to me, but it’s been three whole years since you found out.” Let it go, bro was basically what she said.

Till sits up with a scorned look, “What! No! I always knew Mizi was a lesbian! How could I not when she looks at Sua like she hung the stars for her?!”

Hyuna arches her brow.

“Okay, maybe I didn’t know… But seriously, I’m over it. I always knew Mizi was unattainable.”

Till hunches his shoulders, staring at the condensation on his drink, “I just liked the idea of someone like her loving me.” I want someone to look at me like Mizi looks at Sua.

Hyuna softens, “Oh, come on, Till, don’t give me that kicked puppy look, you’ll find the one.”

She’s right, he’s totally a kicked puppy. Till is 21 with a kiss count of 0 and a non-existent sex life; he has a total of 0 whopping partners under his belt, and he expects it to continue for several years to come. ‘The one’ was probably Poong Woon-ho in 20th Century Girl. Eh, scratch that thought.

“Fuck off… No one here is a kicked puppy… I’m being serious right now, Hyuna.”

Hyuna giggles, pinching Till’s cheeks and ruffling his hair like a dog.

“You should call me Unnie.”

“Hyuna.”

“I am being serious.” She grins.

“I’m having a midlife crisis over here, and you still want me to call you Unnie? I’m not Luka.”

Hyuna leans back, twirling her hair with an air of nonchalance.

“It’s complicated, okay? We’re currently ‘no-contact right now,’ also, don’t say my ‘situationship’s’ name out loud, this could do real damage to me, y’know?”

Till feels like he’s getting lobotomised, “Oh my god…” He looks to Him for assistance, “May this kind of love never find me…”

The ice in his mocha latte shifts, and Till feels the all-too-familiar presence of a shadow looming over his seat.

Ivan, with the grace of baby cherub’s playing the harp, says, “Till, did you miss me?”

“No, I’m having a serious conversation over here, go away.”

Ivan pouts, placing himself in his designated spot, which is next to Till, obviously.

“We have serious conversations.”

“Hi, Ivan.” Hyuna smirks.

“Hello, Hyuna.”

“Till, I’ll see you later, okay?” She wiggles her eyebrows at Till and literally fucking teleports outside of the cafeteria. Till can see her back walking away from the glass windows.

What the fuck. Till darts his gaze away from Ivan’s stupid fucking puppy dog eyes and decides that it’s better to look at the assortment of pastries in the cafe instead. “Stop scaring my friends away, you moron—Hey!”

Ivan snags Till’s drink; he licks the entire straw before slurping it obnoxiously, “You’re the moron for thinking I scared your friend away.”

“Ugh! Stop being a dog! Why are you licking it like that?!”

Ivan dodges all of Till’s attempts with extraordinary speed. This is ragebait, and Till is absolutely falling for it. “Give it back! Fucker!”

“No, this is mine now.” Ivan pouts, cradling the drink close to him like some child protecting their favourite toy. 

And Till, with the grace of 10 thousand warriors charging into battle, pounces on Ivan. Somehow, it seems that he’s miscalculated and ends up slipping on a napkin on the floor, finding himself caught in some cliché dip. What. The. Fuck. Till is furiously red, and the said person, who is currently holding him, tightens his stupidly large hand around his waist, and leans down. Till clenches his eyes shut, and Ivan’s breath ghosts along the shell of his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. He can practically hear the smugness radiating from that sonofabitch.

“Till, what is this? Are you some rom-com heroine?” Till grows redder every nanosecond that passes.

Obviously, the best way to react to your friend catching you in a dip after slipping on a napkin is to break his ankles. The kick Till descends on Ivan sends the iced mocha latte in his hands to the nearest table, and they tumble down with Ivan’s arms winding around his waist. It gets worse, though, as Till watches the drink paint the pristine light grey leg of a student he knows from his music major, what was his name? Aaron? Alex?

“What the fuck, dude!” Acorn yells. 

Oh, Acorn, right.

Till apologises profusely, all ninety-degree bows and shit, and offers to pay for Acorn’s dry cleaning. For some reason, Acorn refuses, scurrying off with mumbled curses. Till suspiciously looks back at Ivan, all he has to offer is a pleased smile for starting World War III.

“We should probably clean this up.” Till mumbles.

Ivan gives him the ten-thousand-yard stare. “It’s okay.”

Till reaches for the napkins, Ivan shakes his head, smacking his hand away, before walking up to the cafe that served Till his iced mocha latte, RIP, you were gone too soon. Till watches, unimpressed as Ivan kisses ass and charms his way into convincing the lady behind the register to clean up the mess on the floor, the mess they made. 

This time, Ivan comes back with a mop in hand and a girl trailing behind him; she’s giggling about something, but Ivan hasn’t even said anything. Seriously, what’s so funny?!

When she sees Till, her flirty giggles immediately drop; he swears on his mother’s life that she’s scowling. “I’m really sorry about this–”

She cuts him off with a picture-perfect customer service smile, “Oh, it’s fine! Stuff like this always happens!”

That’s when Till realises that she’s already painted him as the villain of her afternoon shift, fan-fucking-tastic. He’s going to maul Ivan when they get home. He likes going to that cafe for fucksakes!

Ivan, the little shit, says, “Miss…” He looks down at her nametag, “Kana, do you want me to help you?”

Kana blushes, “Ivan, it’s fine! I don’t want to trouble you!”

“Really? Are you sure?” He pouts. Till stands there like he’s fucking constipated.

“Yes! Really! It’s okay! You guys can go.”

“Alright then.”

Ivan drags Till away, “I’ll come back sometime soon.”

“That would be really great!”

As they walk away from the grating giggles behind them, Till, exasperated, looks up at Ivan and sighs, “I really hate you.”

Ivan squeezes his shoulder, leaning his head on his, and ever so pleased, he grins, “Mhm.”

When Mother’s Day eventually rolls around, Till goes home for the weekend, and so does Ivan. Till nuzzles into his scarf, knocking on the door once, twice, before it opens to the smell of love, nostalgia, warmth, and home.

“Till, look at those eyebags.” Io scolds, yet there is so much love and affection behind those words.

“Hi, mum.” Till feels like he’s going to cry.

“Hello Auntie, it’s been a while.”

Io smiles, “Hello, Ivan.” She says, before pinching his cheek, “Whose Auntie? I told you to call me Io!”

She coughs, letting go, “Come in, boys, before you both catch a cold.”

Till slips in with Ivan, who eagerly trails behind him, “My bedroom is—”

Ivan takes a sharp left into the corner of the house. Till stares, deadpanned, at Ivan’s disgustingly broad back before placing his scarf on the couch and helping Io in the kitchen. Of course, the astute menace memorised his house layout in case of ‘future house fires and etcetera.’ What 10-year-old uses ‘etcetera’ as their choice of daily lexicon? Till vividly remembers the freak, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, shamelessly requesting their floorplan. 

Io laughed when Till told her, ‘That’s interesting.’ Yet she still proceeded to print it out, telling him to give it to Ivan the next time he sees him. And Till will never forget the next thing Io told him, ‘Maybe he just wants to build our house in the Sims? You know how much he loves coming here.' That idea sounds even worse than ‘future house fires and etcetera.’

So, here they are now, at 21, Till is celebrating Mother’s Day, with Ivan for the weekend; Ivan, who memorised their floor plan; Ivan, who knew exactly where Till’s childhood bedroom was without him having to say anything; Ivan, who was eight when he punched Till back.

“If you keep spacing out like that, you’ll cut your finger.” Io hums.

“Sorry…” He continues to cut the carrots, the depth of the circles growing thinner and thinner.

“Is there something on your mind?”

Till pauses, placing the knife down and looking at his mother, “Don’t you think it’s weird that I keep inviting Ivan to these things?”

This is the third consecutive Mother’s Day that Ivan’s been to. He’s celebrated Thanksgiving with them once and Christmas twice. Ivan tells him that his parents are going away again this December and won’t be back till late January. So, make that his third Christmas spent with Till and Io.

“Of course not, he’s your friend.”

“I feel like friends don’t always do stuff like this.”

Io’s gaze softens, her voice lowers like she’s sharing a secret with him, “Then, that’s for you to decide, my little star.”

“What—” 

Io pats his cheek, the one Ivan punched 14 years ago, “Come on, stop cutting those carrots, you’re terrible.” He pouts, she laughs at his reaction, “Let me do it, you must be tired? I know you’re being extra helpful since it’s Mother’s Day, but you don’t need to. Go see what Ivan’s doing.”

Till trudges out of the kitchen, dragging his socked-feet against the wooden floorboards. As he inches closer to his bedroom door, he sees the bathroom door swing open, and steam rolls out, the mist parts, and Ivan steps out, freshly shampooed and smelling like home.

“How did you know I was coming?” Freaky fucking esper.

Ivan smiles, snaggletooth glinting in the moody bathroom light, “I could hear the drag of your feet from the kitchen.”

Till grits his teeth, fighting down the weird, fluffy feeling in his gut, “You’re so…” He looks at Ivan again before turning around, and letting the syllables of his words trail: “Don’t bother sleeping on the couch, you end up back in my room anyway.” Ivan tackles him to the floor before he gets the chance to open his bedroom door.

Friends definitely don’t always do stuff like this.

“Till you can use the bathroom first, I still need to wash the dishes.” She smiles gently at him, walking towards the kitchen sink, where Ivan stands drying the utensils. When Till enters his bedroom, scavenging for clothes, he hears the quiet chatter between Io and Ivan, obscured by the wooden mahogany of his bedroom door. His heart thumps, and he wonders what they are talking about. Selfishly, he wants their conversation to be centred around him; he’s always wanted to linger, even when he leaves the room.

When he enters the bathroom, the house stands still in silence, and Till lets the rickety piping of their 24-year-old house fill that very same silence as the warm water hits his skin.

Io always made fun of Till for his inability to properly dry his hair; she still does it to this day. “This is why you always get sick. Remember when you were in 8th grade?”

Till feels like he’s bouncing on clouds, his mother scratches his scalp, and he slumps his back against the edge of the bathtub, “Yeah… I remember when Ivan snuck into my bedroom.”

The scratching soon turns into pulling, “He what?”

“I— I thought you knew!” He yelps. Ivan wasn’t really being subtle about it.

The hair dryer abruptly stops, and Io tuts, “You let him get away with too much; this is why he acts like this.”

“Do you also remember when he retook a test with me?” ‘Cause he said he didn’t want me to be alone is left unsaid.

Io’s eyes widen, and she sighs, a small smile gracing her lips, “Till, you know you don’t always have to defend him after saying something that paints him in a weird light. I approve of him.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

She shrugs, “I mean, sure, I didn’t like him when he left you battered and bruised, but he’s grown on me. He’s good to you.”

Ivan? Being good? To him? Yeah, there’s absolutely no way… Till looks at her weirdly, and Io lets out a loud sigh. Why do mothers always sigh like that?

Io cups his cheeks, “Till, one day, it won’t just be me who dries your hair like this.”

Till hates when her eyes soften like that; it always makes him want to cry.

“Alright, come on, you can’t hog the bathroom forever. Go see what Ivan’s up to.” She grins before slamming the door in his face.

Ivan lounges on the couch while scrolling on his phone. When he sees Till entering, he puts it in the pocket of his hoodie and smirks. “You still get Io to dry your hair for you?”

“Shut up.” Till sits on his legs; he hopes they fucking break, but Ivan just drags him down by his waist, tucking the top of Till’s conditioned hair under his chin. Till grumbles, he’s too tired to verbally and physically fight Ivan.

“Do you want to go to sleep? Or do you want to watch something?”

Till hums, fighting the urge to snuggle deeper into Ivan’s (probably) designer hoodie, “Let’s watch La La Land.”

“I don’t know if anyone's told you, but it’s not a very happy romance movie.” Till feels the tickle of Ivan’s nails running across the hair on the back of his nape.

“All the romance movies I watch are sad as shit.”

“Mmm, sure.”

Till rolls his eyes at Ivan’s condescending tone, okay, whatever, She’s the Man, and 27 Dresses don’t really count, do they?

“Just put on the fucking movie.”

And Ivan was right, it really isn’t a ‘very happy romance movie’ because Till is already crying with 45 minutes of the movie left to spare. There’s an incredibly obvious wet patch on the front of Ivan’s (definitely) designer hoodie, and he sobs even louder. Ivan just tightens his arms around Till.

“See, I told you.”

Till hiccups, "Shut up.”

They’ve sat up, with a blanket shared between them, and Till passes out on Ivan’s shoulder from crying so damn much that he misses the rest of the movie. Maybe it’s a good thing, though, because Mia and Sebastian don’t get back together when the epilogue inches closer and closer. 

And Io? She watches it from the kitchen table, thumbing away unblinking tears. When the credits roll, and Ivan moves, she does the same.

“Here, let me help.”

She’s about to take the blanket draped along Till’s shoulders when Ivan decides to wrap him up like a burrito, lifting him in a bridal carry like it’s nothing.

“That’s okay, Auntie, you’re probably tired, it’s pretty late.”

Io stares at him, letting a laugh tumble out. “Yes, you’re right, it is pretty late.”

She caresses the tear stains along the outer edge of Till’s tear gland; her hands fall, patting Ivan on his cheek, “You’re very good to him, thank you.”

Ivan’s eyes widen before they crinkle into a genuine smile. He doesn’t say anything back; he doesn’t need to because Io already knows his answer.

“Come on, let's get you both to bed.”

Before Io shuts the bedroom door, she looks at Ivan one last time and says, “You’ll come back for Thanksgiving, right?”

Ivan shakes his head. Io hums, “Then Christmas?”

Ivan looks at Io, then at Till, brushing his fringe, “Of course.”

She nods, quietly closing the bedroom door.

Mother’s Day weekend ends, and Io nags Till to take the leftovers from last night's dinner: “This is why you’re so skinny! All you do is eat takeout and instant noodles!” 

Till and Ivan end up leaving with four takeout boxes' worth of food. They slump in the backseat of the cab as Ivan tells the driver the address, and Till pulls out his earphones. He wordlessly hands Ivan the right side of the earbud, and Ivan takes it without saying anything.

They watch the cars flash by on opposite sides as the ridges of their fingertips touch, and their hearts beat as one.

Ivan and Sua meet at a cafe for brunch and gossip, or whatever the fuck they do. Sua’s already seated, browsing the menu while readjusting her glasses. Ivan sits across from her without saying anything, and the menu moves up higher, tactfully blocking his face.

“Sua.”

“Ivan.” She deadpans.

“You know people pay to see this face.”

“Sorry, I do card only.”

“Aww, that’s a shame because there’s a surcharge.”

Sua gracefully puts down the menu, plastering an uncanny smile, “I’m ready to order, and you have about 120 seconds to do the same before I take my drink and leave.”

They end up ordering the same thing: a chai latte with skimmed milk. The server blushes profusely while he takes their orders. They drink their coffee in silence until the same server comes up to them again.

“W-would you like anything else?” He stutters, and they both say no at the same time. The tension is fucking palpable.

Sua, being the bigger, more mature, and emotionally sane person, places her drink down and sighs, “Alright, Ivan. Say your piece.”

“Till’s mum approves of me,” Ivan says, right knee bouncing up and down, giddy like some kid from the candy store.

“Do you think it’s time for me to court him?” Who still fucking says ‘court?’ Sua’s ears bleed, “because I think so.”

“Is that not what you’ve been doing?”

Ivan tuts, “Sua, the rock Mizi put on your finger didn’t make you smarter, did it?”

“At least I have one. Mizi and I are having a spring wedding, and at this rate, you’re not invited.”

“Sure, I’m not. Does Mizi know that?” Smug fucking bastard.

Sua takes a deep breath. She’s been doing mindfulness with Mizi lately because Mizi said it will help her relax, and Sua never denies Mizi. Oddly enough, it kind of has helped Sua regulate the urge to bite Ivan’s head off. She’s lucky to be the one to say her ‘I do’s’ with Mizi.

“Whatever, I digress. Have you even told Till your intentions?”

“No, I show, not tell.”

Frustrated, Sua rubs her eyebrows to cope, “Stop being wise, you know how dense Till is. Do you think he even knows about your ‘show, don’t tell’ bullshit?”

Ivan doesn’t say anything.

“Exactly, you’re not saying anything because I know that you know. You should really tell him, love isn’t what it’s like in the movies; it’s all about communication.”

There’s no response.

“Whatever, if you don’t want to do that, at least show him that you can be a reliable partner. What have you really done besides tucking him into bed without him knowing?”

Ivan ponders, “Hmm, so you mean like Sebastian telling Mia to audition for a role?”

Sua pins him with a confused look, “Yeah, sure, whatever. Anyways, Mizi was there for me through everything.”

Sua pauses for a bit, listening to the jingle of the door each time it opens.

“She was there for me when my sister passed away, and I cried so much while driving home that I crashed my car. She cooked meals for me, bathed me, and made sure I made it safely to my classes. She didn’t have to do that, but she did it because she loved me, and that’s why I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with her.” I was always ready goes unsaid.

She sips her coffee again with certainty, “It’s not about the extremity of the situation that ‘tested’ my love for her, but it’s the feeling that washed through me each time I looked at her, knowing what she has done for me, even the little things I accounted for. She sends me text messages, reminding me not to forget my house keys, she asks me what I want to eat for dinner every day, and she carries me to bed, simply because I feel too tired.”

She stares at Ivan. “In your own judgement, do you think Till feels for you what I feel for Mizi?”

The door jingles, and a bustle of people comes crowding in. Ivan reaches for his Louis Vuitton wallet and throws $100 on the table, taking his drink before standing.

“Thanks for meeting me, Sua. I think I’m going to leave first.” You think? You’re already standing, fool.

Ivan leaves, and Sua finishes her coffee; she pockets the $100 and pays for their coffees through Apple Pay. The only cash she leaves is a $5 tip in the jar.

During her walk to her car, she weirdly thinks: Ivan definitely twisted the intended meaning of my words. 

Till goes out to drinks with Hyuna and some of her other friends in celebration of finishing their finals; he would do this shit with his usual group. However, Mizi and Sua said they’ll celebrate at home (whatever that means), Ivan said he had a meeting with his manager (modelling shit), and Luka and Hyuna are still ‘no contact’ right now. But this suffices. Till opens his phone before downing the shots Hyuna ordered.

Till

IMG_0742

this is what ur missing out on 

Ivan

Lol, did Hyuna order that?

Till

ofc who else would?

also i thought u were supposed to be in a meeting????

 

Ivan

I am

Till

did the meeting end?

Ivan

No

Till

ok??? why r u texting me then

Ivan

Cuz u texted me first, Till

Till stares at his phone; he flushes despite not having drunk a single shot. His phone vibrates again.

Ivan

Miss u too tho <33

 

Till

🖕🖕

Ivan

😘😘

He pockets his phone, downing one shot, two, three, five, he sort of stops counting after that.

Fortunately, Till wakes up in his own bed, having no recollection of how he got home. Unfortunately, he has the world’s worst hangover ever, and a lost iPhone 13; he genuinely can’t move his body, and his head feels like it’s going to split open.

“Ivan…”

Till croaks miserably; it’s even more embarrassing how fast Ivan comes into his room.

“Till.” He responds, gently moving him to lean against the headboard, and pulling his chin down to place an aspirin on his tongue.

Ivan genuinely looks like he’s about to give Till water via mouth-to-mouth before Till musters up enough strength in his forearms to snatch the glass away from Ivan. Till downs the aspirin and the water in one, wiping the droplets with the back of his wrist, all whilst Ivan watches him, bug-eyed like the creep that he is.

“Ivan, do you know where my phone is?” Till rasps.

“No,” comes his response, quick and clipped, okay, whatever.

Till pauses, thinking, “Did you pick me up?”

“No, Hyuna brought you home.”

“Give me your phone real quick.”

Ivan smiles, “Sure.”

Till dials his number from Ivan’s phone; it rings for so long before it ends with: “the person you are trying to reach is not available.”

This time, he dials Hyuna’s instead.

She picks up on the third ring with a groggy voice, “‘Ello?”

Till can hear someone else in the background, but he doesn’t comment on it, and he knows it’s Luka.

“Hyuna, it’s me.”

“Till?”

“Yes, idiot, I can’t find my phone.”

“Oh—” Hyuna and the background noises abruptly stop. Did she fucking mute? “—Sorry, that’s really unfortunate. Is that why’er callin’ from Ivan’s?”

His migraine booms, “Yes. Do you remember anything from last night?”

“Only remember seein’ you face plant on the floor after Ivan opened the door. ‘Twas pretty funny, right Ivan?”

“You’re not on speaker. Anything else?”

“Nah, but you downed so many shots, dude, I’m surprised you’re breathing without an IV drip.”

Till squeezes his eyes shut, his brows furrowing, “Gee, thanks.”

He opens his eyes again to see Ivan watching him intently, “Also, I know Luka’s there, bye.” And he hangs up before she can say another word. 

“It seems that you’ve lost your phone.”

Till melts back down into his covers, bringing them above his head to shield himself from the kitchen light. He can still feel Ivan’s stare.

“Yes, and after I overcome this fucking hangover, I’m going to kill myself.” He isn’t going to cry; he will not cry.

There’s an odd pause; Till feels fucking filthy under these sheets.

“You can’t. You won’t, right?” The seriousness in Ivan’s tone is so lame and pitiful; it makes Till feel bad for him.

He sniffles, “No, of course not.” 

Ivan hums, satisfied with his answer; he pets the spot where Till’s head should be under the covers, and he leaves his rooms; the door shuts with a gentle click.

18 hours later, Till wakes up when his stomach growls. He realises he needs to come to terms with the situation at hand. He rubs his eyes, convincing himself that the wetness along his tear ducts was the byproduct of oversleeping. Yeah, okay, it was old, and it could barely store his music files. But that thing got him through high school, and goddamn it, can’t he be allowed to feel a little sentimental? 

As he walks into the kitchen (and no, he does not, in fact, drag his feet while he walks, fuck you, Ivan.), he spots Ivan first, seated on their kitchen island, and playing a game on his phone; it’s at that moment he also spots a teal-coloured iPhone 16, alongside that, is a clear, shock proof phone case and a screen protector as well. Till reaches Ivan before he can put his phone down.

“Ivan. What the fuck is that?” He says, confused, scared, and somewhat head over heels for the lunatic sitting before him.

Ivan giggles, a little too excited, “See, we’re matching.”

Till glances between the two phones, teal and ultramarine really do complement each other; his lip wobbles, and he bites it down.

“Till? Do you not like the colour?” Ivan tries again, albeit gentler this time.

Till rubs his eyes, harder than the last time, “No— Yes— Fuck. It’s great.”

He sniffles, “It’s really, really, good.” His head hits the front of Ivan’s shoulder, and his next words are muffled by cashmere and merino wool.

“I fucking hate you.” Ivan traces three of his fingers down the curve of Till’s spine.

He grins, snaggletooth clipping his bottom lip, “I’m glad you like it.”

On the eve of Till’s 22nd birthday, he gets into a car crash. He also releases his first EP: UNKNOWN.

He goes out to eat Yakiniku with his friends, and when the restaurant closes, they go down to a bar instead. Till needs to drive back home tonight, so he orders a Coke like the responsible adult that he is, and Ivan orders the same; he says he’s got a 3:45 am flight to catch, and he also says excessive amounts of alcohol make his skin oily. Hyuna orders several shots (again) for the four (including Hyuna) other people who don’t have valid enough excuses, and Till watches as his friends down shot after shot.

He doesn’t get the chance to tell them about UNKNOWN, only Ivan knows (and Luka, but he produced all the sound and shit for him, so he doesn’t count). He isn’t really bothered by that fact because he knows that they’ll always be around for him to tell them, and he watches as they’re sent home together in the Uber Lux Ivan ordered for them.

Ivan looks at Till. He leans down a little, whispering, “Happy birthday, Till.”

“It’s not my birthday yet.” He scoffs.

Ivan pulls out his ultramarine iPhone 16, showing him the time; it’s 12:04 am. “Technically, it is.”

Till doesn’t say anything; he holds Ivan’s stare under the flickering street lamp, and Ivan obviously stares back, unblinking.

“Let me walk you to your car,” Ivan says with finality, and Till lets him.

It’s honestly fucking stupid that he crashes because a deer jumps in front of his car like he’s in some B-grade horror film. He jerks, swerving his car off the road, crashing into a nearby tree because he suddenly forgets that brakes exist, and he ricochets off the dashboard, snapping his head against the window; his airbags, the useless things, trigger a second later as his car beeps treacherously. Till is fighting for his mother fucking life, trying to keep his eyes open; he thinks he has a concussion, no, he knows, he has a concussion.

A light consumes his vision, and Till thinks: Oh, okay, cool, this is really it for me? Before promptly passing out.

When Till finally comes to, he chokes out, “Ivan…?” 

He hears the grating slide of metal against the linoleum flooring as hands caress his cheeks; his eyelids, the plush of his bottom lip, and the bandages around his head.

“Till.” He says, “Till.” He says again, “You’re awake.”

The relief floods into Ivan’s eyes like the tide washing in, “I brought you some stuff. The doctor says you can be discharged as soon as you wake up, but I thought you would get bored.”

Ivan, fucking Ivan, pulls out his sketchbook and pencils, the Steam Deck Mizi and Sua gifted him on his 21st birthday, his earphones, and his iPod shuffle filled with eons worth of music. 

Till hates Ivan; he hates that Ivan looks at him the same way Io does; he hates that his heart genuinely beats faster than the average beats per second; he hates that he knows Ivan dropped everything to be here with him instead of Ibiza or some fucking Greek Island he was supposed to be at, and he hates that Ivan brought him all the shit he enjoys because he knows Till like he knows his house floorplan off by heart.

Till doesn’t even fight the tears this time; he lets the fat globules run down the circumference of his cheeks as they land on his ugly hospital gown. He catches some of them on the back of his wrists; instead, Ivan yanks them away in favour of kissing and licking his tears. When had Till’s heart softened for him?

“Ivan, Ivan.”

Till hiccups, and snot dribbles down the bridge of his premaxilla. He sniffles, and Ivan kisses his undereye before thumbing the wetness brimming along his tear duct.

Till’s eyes are so swollen, and there is so much mucus in his larynx; he clears his throat, “Ivan.”

Ivan cups his cheeks, bringing their faces closer, and Till can see sparkles in his eyes, “You can’t leave me, okay?” He closes his eyes, rubbing his cheek into his palm.

“I’m not going anywhere, Till. I cancelled my flight already.” 

Till pouts; he tries to bite Ivan’s fingers, but Ivan counters him by pinching his cheek.

“No, as in, you’re not allowed to walk out on me.”

“No one is walking out.”

“No, dummy, you have to stay by my side forever, okay?” He puffs his cheeks, pinching Ivan in the rib. And Ivan hugs him, cradling the back of his head while gently squeezing his parietal bone.

Ivan pulls away, biting Till’s nose; he closes his eyes, exhaling, “Okay.”

Till whines, scratching Ivan’s broad shoulders,

“Okay, good.”

He leans in closer, rubbing their nasal tips together, “Also, I don’t want any of the shit you brought me, okay? Take me home.”

As Till complains about Ivan’s idiocy for thinking he would want to stay in the hospital a day longer, Ivan licks his bottom lip, closing the distance.

Ivan tells him to call Io before they leave, and he does just that.

The phone stops buzzing after its first ring, “Mum…?”

There’s a brief pause before he hears a quiet: “Till?”

“Yeah, um, hi?” He laughs awkwardly.

“Till! Till, are you okay? How do you feel? Is Ivan there with you? Do you need me to fly down? I could probably book a flight tonight.”

Till pulls his phone back from the shrill concerns coming on the other end, “No— No, to the flying down, and yes to everything else.”

He sighs, “I’m really okay, Mum, it wasn’t that bad.”

“How— How could you say that?! You didn’t wake up for hours! Ivan monitored your condition. I was so scared…”

“Seriously, I’m fine. It was my fault for driving recklessly anyway.” He cajoles.

“Till. Please, are you saying you forced the deer out onto the road?”

Her voice softens, and his cheeks glow in embarrassment. “It’s not your fault, my son.”

He rests his phone against his shoulder, listening to its soft crackles, “I’m sure you’re tired. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Till hums, “Mm, okay.”

Before he can end the call, he hears Io say, “Happy birthday, my shining star. I love you so much.”

“Thank you.” He laughs, a light, airy, little thing.

A month after the crash, Till runs out of tampons, and an intense pain sends him gripping on the ledge of the bathroom sink. He stopped locking the door during his recovery after Ivan began sporadically scratching the door if he took too long in the shower. Till groans, and Ivan comes knocking because he’s a fucking pervert with the ability to differentiate Till’s groans of pain from his groans of horniness.

“Till?”

Why does he sound like he’s going to cry? Has he mentioned that he hates Ivan yet?

“Shut up. I’m fine, I just ran out of—”

He hears their apartment door click shut. Till clenches his pussy, stopping the blood from dripping out. How is Ivan a working man in society? He’s genuinely so off-putting, and Till humps his hips against the inseam of his shorts; he rubs his thighs, biting his lips till they bleed, and he thinks: I’m going to break up with this man if he doesn’t come back in the next minute.

Ivan comes back after Till counts to 57, and the bathroom door flies off its hinges. Till shrieks, inching closer to the bathtub in the corner, blood leaks into his underwear.

“You bastard! The door wasn’t even locked!”

Ivan shrugs, dropping the plastic bag filled with tampons, “I can pay for it.”

“That’s—! I like having a bathroom door—Hey!”

Ivan carries Till, placing him onto the sink, and flattening him like a pretzel against the mirror and the broad expanse of Ivan’s chest. Till whines like a slut, and Ivan just smiles with that stupid little snaggletooth. He shoves his thumb into Till’s mouth; he huffs, licking Ivan’s thumb. Ivan’s cock is going to explode. Till is so cute, licking his thumb like a little kitten. Ivan needs to ensure that he comes with Till’s squirt, and blood dripping down his chin, so he clenches his balls, keeping the semen in. He drops down to the tiled floor; he’s in line with Till’s pussy, blowing air against it. Till whimpers, gripping Ivan’s hair, and giving him premature baldness. Ivan sniffs his pussy, once, twice, before mouthing the seam of his shorts; he feels Till press against his face with a moan, harder, Ivan thinks.

Ivan’s eyes roll back slightly. Till smells absolutely divine. His pussy aerates the bathroom with an earthy, coppery smell, and Ivan thinks he’s reached Valhalla. He wishes diffuser companies would make a scent out of Till’s pussy, Ivan would buy hundreds, thousands, until their stock eventually runs out.

He pulls Till’s shorts down while shifting for the box of tampons; he crushes the box, opening it with one hand, and tipping the tampons out. Ivan kisses Till’s thighs, lathering love bites across his milky skin, and he looks up at Till, holding the small, cotton cylinder up.

“Do you want me to help you put this in?” He purrs, rubbing his cheek against Till’s mauled thigh.

Till shakes his head; he spreads his legs wider, biting his lip, and brings Ivan’s face closer to his pulsing pussy. Ivan dives in, tongue first, licking the seam of his clothed pussy from top to bottom. Till’s ass twitches, and it’s so fucking hot.

“Oh god… Ivan…” Till moans, grinding his hips against his face. Till is so cute, the cutest thing in the entire world.

Ivan pulls away, yanking Till’s underwear down. Till whines, the cold air brushing against him as blood dribbles down his perineum.

“Ivan…” Till whimpers, and Ivan coos, licking the blood before spreading Till’s pussy wider, and tonguing his hole. Till jerks, rutting his hips into Ivan’s face. He pisses out more blood, and Ivan laps it up like a starved man.

When Ivan presses two of his fingers into his hole, Till hiccups, instinctively jerking away. Ivan just presses his hips down onto the edge of the sink. He noses at Till’s clit, rubbing his fingers all over Till’s walls, and more blood gushes out, dripping down Ivan’s fingers. Ivan growls, watching the blood drip onto the tiled floor; he humps his cock into the sink cabinet.

“Till, what a waste.” He tuts.

“F—Fuck off,” Till says, tired, hoarse, and fucked out.

Without much warning, Ivan rams a third finger in, finger fucking him while simultaneously pressing up against his G-spot. Till squeaks, and Ivan goes to town on his clit.

“Fuck— Ivan— Slow down!” Till's eyes roll back.

Ivan bites his clit, sucks it, and then pulls out his fingers. Till doesn’t know whether he’s whining from the emptiness in his hole, or the fact that his pussy drips out blood like a leaking faucet. Ivan quickly replaces his fingers with his mouth, lapping up the blood along his labia and rubbing circles around his clit. Till feels like he can’t breathe, grinding into Ivan’s face, faster, and harder.

As Ivan pinches his clit, and tongue fucks Till’s hole, he orgasms so fucking hard, suffocating Ivan and bowing his back like Tempura. He squirts all over Ivan’s face, on his hair, eyebrows, and the bridge of his nose; nothing is left untouched. Ivan hums, a deep baritone vibrating against Till’s overstimulated pussy.

“Stop, stop.”

Ivan lets out a loud whine, pushing his face harder into Till’s pussy, his nasal tip rubs against his clit, and Till shrieks, squirting again.

Till feels a vein pop, and he yanks Ivan off of him—Ivan’s panting, tongue out like a dog, deranged, horny, sex-crazed bastard. 

“Jesus Christ, enough! Did you even come?”

Till looks down at the front of Ivan’s jeans, and there’s an incredibly obvious wet patch. He flushes, looking at it in disgust before looking back up at Ivan’s face.

He’s a mess. There’s dried blood all over his chin, and his forehead is wet with come; his skin is so red, it looks like it’s been burnt. Till hates that his pussy clenches again, looking at Ivan’s wide fucking smile; it genuinely looks uncanny.

He pulls Ivan up, licking the dried blood off his face, and opening his mouth for Ivan to shove his tongue down his throat.

After Ivan cleaned up the bathroom (i.e. Till), and Till finally put the tampon in his vagina where it belonged, they sat in the living room with a heatpack on Till’s stomach while Ivan squeezed him in his lap.

“Till. Till, Till. I want to store your fluids in a jar, so I can always smell them.” He mumbles, all crazy and psychotic. Till feels him touching his fucking womb.

He shivers, neck turning red, “Ivan. One more word, and there will be a sex ban for life!” He says, shoving his elbow into Ivan’s chin.

It’s Ivan’s third Christmas with Till and Io; it’s the night before the 25th of December, and Io is out grocery shopping. Before she left, Till insisted that he and Ivan come, but she pinched his cheek, scolding him.

“Are you saying I’m old? I’m perfectly capable of going out by myself!”

And she slammed the door in their faces.

Till nudges his foot against the side of Ivan’s face, “I’m bored.”

“Mm, would you like to watch a movie then?” He hums, bringing Till’s foot into his lap and massaging his ligaments and tendons.

Till ponders, “Nah, you brought the Switch, right?”

Ivan nods.

Till says, scratching his nose, “Let’s play Minecraft or something.”

When Ivan stands, Till hears the thud of something very heavy and metallic hit the ground like a pin drop. 

He looks at Ivan, and then down at the weirdly shiny spot on his floor, “Ivan, is that a ring?”

And Ivan attempts to swallow the titanium band. 

“Ivan! What the fuck! Drop it!” 

Dinner that night is filled with tension; Io seems to be unaware of it all, gushing over Till’s recently released EP. Ivan grips Till’s thigh, and his pussy throbs; he needs to get a fucking grip, he’s in front of his mother for fucksakes!

It feels like 50 years have passed when Io finally decides to clear the table. Till quickly grabs her plates and tells Ivan to haul ass over to the kitchen sink.

“You’re not going to shower first, Till?”

“N—” Ivan palms his bony ass, thank god the kitchen island blocks everything from Io’s view.

"No!" He squeaks.

Io stares at him in concern, “No! It’s okay! You’re probably tired, so you go first! Ivan and I will wash up.”

Io eyes him suspiciously, but concedes with a sigh, thank god, “Alright, then.”

He feels Ivan’s hand cup his cunt, and Till fucking leaks into his underwear. He pushes Ivan away, “Stop, you sex fiend! We’re in a sacred place!” He hisses, yes, his home, where he grew up with his beautiful mother, is incredibly sacred, and shall never be defiled. Ivan nuzzles into Till’s neck.

“Sex fiend? Then why are you groping my cock like that?”

What? He’s not— Oh god, he really is.

When they hear the bathroom door close, Ivan lifts him by his ass, plunking him onto the countertop. He grinds his cock against his pussy, and Till’s hole clenches on absolutely nothing. He’s so desperate; it’s fucking pathetic.

Till grits his teeth, voice low in warning, “Ivan. Get off of me, my mother is barely five metres away from us!”

Ivan hums, eagerly licking into Till’s mouth. Till lets him, rubbing his tongue against Ivan’s. 

“Mm, I can get you off.” He husks, pecking Till’s lips before nibbling love bites on his neck.

Till yanks Ivan’s head, “Nothing above the collarbone, you hear me? Mum finishes using the bathroom in an hour.” He moans when Ivan tongues his clavicle.

“How many times do you think I can make you squirt in an hour?”

Ivan presses his thumb against the polyester covering Till’s clit; he moans, spreading his legs wider.

Io was right, he lets Ivan get away with too much. 

Till squirted two out of three times because the third one didn’t count; he thought he heard Io coming out of the bathroom, and when Ivan thrusted so deeply into him, grinding into his womb, he squirted all over his pubic bone with a gasp. Ivan thought it was the sexiest thing ever: Till, did you just piss yourself thinking Io was going to catch us? You’re so dirty.

Okay, maybe the third one counts because it’s worse thinking his mother catching them in the act made him squirt, so fine, you win, Ivan.

When Io comes out, she distantly tells the boys, ‘Good night,’ before entering her bedroom, and Ivan, the insatiable fucking bastard, looks at him and wiggles his eyebrows.

Till pinches Ivan in the dick, and the prick moans, “I hate you.”

Till comes all over the shower tiles with tears in his eyes, while Ivan pounds into him from behind. 

His grip slips against the tiles numerous times as Ivan goes haywire on his pussy; his thighs squeeze around Ivan’s ears.

“Come on, all over my face.” Ivan hums, fisting his cock, and Till squirts when his snaggletooth snags his clit.

Ivan fists into Till’s hair, forcing him down onto his cock. Till lets his teeth slide against Ivan’s veins in warning, and the fucker lets out a guttural moan, grinding into Till’s epiglottis; he chokes, his eyes let fat droplets slip, and Ivan starts frantically thrusting into the tight cavern of his mouth. Till thinks he’s going to throw up. 

He closes his eyes, sucking harder, and Ivan presses his face into his pubes, coming eight months' worth of rope; it’s fucking insane. When he pulls out, Till slumps against the shower tiles with the warm water hitting his face, and Ivan hauls his legs over his shoulders. He stands, and Till grips his hair for dear life.

“If you drop me, I’ll fucking kill you, asshole!”

Ivan mouths at his swollen cunt, and Till’s complaints soon turn into moans.

He slumps against the bathtub as Ivan scratches his scalp, the blowdryer whirs to life.

“Ivan.” He mumbles, his voice thin and scratchy.

Ivan angles his head down, drying the pieces on the back of his nape, “Yes, Till?”

Till moans when Ivan squeezes his nape, pressing down and massaging a tender spot, “You can’t propose to me, not now, at least.”

The blowdryer continues, filling the silence, “I haven’t even told my mum that we’re together, yet.”

Till’s voice wavers with guilt; he will tell her. He doesn’t like keeping secrets from his mum.

The blowdryer shuts off, and Ivan grips his shoulders, manhandling him so he can see his face. Ivan’s eyes are so wide, and Till can see the red hue of his pupils pulsing.

“Till. Do you really mean that?”

Till answers, a little annoyed, “Yeah? Of course I’ll tell my mum, she isn’t fucking homophobic or anything—”

Ivan cuts him off, “No. You said I can propose, are you going to say yes?”

And Till feels his stomach flutter; he thinks back to when Hyuna said that he’ll find ‘the one.’

“Not if you propose to me in front of my mother.” Till scolds affectionately, pinching Ivan’s knee; this response is enough as confirmation.

Ivan lifts Till into his lap, sniffing and rubbing his face against Till’s neck like he’s scenting him; he pets Ivan’s curls, and Ivan squeezes back.

“You know, that’s not the only ring I bought.”

“What?” Till stops petting him.

Ivan nuzzles into Till’s collarbone, “I bought three different designs, the one you saw then is a simple titanium band with teal embedded into it. The other two are diamond rings, and they recently shipped out.”

Till gazes at Ivan, letting the words linger. He looks at Ivan; Ivan, who bought him a new phone the very same day he lost his old one. Ivan, who cancelled his flight, and told Till to call his mum after he was discharged from the hospital. Ivan, who bought three different fucking ring designs. Ivan, who dried Till’s hair because he still doesn’t know how to dry it properly. The very same Ivan, who met the blazing eyes of his younger self and punched him back 15 years ago.

He laughs, one that has his stomach turning into knots, and kisses Ivan till he’s breathless; it feels like homecoming.

On the early morning of Christmas, Till stumbles out into the kitchen and sees Io sipping on hot cocoa with a book in her other hand. 

“Merry Christmas, mum.”

Io looks up, and her gaze softens at his ruffled hair, “Merry Christmas, my little star.”

Till smiles, sitting down next to her and adjusting his eyes to the morning light. The clock behind their heads ticks, and Till nervously bounces his knee; it hits the table, and Io eyes him through the brim of her mug.

“Till.”

He squeaks, forcing his knee into a stationary position.

Io sighs, placing her mug down, “It’s okay, take your time.”

Till watches her thumb another page in her book, he looks down, squeezing his eyes shut when he begins, “Ivan and I…” Aren’t just friends? Are in cahoots? Are dating? Are planning to get married? Fucked like rabbits in your kitchen, sorry! Oh, and your bathroom too!

Io places everything down on the table, turning her body towards Till and taking his hands.

“Till, it’s okay, I know.”

He opens his eyes; his mother looks at him, and he feels the amalgamation of 22 years' worth of love and care in that gaze. Tears build up in the corners of his eyelids. 

“How?” He chokes on the word, and Io squeezes his hands.

“Oh, Till. Come on, don’t be silly. That boy looks at you like you created the universe in seven days.”

Till is definitely crying; he’s not even going to try to deny it.

She continues, “You know, I always knew there was something. I think it began when he gave you that ugly bruise.”

Io brings him onto her shoulder, his hiccups muffling into her cotton shirt, “Till, it’s okay, I already told him that I approved of him the last time I saw him.”

The last time she saw him was Mother’s Day; he stutters out another sob.

“He loves you. No, he’s utterly besotted with you.” She whispers into his ear, rocking him back and forth.

Till pulls away, wiping his snot and tears. Io grabs the nearest tissue box, and Till’s nose finally dries after 15 tissues. He watches as his mother sips on her cocoa, hiding her smile behind the steam.

“Love finds you in ways where you’ll least expect, my shining star.”

After an incredibly tearful confession, Io shoos Till back into his room: Breakfast is in two hours, okay?

Till closes his door gently, and Ivan is still asleep, he subconsciously buries his face into the empty spot where Till slept. His heart aches.

He jumps onto Ivan’s back, who, in turn, awakens with an ‘Oomf.’ He turns around with bleary eyes, and when he sees Till, he smiles.

“Morning.”

He maneuvers Till so that he’s lying on his chest, Ivan squeezes his ass, perv.

“Hi.” Till sighs, nuzzling into Ivan’s chest. He turns his head to the side, looking at his childhood drawings.

“The answer is yes, by the way, if you’re thinking about doing it now.”

Ivan sits up like he’s been re-animated. He squeezes Till around his waist, his biceps bulge around him, and Till oogles them with half-lidded eyes.

“Yes? But the ring is in my bag.” Ivan blushes furiously, his smile splits across his face like an idiot.

“That’s fine. You can give a speech for each ring, and I’ll pick the one I like the best.” Till smiles, smug, and so, so fucking happy.

“Yes, yes, absolutely.” And Ivan kisses him until his jaw aches; until Io calls them for breakfast.