Chapter Text
“Do you know why Mizi’s not into you?”
What happened to hi, hello, how are you?
Truthfully, Till doesn't know how to respond to that question, as if a lump was lodged inside his throat– should he be disappointed, or frustrated? It's not like Mizi must reciprocate his feelings, if anything he's the one following her like a creep– a coward who hasn't yet confessed. Of all people, he didn’t expect Sua, Mizi’s best friend, to approach him personally. So, here he is, stirring his mocha frappuccino, drawing circles on the whip cream. He can't recall how long they had been sitting here awkwardly– Sua’s blank expression and his anxious disposition doesn't exactly blend well. Legs crossed, Sua purses her lips, sipping on her cup of hot latte– nonchalant about the weird tension growing between them.
It's not that Sua and him are on bad terms– at least that's what Till thinks. They have never really interacted– she doesn't care enough to bother him on trivial matters, nor was she aware of his existence. She reminds him of a flower on lofty heights– an unattainable, flawless beauty. For all Till can recall, Sua is a diligent top-student who's constantly beside his crush, Mizi– by right, they should've never crossed paths, Sua should've never even glance at his direction. Yet somehow, somewhat– Sua initiated a private talk with him, or rather an interrogation, after class.
Hearing his thumping heartbeat,Till has no idea why he's feeling antsy all of the sudden. A red blush paints over his face as he adjusts his shirt collar periodically, avoiding her gaze. The air feels stuffy when she's around, as if the temperature dropped a few degrees from her presence alone. The way Sua clicked her teeth and scrutinized him, as if he's some kind of criminal that had committed atrocities. Still, Till shook his head, and focused on his drink instead, quenching his nervous thoughts. He could never read her– her expressions are subtle, yet Till knows there's an abyss lurking under those lilac eyes.
“Because Mizi likes cute things. And you don't look cute.” Sua answers matter-of-factly, a stark contrast to her angelic appearance. Till can’t comprehend how someone, who appears as gentle as a dove, could come up with such a snarky comment– a direct jab, at his weakest spot. Not like Sua cared to hide her bluntness– at least she is honest.
“Hey!” He retorts, hurt written across his face, despite how much he tries to hide it– like any other dude, he has an ego, and said ego is quashed, grinded and extinguished by the bitter reality. His mother, Io, had always told him that he's a good kid with a fragile heart, and Till would always beg to differ– now it seems that she's right, and Sua really humbled him for good. Like a deflated balloon, Till slumped down on the table, earning a wince from the raven haired girl. This is embarrassing– to admit defeat in front of Mizi’s best friend.
“I– can improve myself!” Till asserts, snapping out of hopelessness– he can't relinquish right now, not when this year is Mizi’s final year of university. His last, only chance. “That’s why you told me this, right? To test how far I'm willing to go for Mizi?” He had never tried to hide his crush towards Mizi, and Till wonders if this is the reason why Sua dislikes him. It must be because he looks too scary to approach– he had received comments about his unusual fashion and snarky attitude. Normally, he would've snarled and walked away– but this is Mizi here. His goddess. Till sulks, thinking that he might have given Mizi the wrong impression, hence why Sua is protective of her. He's the type to be frustrated over his plants withering, to help baby ducklings cross the street, to write silly love songs– how could he even dare to lay a finger on Mizi?
“You're funny, I'll give you that.” Sua pauses, amused by his reaction, though lips pressed into a fine line. Her eyes seemed to convey something Till can't wrap his mind around on, she's like a puzzle he can't decipher at all. If anything, she seemed bored of the conversation, pulling out her phone to text someone. Probably Mizi, or Ivan.
“Is it because of how I dress?” Still, a part of him clung onto hope, despite feeling dejected. Surely, Till assumes that it's not too late to make amendments, there's still time for him to turn the tide over. For now, he’ll listen to her suggestions– that must be the reason why Sua still gave him a chance to hear her out. As long as he plays his cards right, the chance of hitting the jackpot will still remain in his reach.
“Yeah. That's one factor. Also because you're not her type.” A subtle smirk plastered on her face, Sua sits poised and proper, like a victor on her throne. Till must be seeing things, because Sua seemed pleased at his realization– a wave of relief washes her face, and she's back to her usual cold expression.
“What is Mizi’s type then, Sua? Surely you would know something since you're the closest to her, right?” The teal-haired boy frowns, massaging the temples on his head, arranging his thoughts– he has never seen her that close to any guy aside from Ivan, then again Ivan does not seem romantically interested with her at all– he's more like a close friend. If anything, Mizi and Sua are like an inseparable pair, uncaring of how others perceive them. It ironically reminds him of Ivan and himself– if they are not constantly on each other’s throats that is. If Ivan had not been distancing away from him ever since they enrolled into the same uni– Till ignores that thought.
“Get the hint, you moron.” If not for her excellent self-restraint, Sua would have lashed out– still, she must keep her temper, or both of them would be in trouble. At this point, everything is obvious, Sua assumes that any reasonable person would’ve gotten the right picture.
“Okay. I think I connected the dots.” Till nods, reflecting on what Mizi likes –cute keychains, soft music, handmade dolls, flowers– not to be stereotypical, Mizi seems to like feminine things, and these traits are closely linked to Sua as well. Perhaps she likes men who’s on the feminine side? “Thank you for the advice, Sua. You are really kind.” Till murmurs, standing up from his seat before quickly leaving. Finally, he obtained a clear lead on how to win Mizi’s heart. Thanks to Sua for showing him the light.
“I didn't advise shit.” Sua slams the cup onto the table, baffled by his bizarre conclusion– her latte ripples from impact, ruining the perfect foam. Just like her mood, disrupted by minor inconveniences which grew to be malignant. She should've known Till has his own creative way of interpreting things, some mechanism only a genius like him can resonate with. “Damn it.” She clenches her fists, and the table wobbles– silently observing Till as he paid for their bill and waved her goodbye, rosy hues rising up the tips of his ears.
That guy had the audacity to think she's helping him to court her girlfriend. Sua doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.
“This… is ridiculous.” At least it's not hideous, Till reassures himself, unable to properly appreciate his reflection in the mirror.
The dress flutters as Till walks, despite his wobbly movements. The petticoat further enhances the overall aesthetic, puffing up the bell-shaped overskirt. With the weight of the dress accumulating with each layer, Till finds himself appearing like a life-sized doll. Though the blouse fits snuggly, the cute buttons and embroidery was the one that caught Till’s attention. There’s a big, white ribbon pinned on the back of his waist which swishes when he turns around, and it reminds Till of those magical girl comics– still, he wonders if this is too much. Could this really attract Mizi? Sometimes, he finds himself unintentionally staring at his reflection on the mirror, distracted by the frilly headdress on his head to the laced white stockings and his black platform shoes. The bell choker rings as his adam's apple bobbed with each swallow.
Should he scowl in disgust, or be repugnant at this weird dollish state? Maybe throw up and hide away from society, shrivel up in a hole and die. Yet somehow, he can't take his eyes off the intricate dress. For the first time, he felt conveniently attractive– as Sua said, pretty? He doesn't like it, per say– yet hatred is a strong word.
“This colour… is not bad I guess.” He mutters, eyes trailing along the pastel green blouse, finally trying out other colours then black. If Io knew about this, she would've shed a tear, her baby boy has finally decided to be adventurous. He adjusts the headpiece by fastening the ribbons, figuring that it would harmonize better with his outfit. And it did– Till doesn’t know what to do with this new information. Truly, a sense of weird bliss.
He has been trying out various outfits at a far-away boutique from uni, as a safety precaution to not bump into Mizi, Sua or Ivan. His pride would not allow him to embarrass himself in front of anyone familiar. Not even his bandmates Hyuna and Luka can witness him in this humiliative state.
Perhaps Mizi liked femboys– that was Till’s conclusion, or rather, his intuition, which he's confident that he's absolutely correct. It seems plausible, Till admits that this is a popular trend among girls nowadays– though he can definitely pull it off without breaking a sweat. Definitely not because of his scrawny body physique, but because he's desperate. Whatever fuels the fire. For Mizi , he declares in his heart, as he gambles away his dignity.
He first tried on a plain sundress which barely reached his knee, resting above his thighs. This test run was a fail. Immediately he felt nauseous at the flimsy fabric– how the hell does Mizi and Sua wear these without flashing?! As he stepped away from the mirror, the dress kept hiking up his hip, nearly exposing his undergarments. Not to mention how identical this dress is compared to Sua’s– he immediately changed out of it upon realization, not ready to receive a scowl from her just because he became her copycat accidentally.
Eventually, after countless trial and error, he settled for the final look– a pastel green lolita outfit. Modest enough, and cute. The dress accentuates his waist just enough, complimenting his slender figure. Maybe a bit over the top with the ruffles, frills, and lace– but that's not important.
“This better work.” He grunts, almost tripping over from stepping on the long dress, gripping tightly onto the doorframe to not tumble over. Finally, he gathered the courage to step out of the changing room to take a good view of his outfit without being cramped up in the tiny, closeted space. A puff of fresh air– and he relaxes his nerves, soothing the tension.
“Stupid.” Now walking in circles, without a care– Till wonders if he had made the correct decision. Since it's near noon and most of the customers are out for lunch, it's just him and a few employees roaming the store. Quiet enough for Till to mind his business, as he waltzes without a care. Feeling bold, he saunters around the different clothing sections, browsing other outfits with his dress still on. It's just an experiment– he says as he brainwashes himself, taking longer strolls and occasionally posing at a mirror or two, trying to find the best posture. Just trying to look the best for Mizi. Not because he actually admired how he looked in the mirror. That would be gay– and Till is as straight as a ruler.
He's uncomfortable by the fact that he's somehow accepting of the dress now– it frames his body just well, and Till isn't sure if this is just some weird fantasies. It feels illegal to be this– pretty.
A loud, and heavy knock on the window pane of the shop was enough to snap Till out from his thoughts. Though he tried his best to ignore it, the knocks followed a steady momentum, gradually getting louder. It's definitely intentional, to lure him out of this cage. Annoyed, he ignored the disruption, and strayed away from the window, still holding a pink satin dress (because real men wear pink, obviously) that piqued his interest (it's all for Mizi, obviously, not for him).
“Wait a minute,” Till pauses, stoically turning his head to face the window, beads of sweat rolling down his chin, failing to register the situation, blinking anxiously– a man with jet black hair, thick eyebrows, crimson irises, snaggletooth, perfectly ironed suit– Ivan?! It only takes a split second for Till to process that information as he dashed towards the corridors, hiding in one of the dressing rooms, screeching internally.
Heart pounding rapidly inside his ribcage, Till finds himself fighting for air. How-? How did he find out? As if ants were crawling all over his skin, Till feels the urge to puke. Slamming the door shut, he had to force himself to calm down. Adrenaline rushes through his veins as he hears the crisp ring of the doorbell, followed by gentle footsteps. Loud, clear, indicative of his presence.
He's here. He actually entered the shop.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
An invitation. A confrontation. A chase.
The footsteps grow louder and heavier, almost the same pace as Till’s heartbeat. So quiet– Till can even hear his own breathing. He's about to burst from anxiety. Voices inside the shop seemed to have dimmed out, leaving only Till’s heavy breaths as he gasps for air. Someone is heading towards his direction, and for once, he prays that it's someone else other than Ivan. Arranging his thoughts is arduous when he's being targeted, as he covers his mouth with both of his hands, in stalemate with the intruder.
Akin to a game of predator and prey.
Now that Till has hidden himself, it's Ivan’s turn to hunt.
Game starts.
Hearing the loud creak of the door opening, Till nearly screamed– luckily, Ivan missed his stall. He nearly got caught– Ivan’s right beside him. So close. Till can even hear his disappointed sigh, followed by the closing of the door. Eyes glued to the floor, Till focused on Ivan’s designer shoe from the small gaps of the door frame, praying that he would be lucky this time.
Open, close, repeat.
Till has been lucky so far, backing away from the door gently, crouching on one of the stools so Ivan doesn't notice his legs. If anything, the fact that he didn't get caught yet frustrates him more– Ivan is as persistent as him. Maybe it's just a game for him, and Till is the one being toyed with. A
Gritting his teeth, Till bites onto the sleeves of his blouse to prevent unwanted noises which will expose his hiding spot. Clueless and confused, they’re on equal standing grounds. As long as Till makes minimal noises, he should be safe. Ivan would get bored of this eventually.
“Sir, do you need any help?”
Thank god. His saviour. An employee finally approached Ivan, and Till sees this as a chance to make for a run. If not for that stupid outfit dragging him down, Till wouldn’t have ended up in this predicament. He feels content knowing that Ivan had followed the employee to another section, as the shoes disappeared from his view. A sigh of relief, and Till wipes the sweat off his forehead, cheering in victory internally. He gets down from the stool, tip-toeing towards the door, careful not to alert anyone.
Slowly, softly, gently.
Hah, Take that, Ivan . Till thinks, satisfied with the outcome.
A long pause– and Till thinks this is his sign to make a move. He reaches towards the doorknob, fingers slipping from sweat.
“Found you, Till.”
He recognizes that voice. Deep and alluring, akin to a siren. A danger and a menace. Now that the prey is hunted down, it's only a matter of time to snare its neck. Perhaps, out of personal interests, he may play with it and exhaust it first? Goosebumps flared up his skin at the vivid imagery– Ivan had always been unpredictable. “I know you're in there.” The devil murmurs, as if he's whispering next to Till’s ear, leaning closely to the doorframe.
Bait. Lure. Catch.
Playing the waiting game, Till remained silent, stubborn to surrender. His vision is hazy at this point, his mouth dry– mostly, still recovering from shock.
One minute passes by. And then another. It's been roughly five minutes, and Ivan still had no intention of backing off. Should Till have called for help? He still has his phone, maybe he could've just screamed–
“Unlock the door, Till,” there’s no room for negotiation from the tone of Ivan, it was a command, not a suggestion. Directed specifically for him. “I won’t tell anyone what has happened. It's going to be our little secret.” The hunter places the bait, and it's up to Till to decide whether to walk right through the trap or wait for him to enter. Either way, he's not escaping Ivan’s grasp. It's going to be the hard way, or the easy way.
“One,” Ivan counts, Till senses the joy laced in his voice, “two,” the doorknob twists aggressively, the doorframe trembling from impact, “three-” Fuck it. He reluctantly opens the door and pulls Ivan inside, locking the door shut. And Ivan falls down to his chest, pinning him to the wall with a loud thud.
Strategically speaking, he doesn't know how long Ivan had been observing him. Maybe from the start, or somewhere in the middle. He's not sure if Ivan had taken pictures from outside the window or even recordings. It’s better to confront Ivan face-to-face. Maybe kill him while he's at it. Yeah, embrace the homicidal thoughts and pay goodbye to Mizi. Definitely a brilliant plan.
“How long have you been observing, asshole?” Face painted red from anger, or maybe from humiliation, Till did not falter even when stuck in such a predicament. Eyes glued to Ivan, who walks towards him with his hands in his pocket, a grin adorning his face. Instead of finding Till intimidating, Ivan finds it cute– he's just like a doll, a cute figurine. A royal maiden throwing a tantrum.
“Oh?” Ivan whistles, “want to guess?” Inspecting him from up to down in awe, his gaze can even be said to be lecherous– well, Ivan has always been a freak, that's not strange to Till, so he brushes it off reluctantly.
“This is not what you think it is.” Till explains, glaring daggers at him– and if looks could kill, Ivan would've been dead long ago. “Don't get the wrong idea.” He clicks his tongue, defensively backing away from Ivan. Merely reading Till’s lips, completely ignorant of his threat– Ivan’s too entranced by the bell choker instead of Till’s threat. He merely listened to the bell chime each time Till raised his voice.
“Hah?” Ivan quirked a brow, a smirk creeping up his face, staring at the reflection of Till's back on the mirror. His waist, snatched by a ribbon, which had been hanging loosely. If anyone had walked in right now, they might've thought that Ivan is planning on deflowering Till. “Did you hit your head on a signboard or something? What is the sudden change of style?” Ivan questions, tugging on the ribbon on Till’s waist to make it tighter, drawing a sharp gasp from Till, who tapped him on the shoulder, “should I give you a new nickname to come with the package?” His little present, all flustered and annoyed. When can he unwrap his gift?
As Ivan inches closer, Till can only feel his mind going haywire. He can't even process what's going on, gulping as Ivan gets closer, “Give me some space!” Too close. He could hear Ivan’s heavy breathing, reeking of desperation. Rough fingers danced up to his waist, securely pinning it in place– Till had nowhere to go. Should he charge forward and face battery charges, or should he quiver like a coward. He had never won against Ivan– that's the real truth. Neither had he exceeded academically, nor had he been gifted athletically. He’s sticks and bones, and Ivan’s a fucking athlete. It doesn't take long for one to guess who’s the victor.
“ Noona .” Ivan calls, resting his hands on burrowing his face into Till’s chest, like how he used to do when they were in highschool, “what brings you here?” Till must be imagining things, because Ivan’s voice trembles in delight, like a beast purring for attention. Begging to be rewarded.
“I'm not your noona , Ivan.” Till attempts to shift away from him, but Ivan simply wouldn't budge. If anything, he feels the grip of his waist tightening, fingers sliding downwards to his hip.
“Then why are you dressed up like a girl today, Till?” Defenseless, Till finally realizes the size difference between them, Ivan’s warm breath sending tingles down his spine. He could feel Ivan’s snaggletooth brushing against the tip of his ear, “most importantly, why are you hiding away from me? How long have you been into this… new fetish? Can't you tell me?”
Too much. This is all overwhelming for Till. Now that he has Till pinned down, he doesn't plan on letting him go. Ivan’s eyes drilled into his, unblinking, as if he's trying to dissect his soul. Perhaps, he could nibble Till’s flesh, and savour his soul. Those raw, intense emotions. Too intense– he can feel the tip of Ivan’s nose resting at his forehead.
Too close!
And Till retaliates with a hard smack on Ivan’s head, enough to draw tears. “I said back off, dumbass!” Till hisses, like a cat having stepped on its tail, raising its claws defensively. Undomesticated, wild, and full of spite. Now this is the Till Ivan is familiar with.
“Owww–” learning his lesson, Ivan gives him space, hand massaging the bump on his head, “so cruel to me, Till.” He mutters, like a kicked puppy, in his grounded corner.
“Deserved.” Satisfied, Till sits down on the stool, legs crossed rudely– not that Till cared, they were both guys. “Now, what are you doing here?” He tosses away the headdress, awaiting a response.
“You didn't even answer my question, Till. I asked first.” Ivan grumbles playfully, nevertheless grabs the headdress in glee, “I never knew you have this side, I feel hurt that you didn't tell me sooner. I would've loved to become your personal photographer and stylist.” If only Till exposed this vulnerable side of him to Ivan sooner.
“Till, try this dress on!” Ivan would say, stuffing his hands full of various dresses, “or I'll tell everyone in school.” First he pleads, then he threatens. A flawless plan.
Ivan isn't that bad of a person– Till’s just over exaggerating. Nevertheless, he feels nauseous at the scenario of him being Ivan’s dress-up doll. Disgusting. That demon won’t stop tormenting him until his soul is sucked dry, leaving an empty carcass.
“Oh shut it. I'm just experimenting with things.” He argues, swatting Ivan’s hand away with a scowl, tired of this nonsense, “don't change the topic. What brings you here?” Tilting Ivan’s chin with his fingers, he skeptically glances at him– stupid Ivan, and his perfect, un-punchable face. He can't even raise his hands at him, or his maniacal fans would ruin his life. Quite literally, Ivan had always been Mr Popular– the star of the show, the best of everything.
“Mizi’s birthday is in a few weeks. I'm getting her something cute.” Ivan leans onto Till’s palm in response, hungrily devouring the warmth, “honestly, she–”
“Wait,” Till gasps, retracting his hand from Ivan– who seems disappointed at his reaction. “You know what she likes?!” Since when was Ivan this close to Mizi? Regardless, Ivan is now his crucial informant. His ally– though Till mentally cringed at this discovery. It's okay, it's a collaboration. Temporarily. A beneficial, mutual exchange.
“Well yes,” Ivan nods, “we are childhood friends. I thought you were familiar with this? You knew this since highschool.” Ransacking through his pockets, Ivan sneers at the bitter expression hung on Till’s face, engrossed with his vivid expressions.
“Of course I do.” Despite his heart stinging at the obvious fact, Till can only accept reality. How could he forget? It has always been Ivan, Mizi and Sua. They've always been inseparable, from kindergarten until now. If anything, Till is the random outsider that was forcefully adopted by Ivan into their mini friend group.
Mizi was Till’s first love. She’s the prettiest flower bloomed in spring, the warm sunlight that embraces life, the peppery stars that paint over the dark canvas. A cute girl captured the brilliance of living. The very first time Till got into a gang fight with delinquents from the rival school, all beaten, battered and bruised– it was Mizi who extended a helping hand and gave her napkin to Till, later carrying him to the medic. Thus, like any other opening to a shoujo manga, Till fell in love. However, he never had the courage to directly face the sun, so he merely observed from the shadows, having felt the warmth that radiated off her was enough.
When he finally gathered the courage to confess his feelings, nervously pacing around the courtyard with his handwritten letter and a bouquet of flowers, which he had taken months to prepare– it was ruined by this rowdy, freakish model student who came crashing into his life. Quite literally. The captain of the football team, who so coincidentally ruined his bouquet by missing his aim.
And Till watches as his flowers get pummeled to the ground by a ball, the petals falling out of place. His letter, smudged to the ground, eating up dirt and dust.
Angered, Till lands a punch towards the captain, eager to fight. That bastard snickers and gives Till a taste of his own, pining Till down to the floor, snarling at Till’s retaliation. “Your arms are like marshmallows.” He comments snarkily, “are you really trying to fight me? Or are you just playing with me?” His voice agitates Till’s brain, like a needle pricking each nerve. Their fight went on for an hour until someone reported to the teacher, leaving both of them in detention. Bruised and pissed off, Till moves away from Ivan, holding onto an icepack– wincing at the coldness. The throbbing pain on his head still felt fresh, he still remembered how hard that impact was.
“I'm Ivan.” The weird freak says, following Till, and scoots his chair closer to Till’s seat, “you’re weird. Why did you pick a fight that you won't win?” He adds, “I like that.” Truly, there really was admiration in those hollow eyes– if Till would've noticed it.
“Scram.” Till clicks his teeth and shifts his seat away from Ivan, planning to stay away from the devil as far as possible. Only a few more minutes, and he’ll be free. He’ll have to explain this to Io, and earn a nagging or two. Just great. For the past two hours, Ivan had been staring at him. As if he's trying to assess a specimen. None of them exchanged words, there was an awkward silence.
That fucker still hasn't apologized. Till loathes him with his entire being.
“Feisty.” Ivan ignores the heated tension, intrigued by the ruckus Till’s going to commit. He noticed it too– how Till will occasionally dart his eyes over and see what Ivan is doing.
“Stop following me.” Till sneers, “or are you that pathetic that you have to sabotage me to gain Mizi’s attention? Loser.” To think that he felt proud to throw an insult, Till thinks he may have lost the battle but won the war.
“Hah? You're the one with no friends.” And Ivan once again destroys his confidence, without even trying. “No offense, Mizi would never like someone like you.”
Stupid, perfect Ivan. How dare he .
“I don't need friends.” Till glares, and pins Ivan down to his seat, making sure that he's the one dominating him instead,“leave me alone, freak.” He warns, messages loud and clear. “Go do your homework like the good boy you are.”
“But I want to be your friend.” As Till turns away from him, Ivan grabs him by his jacket, pulling him closer. “I like you, Till.”
“Well, we can’t always have what we want, no?” Till laughs as a retort, still holding his grudge. What does he want from him anyways?
“Okay, I've decided– I'll win you over.” Ivan declares, like a challenge.
The next time they fought was because of a silly ruckus– Ivan who had accidentally stepped on Till’s newly planted sapling in the garden. Horrified, Till witnessed his carefully tended plant trampled over. Smudged to the ground. Losing its colour.
“What the hell do you want?!” That ignited something in Till. How can one have no respect for life? It just sprouted a month ago, now Ivan is robbing the chance for it to bloom in spring. Not even a simple ‘cheer up!’ From Till will his plant survive. It will never be the same anymore.
Before he knew it, tears escaped his eyes and like a leaking faucet, he weeps uncontrollably. Sniffling, Till realizes that all his hard work was gone, disregarded just like that. And he was about to impress Io too.
“Wait, don't cry–” Ivan pauses, surprised by Till’s reaction, realizing that he had gone too far. “Sorry, I–”
“You damned prick–!” Ivan doesn't get to explain himself as Till lurches onto him, his fists landing onto Ivan’s broad chest. Each punch filled with spite and vigor.
“Why don't you fight back?” Till huffs, sweating, sitting on top of Ivan’s torso, crimson painting over his face.
“Because I made you sad.” Ivan mutters, feeling droplets of Till’s tears on his face, acknowledging his sadness.
“You– Arggh!!” Till had never wanted this much of a trouble to begin with. He hated how sincere Ivan looked as he embraced each punch from Till, no retaliation, no call for help. This is conflicting– Till grits his teeth, unable to read Ivan as a whole. “Don't ever bump into me again!” He gets up from Ivan, and leaves him lying in the garden, still covered in dirt and leaves.
“I won't give up, Till!”
Till walks faster, wiping his tears away.
Ivan only succeeded in his friendship courting when he found Till's missing keychain gifted by Mizi. Till had been in distress for the entire day, not even reacting to his taunts. Still, Ivan nonetheless finds it funny that Till didn't suspect him or tried to pin the blame onto him. He just ignored him and proceeded with his sulks, like always. Till had never blamed him for anything, despite knowing he's the one who ruined his confession, he's the one who trampled over his plant, he's the one who's closest to Mizi.
If anyone wants to stir trouble, he should be the primary suspect.
Yet Till doesn't even paint him as a bad person. Ivan’s intrigued by how his mind works. Truly, is there someone this naive?
When Ivan handed him the keychain, Till was so happy he hugged him, Ivan could practically feel him vibrating from happiness– and then Till realized how weird it was, backed away from Ivan with a scowl but still thanked him regardless. He's easily satisfied, just like that.
This mini incident seemed to have ripped an opening for Ivan to enter into Till’s world. Ivan’s gamble had won in the end. From then onwards he stuck around Till, and Till gradually learnt to accept him, occasionally laughing at Ivan’s jokes. Ivan had conditioned him into accepting this arrangement, and Till sometimes finds it endearing to have a friend. To bicker and fight with someone in the morning and then enjoy dinner at a nearby noodle stall afterwards. To argue over childish things and then attend music concerts together.
Till had always enjoyed creating music– and Ivan is his first audience. The first to witness musical notes come alive at Till’s fingertips. The first to laugh at his silly, romantic lyrics. The first friend to ever acknowledge his musical talent aside from Io.
Still, Ivan is weird. Till remembers weaving a flower crown for Ivan, as an attempted get-along gift which he had spent hours just to perfect it– only for Ivan to pick out the petals and eat it. Chewing in slow motion. In front of Till. The audacity.
Throughout his highschool years, Ivan had stuck to him like gum. If Mizi is the sun, Ivan is the moon. Though he does not shine, his presence soothes Till, and Till finds himself turning to him as much as he could. He had long accustomed to darkness– had he not been shown the light, he wouldn't have craved for it this much. It's Ivan who showed him that even when everyone fades away, he will be beside Till. As Till basks himself under the moonlight, he closes his eyes and falls into sweet slumber.
If only he could be more selfish.
As a new chapter of life begins in uni, Ivan has started to give him some space. Long gone were their usual dinner dates and arcade nights, replaced by Till’s private space and Ivan’s busy schedule. Till should be relieved– he really should, after all he did manage to remove this annoying piece of gum stuck to him. Now that Ivan is busy with his new life– Till truly realized how lonely he has been.
His world was small enough to only fit Io, his hobbies, and Mizi– but Ivan managed to squeeze his way through it. Now that Ivan is drifting away, leaving an ivan-shaped hole carved in his heart, Till truly realizes how empty it felt without him. No one could've replaced him– so here Till is conflicted, confused, and scared of Ivan leaving him, as much as he hates to admit. Ivan had changed the trajectory of his life.
It's been so long since he had properly talked to Ivan, he takes this as a chance to not only impress Mizi but also rekindle his bond with Ivan.
“Okay now stop it prince charming,” Flicking the raven’s forehead with his finger, “I need you to tell me what Mizi likes.” Till is determined to shoot his shot. This time, there will be no room for failure. He will seize this opportunity to right his wrongs.
“Till thinks I'm prince charming? I'm so flattered–!” Grimacing, Till knows that Ivan is selectively hearing once again. He's always been like this, at least trait of him didn't change.
“That's besides the point! Listen to me!” Till tuts, pinching Ivan by the face, hoping that pain would at least bring him back to his senses.
“Okay okay, so demanding today, princess.” He laughs at Till’s antics, entranced by his annoyed expression. His cute bisque doll. Ivan wonders what trouble Till is brewing on the back of his head.
“I'm not a princess!” Stomping the floor, Till finds it ridiculous to communicate with someone like Ivan, who's definitely not paying attention at all. Ivan only found it amusing, Till acts like a cat raising its paws, trying his best to claw his owner, and Ivan has all the time to entertain him.
“Just teasing you. Don't bite.” He coughs, “well, to be honest, Mizi likes almost everything that's cute. As you can tell, from Sua. She's not picky.” Nodding, Ivan watches as Till pulls out his phone to take down the information, “Oh, she doesn't like vegetables.” He adds, just to toy with him.
“Well, that information is useless. I'm not showing up with coleslaw or something.” Till grumbles, feeling that he had wasted his time talking with this man. At least pick up the sarcasm in his voice.
“I'll gladly accept coleslaw from you, Till. I promise I'm not picky.” Ivan hums, and Till winces.
“Ivan, that's beside the point. What is some other vital information?” He's going to have a headache– an Ivan induced one. Worse than a migraine.
“You would go this far for Mizi?” Till had never been this fired up before– this is the first time, even for Ivan.
“I would do anything for Mizi, Ivan. Anything.” Staring at those determination filled eyes, Ivan felt something in him falter.
“Hmm. She likes cats. Preferably those fussy, hissy kittens.” Ivan leans in, fingers combing through the strands of teal hair, and Till is confused by his sudden act, a weird tingling sensation running down his spine.
“Cats? I thought she's more of a dog person?” He pauses, wary of the validity of the answer.
“Your observation skills need to be reassessed.” Ivan sighs, “Also, she’s not interested in emo twinks.”
“I'm not a twink!” This seemed to have flip a switch in Till, and he's back to his usual rowdiness.
“I didn't mention your name at all, Till.” Realizing that Ivan is only riling him up, Till seethes at him, rolling up his sleeves.
“When was the last time you picked up a ball?” Ivan asks, knowing that Till is not a sport’s person. He still remembered playing dodgeball in highschool and witnessing Till getting slammed in the face by a ball. Ivan had laughed so hard, Till had to smack him across the head to stop him from laughing. In the end, Ivan ‘avenged’ him, so Till reluctantly forgives him.
“We are going off topic!” He doesn't want to recall that shameful memory, his face burning from humiliation, “what else is there to add?”
“Hmm…I think that’s all.”
“Seriously?! I thought you guys are best friends?” He holds Ivan by the shoulders, and shakes him impatiently, hoping to pry more information out of him.
“Yeah.” Ivan plays along, Till can tell he's having fun. This asshole.
“How could you know so little?!’ Till looks too cute even if he’s mad at him.
“Are you using me just to get information on Mizi?” He asks, “I'm hurt, Till.” and Ivan sighs, cupping Till’s face– now Till really looks like a whiny girlfriend who is unsatisfied from the lack of attention.
“Well partially–” Till admits, feeling guilty, “but if I'm successful you're getting half the credit too!” He tries to reassure Ivan, no intention to discredit him at all, still grateful that Ivan is willing to help.
“What do you mean?” Ivan quirked a brow.
“I mean if I do succeed, you will be invited to the wedding. I'll let you become my best man.” He plans to confess, charm, court, and marry– it will be a perfect plan and happy ending for all. In the end, he gets with his crush and Ivan is still his best friend.
“Till, the last time I checked, we should separate delusions from realities. I’ll escort you to the hospital.” The horrified look on Ivan’s face pisses Till off, he should’ve known that Ivan would never take him seriously.
“A man can dream!” Till huffs, pinching the bridge of Ivan’s nose.
“And if dreams come true, what to say about nightmares?”
“You're just annoying me on purpose. You hate to see me win in life.” It has always been like this, there’s always been an unseen competition between Ivan and Till. Till still remembers during his second year of highschool, Ivan had eaten his Valentine’s day chocolate given by another classmate because he had decided that Till hated chestnut filling. Till did, but that's beside the point. Or when Till received a confession letter from a classmate, and Ivan corrected the grammar on the letter, before giving it back to said classmate– Till had become the worst boyfriend candidate from that day onwards. Or when Ivan took the last ice cream from the convenience store just to spite him in the sweltering heat. Ivan, fucking Ivan. Or when they have an arm wrestling competition– Till is fighting for his life, losing in the end, watching as Ivan licks off the sweat from Till's palm. Or that one time he had tried smoking, and before he could light up the cigarette, Ivan had him reported to the discipline department so he’s forced to write a repentance letter with Ivan monitoring him, grinning at his grammar mistakes.
“Well that's not true,” Ivan grins, “I think your reactions are funny, that's all.” Worst part is, Ivan never understood how he’s sabotaging Till’s life. His cruel naivety simply fucks till over, and Till allows it, every single time. Because Ivan is his only friend, and Ivan never had bad intentions. He’s just dumb– as Till phrases it.
“Please help me, Ivan. I need to win Mizi over.” He holds onto Ivan’s hand, looking directly into his eyes, practically pleading. This is his only chance. He needs Ivan.
“Okay,” He wasn't expecting Ivan to accept it so quickly, about to thank him– “but you have to follow my suggestions.”
“So you're going to be my strategist?” Till pauses, “this could work.” Yes, everything is according to plan. They’re finally on the right track.
“Yeah. Because I'm a kind person.” Ivan claims, and Till allows him to win this time.
“Fine. I'm going to change now. Now please step aside.” Rolling his eyes, Till is about to unbuckle his dress, only to realize that Ivan is still there, not getting the hint. “Get out. I want to change.” Till restates again, emphasizing with a loud cough.
“We are both guys. I won't comment on your ugly boxers if that's what you are concerned about.” Ivan coos, “unless you’re wearing something else underneath?”
“Ivan. You're a freak. Back off.” Till hisses, his finger pointing towards the exit. A firm indication to leave.
“You're the one dressed up as a girl, for the sake of another girl, and I'm the freak?” Ivan mopes, “why can't you dress for me? You know I’ve never played with dress-up dolls before… I appreciate it as much as Mizi does…”
“You’re a freak because you’re Ivan.”
“Touche. Okay, as a sophisticated gentleman, I shall respect the maiden’s request to not monitor her undressing– in other words, I'll see you soon.”
“How poetic, now shoo.”
“Ivan?!” He wasn't expecting Ivan to wait for him. Instead, he thought that Ivan had enough of fun, and would go back to his football practice. They have an important match next week, Till doesn’t want to be a burden to him,
“Oh, there you are, Till. I paid for this while you are still changing.” Ivan points towards the bag, a proud grin hung on his face, waving his card, “Aren't I a doting friend?”
“Who told you to–”
“Mizi likes these.” On Sua only , but Ivan omitted that part just because he could.
“Give me the damn dress.” He snatches the bag from Ivan. “Thanks for paying.” he mutters, head dipped down to avoid Ivan’s gaze, “I'll transfer you the balance later.”
“It's fine, Till. Don't think you can afford it anyways–oww!!” Till hits Ivan on the head, and reads the price tag– 800,000 won. “Is this not robbery in daylight!” He gasps, wanting to scold Ivan for acting on his own, yet have to restrain his anger as Ivan was merely helping him, in his own way.
“Well, beauty comes with a price” Ivan shrugs, “anyways, how are you going to pay me back?”
“I’ll… work on it. Give me some time.” This is worth it– Till gaslights himself, all for his future.
“Okay,” Ivan, “I’ll wait.” He winks, “don't let me wait too long, Till. I'm an impatient person.”
Yeah, impatient enough that we stopped talking for a year. Till will not bring that up, Ivan is a busy person, he can't expect him to always be by his side– it’s simply irrational. “Yes yes, stop nagging me.” He wasn't planning on being indebted to Ivan. This was never his plan– however, he has no choice now.
“But I like hanging out with you.” Ivan scoots closer, tossing his arm around Till’s shoulder, pulling him into a hug. As the sun sets, their silhouette intertwines with each other, and Ivan wishes he could just suspend time. Just a little bit more, before they drift back to normalcy. “Till~”
“Yeah, I can tell.” Till allows Ivan to cling onto him longer, until their partnership ends– and everything will revert to normal– Ivan will still be his best friend.