Chapter Text
The hallways of Anakt Primary School were extra crowded today, mixing with the excited chatter and the scrape of tiny shoes on linoleum floods. For most kids, the noise was just background, but for Ivan, the sound piled up like crashing waves–too loud, too fast– making his chest tighten and his vision blur around the edges.
He gripped his backpack straps tighter, searching for calm.
“Here,” Sua said softly, offering her hand in order to squeeze Ivan’s own gently. “I’ll see you at lunch.”
Ivan nodded, watching as his older sister navigated the sea of students toward her classroom, her confident steps cutting through the chaos like a lifeline.
He stood still, overwhelmed by the sensory storm swirling around him, until his gaze landed on the one person who could make this situation bearable.
Till sat slumped against the lockers, head bowed, sketchbook balanced in his knees as he absentmindedly doodled. A fresh bruise marred his cheek–deep purple and angry. He never said where the marks came from–but Ivan knew. He had felt it the night before, sharp and raw, like a silent scream echoing from across the city. The pain and fear had reached him even then, unspoken but undeniable.
The moment their eyes met, the noise softened. The chaos that had threatened to pull Ivan apart settled into something quieter, something bearable. Till was here. That was all that mattered.
Ivan took a steady breath and moved towards him, taking his seat by Till’s side.
“You’re late. I actually managed to beat you here.” Till teased, nudging Ivan as he settled in.
“Mom and Dad are in town. They wanted to go out and have breakfast together.” Ivan said quietly, leaning in and watching as Till went back to his drawing. It looked to be either a scary dragon or a really ugly dog, Ivan couldn’t tell.
“Must be nice to have parents that want to do those sorts of things with you,” Till shrugged, not meaning anything by it, but nonetheless, the words still stung.
In truth, this was the first time Ivan had seen his parents all semester. They might as well have forgotten he existed, only showing up to their mansion like visitors dusting off old toys.
But he wasn’t completely alone–he had Sua.
And more importantly, he had Till.
He smiled, despite himself.
“Yeah… it is nice.”
The shrill ring of the school bell cut through the hallway, signalling the start of class.
Till pushed off from the lockers, a mischievous grin tugging on his lips. “Race you to the classroom!” he challenged.
Ivan hesitated only a moment before matching Till’s grin. “You’re on.”
They took off, feet pounding the linoleum as they weaved between slower students and dodged a sharp “No running in the halls!” from a nearby teacher. The warnings bounced off them like distant thunder, unimportant and forgettable.
The weight of bruises, silence at home, and the chaos of the world fell away. All that mattered was the rush of air, the sound of their laughter echoing down the corridor, and the feeling of Till just ahead, a steady presence guiding Ivan forward.
Ivan’s heart beat faster, not from fear of getting caught but from the simple joy of sharing this moment–this small, fleeting piece of freedom–with his best friend. No matter what waited behind the classroom door, here and now, they were just two kids racing down a hall, unburdened and alive.
The classroom smelled faintly of chalk dust and old books, a mix of clean paper and something worn from years of students passing through. The hum of whispered voices filled the air as the kids shuffled inside, their footsteps scraping softly against the scuffed floor.
Ivan’s heart still fluttered from the rush down the hall, but the noise here felt different–closer, but quieter somehow. His fingers brushed the smooth edge of his desk and he found his seat, the cool surface grounding him.
The classroom was an entirely different experience than the hallways.
Ivan thrived here, despite the ever present anxiety of a crowded space. Learning came naturally to him, especially science, where everything made sense in neat patterns and clear rules. He soaked up facts and formulas with ease, the material unfolding like a puzzle waiting to be solved.
But the best part wasn’t the lessons themselves– it was tutoring Till after school. Till struggled with most subjects, stumbling over concepts that came easily to others, and getting frustrated during tests while Ivan quietly worked nearby. Still, Ivan felt something more beneath it all–a subtle connection in their breathing, the quickening of their hearts whenever things got tough.
He didn’t fully understand it, but he liked the challenge: balancing his own studying while sharing Till’s frustration from across the room. Those sessions were more than just homework help–they were quiet moments that pulled them closer, weaving their worlds together in ways Ivan couldn’t quite explain.
The classroom chatter settled into a soft murmur as the teacher moved to the front in order to take attendance, the soft tap of her shoes on the tile drawing everyone’s attention, her eyes scanning each eager face. Ivan took a slow breath, letting the small sounds of the classroom settle around him like a blanket.
He looked over to Till, who was settled a few rows away, scribbling lightly in his sketchbook. The page a quiet reminder of the world Till escaped into when things got too loud or too hard.
Till must have felt his gaze, because he looked up. Their eyes met across the classroom.
For a second, Till just stared, then his mouth tilted into a small, crooked smile. He lifted his pencil in a lazy little salute.
Ivan ducked his head quickly, heat rushing to his face, but he smiled too. His shoulders loosened, the tightness in his chest easing just a bit.
Till went back to drawing, and somehow, the room felt steadier again.
“Now class, today we have an extra special lesson I’m sure that you all will love.” the teacher said, her voice gentle, an excited smile on her face. “Has anyone ever heard of the term soulmates before?”
For once, Ivan didn’t have an answer–and that almost bothered him more than the question itself. It was a rare occurrence when he had not even heard of the topic they were learning about.
A girl near the window raised her hand, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “I read in a fairytale book that soulmates are two people meant to be together forever. Like true love!”
Ivan blinked. Fairytales had neer really been his forte. He preferred facts, things you could prove–bugs, stars, systems that made sense. Still, he stayed quiet and listened.
The teacher smiled softly and continued. “Correct. Soulmate bonds are believed to connect two people through their emotions. When one feels something strongly like joy, pain, or fear, the other shares it too. You are permanently linked to that person, no matter how far apart you are.”
Ivan’s eyes flicked to Till, sitting quietly in his seat, expression unreadable.
Something in Ivan’s chest shifted. A click, soft and careful, as if a door he hadn’t known how to open had finally been given a handle.
The idea sounded romantic, almost magical. But more than that, it felt familiar.
A strange flutter stirred in Ivan’s chest–a warmth that spread from his ribs out to his fingertips, like a secret he’d been carrying without knowing its name. His heart beat faster, steady and sure, as it finally understood why it always seemed to match Till’s without trying.
For the first time, the way he felt didn’t seem confusing or wrong. It had a shape now. A reason. Ivan belonged somewhere. Not just in this noisy, overwhelming world, but to someone. To Till.
It was a feeling soft and bright, like the gentle flutter of butterflies trapped behind his ribs, filling the empty spaces that had long whispered loneliness.
He didn’t fully understand what it meant, but at that moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something beautiful to begin.
Which only made the crash back down to reality hurt Ivan even more.
Suddenly, Till slammed his hands down on the desk, making the whole class jump. The sharp sound echoed through the room like thunder. His face was flushed, eyes blazing with something fierce and raw– Ivan could feel the anger, fear, and frustration all tangled together down their bond.
“I don’t want a soulmate!” Till’s voice rang loud and clear. “I don’t want someone telling me who I have to love! I want to figure things out on my own, not be tied down by some invisible string!”
The classroom fell silent, all eyes on him. Ivan’s heart twisted painfully in his chest, his own feelings a jumble of confusion and sadness, all drowned out in Till’s intense fury.
The teacher stepped forward gently, hands raised in calm. “Till, it’s meant to be romantic–”
“No!” Till cut her off, voice sharp and unwavering. “It’s not romantic if it takes away my choice. I don’t want it. I never will!”
Ivan watched, helpless and heartbroken, as Till’s words hung in the air– defiant and desperate. The room felt unbearably heavy, the echoes of Till’s words lingering like a cold shower.
As the teacher attempted to calm Till down, Ivan sat frozen in his seat, hands clenched tightly in his lap. His chest ached in a way he didn’t have the words for yet, sharp and hollow all at once. The warm, fluttering feeling he’d had just moments ago faded fast, like it had never really been there at all.
He felt small.
And suddenly, very alone again.
What if he said the wrong thing?
What if Till looked at him the way he looked at everyone else–angry, cornered, like he was being trapped?
The thought made Ivan’s stomach twist.
So he stayed quiet.
The class slowly moved on, but Ivan didn’t hear much of it. His thoughts circled, bumping into the same idea over and over until it stopped hurting quite so much.
If Till didn’t want a soulmate… then Ivan wouldn’t be that.
If Till didn’t want something permanent, something named, something he hadn’t chosen…Ivan could live with that.
He could still walk him to class.
Still sit beside him at lunch.
Still have someone to run to when things got too loud, too scary, or too much.
He didn’t need Till to feel the same way–he just needed Till to stay.
Ivan swallowed and let the ache settle somewhere deep and quiet inside him, folding it away carefully.
Being in Till’s life–any way he could– was better than not having him there at all.
And if that meant loving him quietly, then Ivan could do that too.
Time continued to pass after that.
They grew up side by side, two kids who somehow made the chaos of school a little easier to handle.
Like the time Ivan had messed up his presentation for a project, only for Till to purposefully stumble even harder, causing the whole class to laugh at his screw up and forget all about Ivan’s jumbled up notes.
Or the rainy afternoon they’d spent hiding under an old oak tree, sharing secrets and trying not to get soaked while they waited for Ivan’s driver to come pick them up.
Till was always the one who laughed the loudest, even when his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Ivan figured it was just Till’s way of keeping the bad stuff at bay.
Though due to their bond, Till couldn’t hide anything from Ivan. Behind every laugh, there was fear, sorrow, uncertainty.
Ivan swore to himself he’d one day wash all of Till’s bad feelings away. Till was his constant after all–his best friend, his partner in crime, the one person who made the world feel a little less scary.
That was enough for Ivan.
Still, some nights were harder than others.
Tonight being one of those nights.
Ivan hadn't slept.
The clock on his phone glowed dimly from his bedside table, the numbers changed slowly, mockingly. He'd rolled onto his back hours ago and hadn't moved since, staring up at the ceiling while something sharp and restless twisted in his chest.
Till was awake.
Not just awake, he was hurting.
The feelings came in waves, crashing hard enough to steal Ivan's breath. Anger first, hot and unfocused, followed by fear so sharp it made his fingers curl into the sheets. Ivan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to separate himself from it, trying to remind himself that these feelings weren't his.
Despite Ivan living with this for the past eighteen years, it never got any easier. Ignoring the terror that was not his has never worked before.
Ivan pressed his palm to his chest, breathing through the feeling of his pounding heart.
It’s just a bad night, he told himself. Till had those sometimes. He always had. Nights where his dad would come home drunk and rile him up, or when pressure caught up to him all at once. Ivan had learned over the years how to wait it out.
Except this was different.
The anger sharpened again, bleeding into panic, then collapsing into something heavy and aching. Fear. Sorrow. Loneliness so deep it felt like it stretched back years.
Ivan swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He stood there for a long moment, staring at the floor, his mind already racing ahead. If he went over, he’d need an excuse, it was past two in the morning after all. Something normal. Something that didn’t sound like I felt you hurting and couldn’t stay away.
The bond had always been his secret to keep afterall. He had protected it carefully, tucked it away behind silence and excuses and being good at noticing things no one else did.
But when the fear twisted into something raw and empty– when the loneliness and fear settled in like it meant to stay–Ivan stopped thinking altogether.
He grabbed his jacket.
The night air was cool, biting just enough to keep him grounded as he crossed the driveway to his car. The city was quiet at this hour, empty roads humming faintly with distant traffic. With every mile, the pull of the bond grew stronger, tugging at him like a thread wound too tight to ignore.
Till lived on the cheaper side of the city, in a small one bedroom apartment he shared with his father. The neighborhood was usually safe enough, but the darkness made Ivan uneasy.
Ivan parked right outside Till’s window, telling himself that he was only here to check, just to make sure that Till was okay. His heart pounded as he approached the window– not because of the bond, but from his own fear. The lights inside were off, yet Till’s emotions were as intense as ever. Ivan prayed he wasn’t still fighting with his father in the living room.
Slowly–agonizingly slowly–Ivan pushed the window open, already making a mental note to reprimand Till for leaving it unlocked at night. He eased the curtains aside and peered in. Till wasn’t there, but that wasn’t the worst part.
The bed was untouched. No guitar hung on the wall. No second hand laptop. No familiar sprawl of clothes littered the floor. No sketchbooks or pencils lay abandoned on the dresser. The room was stripped bare of everything Till cared about.
Ivan’s stomach dropped. Something was seriously wrong.
The bond pulsed again– sharp, scared, unbearably alone.
He strained to hear the living room. A television blared through the walls, but there was no shouting, no crying. That alone told Ivan that Till wasn’t here–but he had to be sure. He slipped through the window and crept to the bedroom door, pressing his ear against the hardwood and closed his eyes.
There was movement. Urak’s voice–cursing, grunting–but nothing else. If Till had been there, the apartment would have been in chaos.
Which meant he must have left. Ivan quickly slipped back out the window in order to go search for his missing soulmate.
He tried calling Till's phone, only for it to go straight to voicemail. Ivan bit his lip in frustration.
With nothing else to do, he started his car back up and began looking for Till.
Thankfully, it didn't take long.
Till was on a bus stop bench, his guitar case and a beat up duffle bag abandoned at his feet.
“Ivan?” Till sniffed when the car pulled up to the curb, hastily wiping his eyes.
“Till–what happened?”
One of Till's eyes was swollen nearly shut and there was a large gash on his forehead oozing blood. Ivan swore under his breath and quickly went back to his car rummaging through his glove compartment to produce some napkins. He returned and sat beside him, gently dabbing at the wound. Luckily, it was a shallow cut, messy, but not dangerous. Ivan recalled hearing one time that head wounds tend to bleed a lot.
“What are you doing here?” Till asked, neatly dodging the question. His tone was sharp, annoyed–but their bond told a different story, desperate radiating off Till in waves.
“I couldn't sleep, so I went for a drive,” Ivan said smoothly, technically not a lie.
Till raised an eyebrow. “All the way across town?”
Ivan shrugged, “I'll admit, I had a nightmare. I called to check on you, and when you didn't answer… I got worried.”
It was flimsy, he knew it, but Ivan was improvising.
Till studied his face for a moment longer before sighing and leaning into Ivan's hand.
“Must’ve been one hell of a nightmare if you felt the need to hunt me down,” he said softly. “Want to talk about it?”
Ivan swallowed, staring at the blood drying on Till's skin and the napkin
“Not even a little bit,” Ivan said quietly, “I want you to tell me what happened.”
Till took the napkin from Ivan in order to hold it to his own head and pulled away.
“The same thing that always happens.” He said flatly. “Old man came home drunk and pissed. Lost his job apparently, and decided I was the easiest target to take it out on.” He huffed a bitter laugh. “He was… really angry this time. It ended with him grabbing a beer bottle and smashing it over my head.”
“Oh Till…” Ivan murmured, “You should press charges, you're an adult,”
He already knew how Till would answer.
“It's not worth my time. Even if I did win, it will be much worse when he gets out of jail.”
“Get a restraining order.”
Till let out a short bitter laugh.
“As if he'd actually follow it. Trust me, I'm better off quitting while I'm ahead.”
“Next time could be worse,” Ivan pressed. “You can't keep letting him get away with treating you like this.”
“There won't be a next time.” Till's voice was firm as he nodded to his belongings at his feet. “I'm not going back.”
The words took Ivan by surprise. He'd offered Till a place to stay more times than he could count, each one stubbornly refused. To hear him say it now–to know that he finally found the courage to leave– made Ivan's heart pound.
He was impossibly proud of him.
“So,” Ivan said, unable to keep the hope out of his voice, “are you finally taking me up on my offer to come live at my place?”
“I haven't changed my mind. I won't freeload off of you and your parents.”
“My parents aren't around enough to notice.”
“Still, I refuse to take handouts.”
“Don't think of it like that,” Ivan insisted. “Just see it as a much needed break while you get on your feet.” If anyone deserved it, it was Till.
Still, Till shook his head.
“No, if I'm going to make it, it'll be on my own.”
Why had Ivan been cursed with such a stubborn soulmate?
Because you find that endearingly attractive, the voice in his head supplied immediately.
Ivan sighed and searched for a compromise. He wasn't about to leave Till on this bench alone in the middle of the night. Even if he couldn't feel the need for companionship radiating off his best friend, the idea made his stomach twist.
“Okay,” Ivan said at last. “New plan. You come with me tonight, then tomorrow, you and I will go apartment hunting.”
“With what money? If you think I'm going to let you-” Till started only for Ivan to cut him off.
“I'll cover the down payment as well as the first month's rent,” he said quickly. “You use that time to find a job, then pay for the next two months. After that, we split everything evenly.”
“You can't just give up living in a fucking mansion for me!”
“A mansion that belongs to my parents.” Ivan shot back. “I'm eighteen now, I think it's time that I move out.”
How he'd explain that to his parents was a problem for later.
Ivan could see it on Till's face as well as feel it in their bond, Till wanted to argue. Ivan smiled and waited patiently, always ready for whatever Till threw at him.
“You'll hate it. No space, no privacy, noisy neighbors no matter the hour.”
“I grew up in a house with twelve bathrooms, I think I'll survive sharing one.”
“Your family and their friends will talk. Rich kid moving in with some low-life with not a cent to his name.”
“One, you're not a low-life, and two, let them talk. I enjoy being spontaneous to them.”
“What if I can't find a job in time? Or it doesn't pay well enough and I can't cover the whole rent for those two months?”
“There's no rush, just pay it back when you can, or never, I don’t care. You can even do it in small doses, buy groceries or take over a bill every once in a while.”
Till still looked unsure, Ivan knew he'd have to push just a little more.
“I'll even sweeten the deal.” He said lightly. “Let me move in with you, and I'll help you with your music career.”
“How? You aren't going to use your parent's resources to-”
“I'll be your drummer.”
Till had been begging Ivan to form a band for four years now. It started one day after school, during an aimless stop to a music store. The kind shop owner allowed them to try a variety of instruments, no rush, no pressure. Ivan had gravitated towards the drums without thinking, while Till made a beeline to an electric guitar.
By the time they left the shop, Till was already ecstatically talking about band names.
Ivan had refused, every time. It was one thing to play with Till in quiet rooms, where the sounds stayed contained and predictable. It was another thing entirely to perform in front of a crowd. The thought of dozens of voices crashing together, of lights and movement and attention pulling at him from every direction, made his chest tighten.
Music, especially the drums, was something Ivan could control–rhythm, timing, patterns that made sense if he focused hard enough. A crowd would break all of that. Screaming, clapping off-beat, people shouting things he wouldn’t know how to respond to. Too many eyes, too many expectations, all at once.
He didn’t know how to explain that to Till without sounding ridiculous, so he never tried. It was easier to say no than to admit the noise alone was enough to leave him shaky and exhausted, that even imagining it made his skin feel too tight.
All that being said, Ivan understood that he was asking a lot by offering to step in and help with Till’s living situation. It wasn’t lost on him how much pride it would cost Till to even consider it. The least Ivan could do was meet him in the middle–push past his own hesitations and give Till something he’d been asking for all along.
Ivan could tell by the way Till’s eyes lit up that he had him right where he wanted him.
“Seriously?” Till asked, a little breathless. “You’re not just saying that?”
“Seriously.” Ivan didn’t hesitate. “We can form a band–but only if you allow me to help you out of this rough patch.”
Just like that, all of Till’s hesitation vanished. Pride went straight out the window.
“Deal!”
Ivan laughed, shaking his head. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy. The excitement that rippled through their bond was warm and bright, easing the tension that had been hanging over them all night.
Ivan stood and offered his hand to his battered best friend.
“Come on,” he said. “Let's get you home and cleaned up. You look horrible.”
“Thanks asshole,” Till scoffed, but he took Ivan’s hand nonetheless.
Apartment hunting turned out to be easier than either of them expected. Ivan took the process very seriously, asking careful questions and reading leases line by line, while Till followed along providing unhelpful but passionate commentary. Any place with bad lighting was “a crime,” anything on the third floor was “a personal attack,” and one apartment was immediately vetoed because the walls were “too thin to support artistic expression.”
They argued–good-naturedly–about distance, price, and whether “cozy” was code for “claustrophobic,” eventually landing on a decently sized, two bedroom apartment tucked between a coffee shop and a laundromat that Till insisted smelled like freshly ground coffee if the wind was just right. It wasn’t much, but it was quiet, and for the first time, it felt like something that belonged to them.
Moving in, unfortunately, was not as easy.
Ivan handled the situation the only way he knew how–by over-preparing. By the amount of boxes they had to lug up the stairs, one would think they were moving into their tenth apartment rather than their first. Ivan had bought proper dishes instead of mismatched ones, bath towels the same shade as their shower curtain, and furniture that didn’t wobble when you looked at it too hard. He also, very deliberately, bought Till a bed. Not a secondhand one, only the best for his precious soulmate/best friend. It was solid. Memory foam. Comfortable.
Till’s face was priceless as he found Ivan halfway through putting it together.
He froze in the doorway, staring at it like it might disappear if he blinked. The bond warmed with something bright and overwhelming, and Ivan suddenly found the parts in his hands very interesting.
“How much-” Till started.
“It was on sale,” Ivan replied quickly. “And you can’t just sleep on the floor, it just made sense.”
Till laughed, soft and disbelieving, and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Probably,” Ivan agreed.
The couch didn’t fit. This became apparent after twenty minutes of determined optimism, three scraped knuckles, and Till laughing so hard he had to sit on the floor. Ivan solved the problem by measuring the doorway after the fact and muttering numbers under his breath like that might change reality. Boxes were mislabeled, Ivan forgot several things back at his house, and at one point Till sat cross-legged in the middle of the living room surrounded by cables, insisting that he could “feel” which ones went together.
Their first night in the apartment didn’t look anything like either of them had imagined.
The internet was still down, for one. Till had spent the better part of two hours on the phone, pacing in slow, frustrated circles while arguing with customer service, alternating between forced politeness and thinly veiled threats of them “perishing without wi-fi.” Ivan watched amused as he unpacked the kitchen, quietly impressed by the stamina required to stay on hold that long.
Eventually, the customer service rep gave up and simply told Till that they would send someone out in the morning.
They ended up on the couch with cold takeout balanced between them, legs tangled more out of exhaustion than intention, a DVD borrowed from one of Ivan’s boxes playing on his laptop. The apartment was dim, lit by a single lamp and a glow from the street outside, boxes still stacked along the walls, threatening to topple over at any time.
Till was mid-rant about how the noodles tasted better earlier when Ivan’s attention drifted. He watched the way Till leaned back without flinching, how his shoulders stayed loose, how the bond felt–steady, calm, no undercurrent of fear buzzing beneath it. For the first time in longer than Ivan could remember, there was nothing urgent pulling at him. No late-night dread. No spike of panic wondering if Till was hurt, or alone, or worse.
He was here.
Safe. Close enough to reach.
The realization settled over Ivan slowly, warmly. This wasn’t a visit. This wasn’t temporary. He would get to wake up tomorrow and the next day and the one after that with Till still here. No more counting hours. No more listening to the bond in the dark and wondering if he was okay.
‘This must be it,’ Ivan thought. ‘Our happy ending.’
Till nudged his knee with his own. “You’ve been quiet. That’s suspicious.”
Ivan smiled, small and content. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Nothing important.”
Till snorted and went back to his food. Ivan leaned into the couch, letting the moment stretch, letting himself believe–just for tonight–that this was how things would stay.
They were halfway through the movie when Till spoke again.
“I have to admit, I didn’t think this would work,” he said suddenly, eyes still on the laptop.
Ivan blinked. “What part?”
“Any of it,” Till said with a small shrug, slurping down a mouthful of noodles before continuing. “Running away. Living with you. Me not freaking out and bolting the second it felt real.” He hesitated, then added, quieter, “I was wrong.”
Ivan turned toward him fully now.
“I like this,” Till went on. “I like not having someone breathing down my neck. No one screaming, or berating me, or throwing things.” His mouth quirked. “Turns out I’m kind of into being my own person.”
The bond hummed–steady, honest. No fear. No lie.
“I’m glad,” Ivan smiled, warmth spreading in his chest.
A few minutes passed before Till spoke again, lighter now–almost nostalgic.
“You know, this kind of proves I was right when we were kids.”
Ivan snorted softly. “About what?”
“Soulmates,” Till said, like it was obvious. “I told you back then they were too restricting. And that I wasn’t going to let some cosmic bond tell me who I am or who I get to love.”
Ivan remembered. Too clearly.
“I still mean it,” Till went on, unbothered. “Now that I actually have a choice in life, I’m not holding back. I’m gonna date. Whoever I want. The bond doesn’t get to run my life.”
Said bond tugged–not painfully, but insistently, as if it were insulted by the comment. Ivan breathed through it and nodded.
“That’s good,” he said, steady despite the ache. “You deserve to choose.”
Till glanced over at him, surprised at the seriousness in his tone, then smiled–soft and genuine. “Thanks.”
Ivan leaned back into the couch, letting the movie play on.
Perhaps this wasn’t their perfect happy ending afterall, but it was close.
A bittersweet one would be good enough for Ivan.