Chapter Text
“Fuck no.”
“Till, I know it sounds bad, but I don’t really have other options. Besides, it’s for UNKNOWN, isn’t it? Didn’t you say, and I quote, ‘I would literally cut my dick off for you guys,’ at the bar last night?” Sua sighs, frustratedly rubbing her temple.
“Firstly, I was drunk. Using my inebriated words against me makes you a shitty desperate manager stereotype. Secondly, ‘cutting my dick off for you guys’ doesn’t involve selling out,” Till snaps, before he winces at his volume.
Sua rolls her eyes, picking her phone up to scroll through it. “You want me to play a shitty desperate manager stereotype? Fine. Till, all your songs are about love, right?”
“Yeah, the exact opposite of whatever stunt you want me to pull–”
Sua shoves her phone into his peripheral view as her thumb presses play on a video that currently has about a couple hundred thousand likes.
“LOVE IS A SOCIAL CONSTRUCT!” Till, absolutely plastered, hollers atop a circular table that really shouldn’t have been able to support his weight.
The patrons cheer as he continues. “FUCK IT, DRINKS ARE ON ME TONIGHT!”
Oh. “So that’s why my balance’s so low,” Till murmurs, as Sua silently seethes, shutting her phone off with a resounding click.
“Did you not hear what you just said?”
“Of course I did. What am I, deaf?!” Till snaps before wincing yet again.
Sua makes a noise that’s some eclectic mix of both a growl and a sigh. “You imbecile. Your entire brand is built on being the ‘lover’ boy. All your songs are about cute shit like getting flustered and feeling butterflies or whatever–”
“You make it sound so juvenile,” Till interrupts, livid. Sua sighs miserably for what seems like the millionth time.
“Till. I’m your manager. If I thought your songs weren’t worth a dime, then I wouldn’t have offered my services to you, would I?” She says, cutting words delivered in an almost placating tone.
Till looks away to tether himself. He knows Sua only had the best of intentions despite how she conveys them. “Yeah, fine, I make rock songs about love. What’s your point?” he finally asks, his gaze slipping back to Sua.
“When you build your entire brand around that concept, it’s going to feel jarring to your fans, who quite literally follow you for said concept, to listen to you saying you don’t agree with it. People are going to talk. In fact, they already are.” She says.
“They’re saying you must be disingenuous, that you only sing about generic love to sell out, not because you actually believe in it. I could go on, but I doubt we’ll get anywhere fruitful down this line of conversation.”
Till grits his teeth. Seriously? Over drunken spiel? Was it that easy for people to doubt his entire discography?
“Okay, fine. But what does that have to do with me dating someone? It’ll look like a blatantly obvious PR stunt which is exactly what it is,” Till says, trying not to think about the person Sua is about to suggest to him.
“Not if we set our story straight. Let’s say you and your partner got into an argument last night, and you were going through the motions, so to speak. All that drunk talk was just your anxiety over that fight! You both post a photo on Instagram, caption it with something like, ‘all is fair in love and war, ’ and all will be well.”
“And then… Do we break up?” Till asks, slightly confused.
Sua’s eyebrows knit together. “No. You’d go out a little publicly, do a few shows on tour together to make it seem all cute, and after four months, you can call it quits.”
“Four MONTHS?!” Till screeches, ignoring the sound of his yelling echoing throughout his severely hungover brain’s four-chambered walls. Sua only looks at him, as if waiting for his wick to burn out on its own, as it does.
“Alright, fine. There’s no getting out of this, is there? So, who were you thinking of?”
This is where Till finally sees Sua’s demeanour crack, as her eyebrow ever-so-slightly twitch.
Oh.
“So, remember that cousin I had?”
No.
“The one in that emo band. Ugh, what was its name again?”
Oh, no.
“Ah, yes, BLACK–”
“I’m straight,” Till blurts desperately.
Sua scoffs. “Yeah, okay. Anyway, it’s called BLACK SORROW. Ivan, the lead singer? I think you two went to the same high school which should give you guys a good backstory.”
“But that’s exactly why we can’t do this." Till sighs. “Sua, Ivan and I… We aren’t on the best of terms.”
Understatement of the century.
“Does that really matter?” Sua pinches at her brows, frustrated. “You’re not actually in a relationship, are you? Surely, you can play it up for the fans. Ivan’s great at being a little angel for the camera anyway, so you’d barely need to pull any weight.”
Till frowns. “Doesn’t chemistry matter?”
“Yeah, and do you seriously think your socially awkward self is capable of making up any modicum of believable chemistry with a stranger you know nothing about in comparison to Ivan?”
Ugh, Touché.
“But he–” He’d never want to see my face.
“Ivan agreed the second I brought it up to him.” Sua snorts as Till’s head snaps up. “Desperate much?” she mutters under her breath.
“He what?!” Till launches out of the chair with enough force to send it rocketing out of stasis, flying backwards. He winces as Sua pointedly stares at him, picking the chair back up as he repeats himself. “Sorry. He what?”
“He agreed. Rather eagerly, in fact. I don’t really see what ‘bad history’ you were on about; he seemed fine.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Till says, buffering.
Sua shrugs. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”
“I’ll do it."
“Sure. What was that you said about being ‘straight'?”
“I’d appreciate it if you stop talking.”
Ivan. Lead singer of the indie rock ballad band, BLACK SORROW. Hyuna, on the electric guitar, and Hyunwoo on the drums. They are under a label that is better known for producing solo artists or idols. Formed over two years ago, they quickly gave themselves a name in the industry, thanks to the soul-crushing lyrics of–
“Dude, are you reading the BLACK SORROW Wiki page?”
Till whips around, mortified as he faces Dewey looking over his shoulder with poorly concealed amusement.
“I’m not– Wait, why the hell are you snooping on my shit?” Till hisses, shutting his laptop screen off with a resounding snap, fixing Dewey with a death glare.
Dewey shrugs. “Just making sure you aren’t, like, looking at porn or anything, y’know. Being a good fatherly figure and all that–”
“Shut the fuck up." Till flushes with indignation. “I called you that one time.”
Dewey cackles. “Aw man, you’re just so easy.”
“And you’re just a terrible fucking drummer, should’ve found a replacement for you ages ago. Honestly, I don’t know why I put up with you,” Till snaps before backtracking as his eyes flash with immediate guilt. “I didn’t mean that.”
Dewey’s gaze softens, before he ruffles Till’s hair. “Yeah, I know.” He briefly glances at Till’s closed laptop. “You’re usually all over BLACK SORROW though, so I don’t get why you’d need to read up on their stuff. Is there some future collab we don’t know about?”
Till sighs. “I’m dating Ivan."
Dewey blinks. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
Dewey’s eyes narrow. “But weren’t you two exes back in high school or something?”
Till flushes. “What? No, no. We– no.”
“Ah.” Dewey nods in understanding. “What did the kids call it again? A situationship.”
“We were just friends, Dewey,” Till mutters. "But this is all a PR stunt because of that thing I did at the bar that night.”
“Oh, right, that. Funny stuff." Dewey sighs with a fond smile at the memory as Till punches his unfairly massive bicep. “Ow! I don’t get why you’re so upset, dude. You and Ivan can patch your shit up now. Besides, it’s better than having to pretend to like a total stranger, right?”
Seriously, did everyone have zero faith in his social abilities? Whatever.
“Sure," Till says, unwilling to launch into a thirty-minute rant compiling all the reasons as to why he and Ivan could not simply just ‘patch their shit up.'
Dewey simply hums, before his stance turns contemplative, something Till never thought the man was capable of being.
“So, if Ivan’s dating you now, does that mean… There is a collab we don’t know about?”
“Uh, maybe?” Till frowns at the question. He hadn’t really considered the logistics of their arrangement, music or showcase-wise.
His phone rings right as he begins to ruminate over what Dewey asked, and his breath hitches imperceptibly when he checks the caller’s identity.
Fuck.
“Ah, you go pick that up. I was gonna get some dinner anyway. See ya, Kid.” Dewey waves while walking off, leaving Till to his misery.
Till takes a deep breath before he picks up, feigning as much nonchalance as he can possibly muster. “So, I’ll take it you never deleted my number?”
Real nonchalant there.
A signature baritone chuckle reverberates through Till’s shoddy phone speaker, “You’d take it correctly.”
“Hm.
“Do you want to get dinner together tonight? My treat, of course,” Ivan says casually, as if he were asking Till something casual. As if this isn't the first time they’ve spoken in years. Fuck him.
“Yeah, sure. How about that new spicy ramyeon place everyone keeps talking about?” Till asks, and just because he decided to commit to forgetting about nonchalance, he adds, “The one that supposedly gets your stomach super fucked up.”
“You know me so well." Ivan hums 'sweetly.' Fuck him, seriously. “How’s eight?”
Till checks the clock, and it’s seven. “Okay.”
“Can’t wait to see you, baby–”
Till hangs up.
Till gets off his motorbike’s seat, before he pulls his helmet off, staring at the restaurant in front of him as he contemplates all of the decisions that led him to this point. That point being, dating Ivan. Till sighs, wondering if he should postpone their ‘date,' take a mental health day, think about his well-being for once, or maybe even consider cutting his dick off instead.
“Till."
Till flinches instinctively at the dulcet sound of his voice, snapping around to see the bastard himself, tilting his head with that goddamned smile of his.
Ivan looks just as devastatingly handsome as Till remembers, from his slick black hair and sculpted chest to his sinfully cinched waist. Till desperately tries looking at anything other than Ivan’s plush lips, at that fucking snaggle-tooth resting against it. Shit, it all just makes him look so unfairly debonair.
Long eyelashes bat expectantly before realising that Till isn't going to respond, causing his gaze to shift towards Till’s motorbike.
“A Harley,” he notes, crimson raking over the bike’s equally crimson fairing. “You’ve always wanted one of those."
“It’s a Road Glide. Surprised you remember,” Till mutters.
Ivan’s eyes shine with an odd mix of humour and something Till can't quite make out.
“How could I forget? You doodled different models of whatever they had on their showcase website every chance you got. I used to think you dedicated our songs to those things.” He laughs, prince-like, practised.
Till feels himself flush. “I-I didn’t draw those all the time. And I’m not one of those pretentious biker guys, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“You own a Harley, though,” Ivan rebuts, smirking. “But I wasn’t implying anything.”
“Right.”
“I’m happy for you, Till, seriously.” Ivan’s smile turns more genuine, slightly shaky at its edges, and Till finally believes him.
“Thanks, I guess," Till manages, scratching his nape awkwardly.
Ivan nods, before he gestures at the restaurant complex. “Shall we, m’lady?”
“Fuck off. We shall, fine. Whatever.” Till feels himself getting redder as mortification overtakes him, walking briskly towards the entrance while Ivan chuckles, hands linked behind his back, perfectly poised. Till swings the door open with enough of a gap to let Ivan follow through without it slamming in his face because fuck Ivan; Till could be a gentleman too.
Despite being a trendy location, the ramyeon place is rather homely in terms of its decor, all things considered. Till finds himself automatically walking towards the bar stools in the middle of the room, before Ivan places a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to freeze.
“What are you–”
“We should probably sit in a booth, shouldn’t we? We have pretty confidential matters to discuss, after all,” Ivan says smoothly.
Till grumbles incoherently as he follows Ivan over to the free booth—a mishmash of gibberish. Quite frankly, he doesn't know what to say; he just knows he doesn't like not getting the last word in. Ivan slides into the seat with a window view, and Till fumes.
“Of-fucking-course you’d pick the window view seat,” Till growls.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Till wants to wipe that irritatingly handsome smirk off his face.
“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, you little weasel–”
“You could always sit next to me, love. It’d be cute.” Ivan smirks, patting the seat next to him.
“Calling me love like you’re British now,” Till mumbles, parking his butt atop the opposing seat because he’d rather dig himself into his damn grave than give Ivan free access to his—anything.
Ivan thumbs through the shoddily laminated ring-bound menu in front of him. “Gosh, you know it’s authentic when the menu’s like this.”
Till hums because he agrees but also because he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to say to that. He stares at the menu, at each ramyeon base, before he eventually lands on Sapporo ramyeon.
He mentions as such, Ivan nodding back. “I’ll take the Shoyu ramyeon, then,” he says, winking at the waitress, who blushes slightly at the sight.
Till pretends like he’s not carving chicken scratch onto the table as Ivan smiles that fake swoon-fucking-worthy smile of his.
“You can’t do that, you know,” Till manages, trying his best not to spit the words out.
Ivan’s eyes slide over to Till, unreadable. “Can’t do what?”
“Flirt with whoever happens to catch your damned peripheral,” Till grumbles as Ivan’s lips quirk.
“Oh? Why? Are you jealous?” He asks, smug.
Til rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure I am. Also, I know this might come as a shock to you, but we’re in a ‘committed relationship.' So I can’t imagine you eye-fucking the staff on any old establishment while we’re on ‘dates’ being a particularly appealing thing for us to find written on some tabloid."
“Nobody reads tabloids anymore, love,” Ivan croons.
Till glares. “That’s not the point. Also– Stop calling me that.”
“Why? It’s cute,” Ivan reasons, before he taps on the table once. “You’re right. I’ll lay off on the flirting– Although, in my defence, I didn’t really do anything other than be polite."
“Then don’t be polite,” Till huffs, grabbing the plastic bottle of water sitting at the other edge of their table.
Ivan doesn’t respond, only smirking wider. “Okay, then. Speaking of our ‘committed relationship,' that’s why I wanted to meet with you here today.”
“No way, really?” Till deadpans, twisting the bottle cap with a resounding pop. “And here I thought you were here to dish and talk about boys."
“Well, I’m talking about a boy. He’s pretty cute. You think I should ask him out to Prom?” Ivan asks, batting his eyelashes in that infuriatingly attractive way he does when he wants to be a bitch.
“You go do that. I’ll go ahead and call child services,” Till says as Ivan chuckles, before it dies down with a sigh.
“Ah, how I missed our riveting banter,” he reminisces, and Till frowns. He’d imagined getting to talk to Ivan like this countless times. In none of those hypotheticals had he ever pictured things feeling this– Easy.
“Yeah,” Till mutters. He looks back up at Ivan, unsurprised to find the other man meeting his gaze directly, expression unreadable as ever. Till finds it unnerving, how little had changed.
“Yeah,” Ivan echoes. “Anyway, let’s discuss backstory.”
“Backstory? What’s there to discuss? We were… Friends, in high school.”
“Best friends,” Ivan corrects as Till snorts.
“Yeah, okay. That sounds more romantic.”
Ivan stares for a moment, unblinking. “Right. And when they find CURE–”
“What makes you think they’ll find CURE?” Till asks, stiff, feeling bile rise up his oesophagus.
“We never took down our SoundCloud account. Fans have already found it, Till, if you've bothered to pilfer through your subreddit threads,” Ivan says, pretending to sound placating.
“Fuck,” Till curses under his breath. “Fine, whatever. We’ll tell them we were planning on making it as a duo back in high school, but plans fell through.”
“Plans fell through,” Ivan repeats. “Not concise enough. You’re practically begging them to come looking through all of our pre-debut business.”
“They’re going to do that anyway, aren’t they?” Till snaps. “They need all the, like, canon material they can get.”
“Canon material?” It's Ivan’s turn to look confused.
“Jesus Christ, Ivan, use your brain. If we come out as an item, what’s the first thing you think our largely queer female fan bases are going to do?”
Ivan blinks. “If you’re referring to fan fiction, we already have about a hundred or so to our name.”
What.
“We what?”
“It’s mostly explicit, go figure. It’s funny though. I top in, like, seventy percent of them,” Ivan blabbers, before his gaze flitters to Till again. “Would you agree with that statistic?”
“I really don’t give a flying fuck,” Till manages, ignoring how dry his throat feels, the heat rising up his neck. So, their fans liked to imagine them fucking?
Well, they can get in line for all he cares.
Ivan laughs. "Yeah, you don’t. I do. Were you not listening?”
“Fuck off. We’re getting sidetracked. How much more elaborate do you think our backstory needs to be then?” Till asks, trying to ignore the frankly embarrassing sexual statistics Ivan has just presented him with.
“We need to explain what happened to CURE, and why we’re in separate acts in the present,” Ivan says. “Additionally, we’ll have to talk about how we got together.”
“I’m going to assume you’ve already crafted a beautifully impenetrable lie,” Till grumbles. The waitress makes her way back to their table, sliding their bowls of ramyeon across them before waving at them– Well, at Ivan. Whatever.
“You really do know me so well,” Ivan croons, as he waves back charmingly at the waitress’s retreating figure. “We’re going to say we had some internal turbulence.”
“We’re not airing out our real-fucking-dirty-laundry, Ivan,” Till snaps, narrowing his eyes before he sips his piquant, spicy broth. Dammit, he can't even savour the taste thanks to that bastard.
“There’s no need to get into the specifics. In fact, we can create a different kind of turbulence. The romantic kind."
“What? Like…” Till’s brows furrow. “You want us to say our feelings got in the way of our music?”
Ivan nods. "It works out really well if we simply run with the excuse that we didn’t want to get our relationships in the way of our careers.”
“But then we’d be competitors in the same industry,” Till says, frustrated at Ivan’s line of thinking. “Wouldn’t that be worse?”
“It brings more spice into our lives,” Ivan smirks, before taking a sip of his broth. “Nothing sexier than a little competition.”
“Right… So, what, are we high school sweethearts then?” Till asks as Ivan gives him a thumbs up.
“Surely, there’d be some kind of photographic evidence of us in the past. With your story in mind, we’ve been ‘dating’ for six years," Till rebuts.
“We’re not that famous, Till. We’re relatively indie compared to mainstream acts. Saying management’s erased traces of them should be enough,” Ivan reasons, picking at a piece of fried tofu with his chopsticks.
Till frowns. ‘Internal turbulence’ feels far too close for his liking, yet ‘childhood sweethearts’ had felt even more…
“We hardly know each other anymore,” Till says, resisting bile from clawing its way up his throat. “Your explanation warrants us having known what we’ve done the last six years. Who we are.”
“You know all you need to,” Ivan says, cryptic as ever.
But Till doesn’t. He doesn't know what inspired Ivan, what Till lacked that Hyuna apparently had. How she was able to bring out his vulnerability in ways that Till, his best-fucking-friend, never could.
“They’re going to ask about your discography,” Till blurts as Ivan’s eyebrows knit together.
“What about it? It’s just tragedy. It doesn’t have to be based on anything real.” At this, Ivan’s voice turns eerily saccharine. Till thinks he’s had enough ramyeon.
“Okay. Fine, good talk. Management’s probably going to talk to us about ground rules,” Till says, bulldozing past the conversation, determined. “Do you have any personal ones?”
Ivan hums, considering. “Not really, I’m open to anything.” His voice drops, his brows quirked. Till pointedly looks away.
“I have one.” Ivan’s eyes widen imperceptibly, amused. “We stick to the story we’re selling and pretend like that was real. I don’t want to bring up”—Till’s breath hitches—“the actual past. It’s dead to me.”
Ivan nods, slow, deliberate. "I can work with that.” His expression tells another story.
But can you?
“Ivan, get your hands off my client. There are no cameras." Sua sighs, her grip on her clipboard tightening.
Till sends her a grateful glance, though futile, as Ivan only laughs, leaning his head over Till’s shoulder.
“I’m just getting into character, Noona,” he says, gelled black locks tickling Till’s nose. Till considers giving in to the temptation of sneezing and getting his snot all over Ivan's expensively styled hair.
A clap startles the trio into looking towards the offending party’s direction. Luka, Ivan’s manager, blinks. Languid.
“Ground rules. You do not tell anyone outside of this room about the nature of your arrangement. You do not argue in public settings. If you sense tension, get rid of it.”
“How are we supposed to do that?” Till asks, his brows furrowing.
Luka stares at him, gold boring into his soul. “I’m not paid to give a damn about how you choose to get rid of anything. Figure it out yourself.”
Sua sighs. "Gravitate to other people, maybe, or save the argument for closed doors.”
Till wonders how Ivan gets anything done with a guy like Luka around.
“What about PDA?” Ivan asks, suddenly. Till lurches away from his hold as Ivan pouts in response. A faux-pout; Till knows how that conniving bastard works.
“PDA–” Sua’s expression turns incredibly disgruntled, as if she were imagining the two of them making out. Till shares the sentiment. Somewhat. He doesn’t really focus on anything other than Luka’s piercing gaze, looking right through him.
“You can do whatever you want.” Luka says as Sua swivels her head.
“They can’t get too wild, Luka.”
“Sure, they can. They’re not K-pop idols,” Luka snorts. "Yeah, the media’s going to call them nasty or raunchy, but that’s only if they choose to give themselves that reputation.
“Whatever the case, it doesn’t matter as long as they’re ‘in love.' We can sell sex freaks, but we can’t sell a divorce." Luka says, before his gaze turns into a downright glare at Till. "So don’t make me sell a scandal. Got it?”
Till gulps. “Yeah, okay.”
Ivan smiles, easy. “When have I ever?”
Till shudders when Luka matches Ivan’s expression to a tee. “I’ve booked an interview for you two tomorrow with that celebrity gossip talk show host–”
“Mizi. And I booked it,” Sua clarifies, the constant dent in her expression beginning to soften. Ivan giggles into his palm as Luka clicks his tongue in annoyance.
Ah, yes, the elusive fiancé Till has never had the pleasure of meeting. Based on his teasing reaction, Till can only assume that Ivan already has.
“Did you ‘book’ it, or did you tell her in passing in bed?” Ivan taunts. Sua throws a ballpoint pen in his direction, Ivan deftly deflecting.
“Fuck off. I booked it, officially, because I’m a professional. Whatever. Mizi is aware of your arrangement and will ask you two flattering and not-too-invasive questions accordingly. I can’t promise this leniency with other future engagements you two might be caught up in, but this should ease you into the act.”
“The lie,” Till mutters.
Luka waves him off. “Synonymous.”
"Get ready for it,” Sua continues, ticking something off on her list. “Practice a cute kiss for the cameras, while you’re at it.” Ivan tilts his head, his expression unreadable as ever which makes Till flush.
Luka looks between the pair. "Till, let Ivan take the lead," he says, curt. “I don’t trust you.”
Well, fuck him too.
Sua narrows her eyes at the other manager. "Luka’s right.”
“Thanks, "Till replies, dry.
“We’re not done,” Sua continues, ignoring Till’s attitude. “Music-wise. Your respected bands will be on tour soon, as you already know. Luka and I have adjusted the venues accordingly to account for this charade. You two will have three stops in common. Sing a duet, rile the crowd up a little, and smile for your fans."
“What duet? Did you write us one?” Till asks as Luka shakes his head. “Ivan did. He’ll send you the file.”
Till’s attention snaps towards Ivan, who only looks back at him, gaze frustratingly intense. “When did you write this duet?”
Ivan shrugs. “Between here and there."
Luka clears his throat. "We’re thinking Busan, Incheon, and Seoul. All marking one-third of your tour stops. Sound good?”
They both nod simultaneously as Sua scribbles something down in her clipboard again. “Stellar.”
Ivan snorts. “Stellar? What are you? Sixty?”
“Fuck you.”
“Not when I have someone else to do it to,” Ivan says. Till musters up the iciest glare he can, ignoring the opposing heat crawling up his spine. When did Ivan get so forward?
Ivan notes his reaction, raising his hands placatingly, a certain look to his eye. “Or you could. I’m flexible.”
This was too much.
“You’re a great actor,” Till says, sharp, as he slips out of plush leather cushions, making his way towards the sliding door.
Midnights with Mizi’s studio lot is packed once Till parks his motorcycle in its designated spot, insisting against riding in a car with Ivan and Luka– The fresh air is a necessary requirement before what was sure to be one of the worst hours of his life.
Bustling cameramen and show-running staff scurry between studio lots and trailer cars, each muttering into their earpieces or adjusting lenses. Till wonders if stardom is ever worth all the ‘jazz’ one has to come to light with.
“It’s Friday night, usually the highest in ratings. That’s why it’s so busy.” Till jumps at the sound of Ivan’s voice creeping up behind him.
“Christ, I hate it when you just appear like that.” Till groans, massaging his forehead. Ivan’s lips quirk, before his palms intertwine with Till’s, causing Till to flinch instantaneously.
“Oh dear, how are the public ever going to believe that we were dating for six years if you still blush like a virgin at the slightest touch?” Ivan croons, his lips ghosting the shell of Till’s ears.
“You just startled me,” Till says, his eyes fixed on the image of their conjoined hands. Fuck.
“Hm, I shouldn’t, though,” Ivan says, squeezing Till’s hands gently. Till squeezes back, harsh. Ivan leads them to Luka, who is currently talking to one of his assistants over the phone.
“No, Dotori, I don’t want to hear another one of your ridiculous excuses, wait–” Luka’s gaze slides towards Ivan and Till, expressionless, as he gestures towards the lot they were meant to enter, before he mouths ‘Be good’ to Till. What the hell is this guy’s problem? And why isn't he warning Ivan? Is he seriously that bad of an actor?
Ivan tugs Till further into the set. “Leave him. Sua’ll be inside anyway.”
Sua left far earlier than either of them. Till’s only indicator of her even being alive today is a simple text entailing: going w mizi to the studio. don’t embarrass me today, or i swear to god. tell ivan not to make out with you on cam. bye.
“Don’t make out with me on camera,” Till remembers, Ivan shrugging in response.
“Yeah, okay.”
A bubblegum-pink-haired girl, Till assumes must be Mizi, is sat atop her shiny, smooth talk show desk, in riveting conversation with Sua, whose face schools itself into a neutral expression once she catches sight of the–
“If it isn’t the men of the hour!” Mizi squeals, jumping down from her table and stretching her palms out. Ivan shakes first, gentle but firm, tilting his head with his million-dollar smile combination. “Ivan! It’s been too long!”
He nods. "It really has, Mizi. My sister just can’t stop hogging you, can she?”
“Cousin.” Sua clarifies as Mizi giggles into her palm, before she makes eye contact with Till. Till stiffens when emerald bores its soul into teal. To say Mizi is beautiful would be a vast understatement. Till finds himself stumped at the sight of her.
“And you must be Till! I really love UNKNOWN’s music, y’know! Not that I’m biased or anything.” Mizi laughs as Till awkwardly shakes her hand. She lets go, wiping off the sweat from Till’s clammy palms subtly over her dress pants.
“Right!” She claps, calling herself to attention, “We’ll go live in ten. Sua’s given me the backstory you two decided to go with, so I’m going to ask you a few questions about it– Don’t worry. Nothing invasive or precarious! It’s really just to give your audience general context so that you don’t get hounded on by social media and the like.
"I’ve done this sort of thing before, and my best advice for the ‘couple’ would be for them to act cute, but not to go overboard. Since you’ve been dating for six years, nobody would expect you to get all handsy on camera… But they would expect something subtly affectionate, maybe even sexy fan service?” Mizi chuckles. “Save that for your stage, though.”
“Got it,” Ivan affirms. In contrast, Till's head spins with all the exposition. He mutters an incoherent noise in agreement, before he sits himself down on the sofa—oddly similar to the one in Sua’s office. Ivan sits down next to him, their thighs touching.
Am I fifteen? Why the fuck do I care about our thighs touching?
“We’re on in five!” Mizi yells as she swivels over to her seat, kissing Sua goodbye on the cheek before doing so. Till notes the rose gold bands snug on their ring fingers, an ugly feeling stirring within his bubbling gastric acid.
Till zeroes in on the potted cactus at the edge of her desk. If the cactus falls over, would that mean they get to waste their segment on the fallen cactus? How could Till make the cactus fall? Maybe he could toss the flimsy water bottle cap at it—projectile motion and whatnot.
He feels a larger hand envelop his, fingers tracing over his own gently, drawing stars and triangles. Till doesn’t dare turn towards the source.
“Let me take the lead,” Ivan says, his tone sounding serious for the first time since their lives were forcefully thrust onto the same path.
“Yeah, yeah. I got the goddamn memo.” Till rolls his eyes, staring straight ahead. He feels Ivan’s grip slightly tighten for a brief moment.
“You’ve said it yourself. I’m a good actor,” Ivan finally says as the camera’s light blinks red, “so just play along.”
Recorded applause echoes throughout the venue as Mizi props an elbow on her desk. “Hope you’re having a lovely, lovely night, my dear viewers. From Anakt corp to humanity, it’s yours truly, Mizi’s Midnights!” she exclaims, waving her hands chaotically as the applause switches to one with imbued cheers.
“Today, we’ve got two legends in indie rock, Till from UNKNOWN and Ivan from BLACK SORROW." Mizi gestures to the boys as the intro music begins to fade, the cheers turn deafening.
Ivan flashes his signature charming smile at the camera, snaggle-tooth peeking out, his head tilting at just the right angle, hands waving as if he were heir to a foreign throne. Till simply raises his palm up, his glance at the camera being the only acknowledgement he bothers giving it.
Mizi leans into the boys’ space slightly. “Before we get to the promotional mumbo jumbo– Till, you’ve been under pretty hot water recently, haven’t you?” a projector begins to mortifyingly display Till’s drunken blunder in 4-fucking-k, right down to the ‘LOVE IS A CONTRUCT.’
Ivan chuckles next to him as Till flushes. “That was just–”
“Till-ah and I had a bit of a disagreement shortly before his gig. It seems he’d taken it to heart,” Ivan explains, frustrating smile plastered on the entire time.
Mizi’s eyes widen. "A disagreement? Before he called love a construct? Ivan, that would imply that you two…” She pauses. Taking the hint, Ivan immediately leans his head atop Till’s shoulder.
“Surprise!” Ivan sing-songs as Till tries his best to match their energy with a shaky grin.
Mizi gasps, the recorded ‘live studio audience' following. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t see that coming. That would be disingenuous, since, well, I invited you two on here,” she says, “but it’s still quite a shock hearing you say it! From what I’ve been told, you two have been dating for quite a while on the down low."
“Six years,” Till manages as Mizi’s eyes practically sparkle.
“Six years. That’s almost as long as my fiancé and I! Tell me all about it."
“We’ve known each other since high school,” Ivan begins, never leaving his spot on Till’s shoulder. Till shifts to a more comfortable position, once he realises Ivan isn’t going to budge. "He was an emo kid. Shocking, I know.” The recorded laughter plays as Mizi giggles. Till rolls his eyes.
“You know what’s actually shocking? This guy was a bit of a jock,” Till grunts when Ivan gently shoves him.
Mizi stares at Ivan incredulously. “I mean, I knew you were built but a jock?!”
“Believe it or not, that I was,” Ivan says. “It really wasn’t as egregious as Till’s making it out to be.”
“You were the star quarterback. The captain of the team. How much more stereotypical could it get?” Till remarks, dry.
“Well, I was dating you, wasn’t I?” Ivan smirks, placing a quick peck on Till’s cheek before straightening his posture, leaning back on the cushions. It takes everything in Till’s meek willpower to shove down the flare of heat he experiences, the echoes of Ivan’s lips over his skin.
“Gosh, you two really are so adorable. Is this why CURE was formed? Some sort of romantic endeavour?” Mizi asks, before she pouts. “But you… Broke up then? CURE disbanded way back when, after all."
“There was some internal struggle, for sure. Mixing up your professional and personal lives rarely goes ideally,” Ivan says. "Till and I tried, but we had too many creative differences, and it started affecting us.
Our relationship comes first, of course.” Hah, rich coming from you. “So we decided to break up professionally, keep our work and lives separate. We’re in the same industry though, so we still have some competitive spirit– After all, it makes things a little more interesting back home, wouldn’t you say?” Ivan nudges Till.
Till gazes at the potted cactus. “Right. Interesting. Our fans certainly think so, based on the fan fiction stats we’ve apparently amassed."
Mizi delights in the topic. “Went looking through the trenches, I see.”
“Against my will,” Till stresses before side-eyeing his supposed boyfriend. Ivan only grins in response.
“What made you decide to finally reveal your relationship? After all, six years is a very long time to keep things under wraps. Was the controversy really so terrible?”
“I didn’t want people to get the wrong idea.” Till sighs, feeling his mouth spill words he never consented to saying. “I always mean what I write in my songs. They represent the very turbulent parts of my thought process. I love, and breathe love. What I said that night was a direct product of that love. I was…” He swallows. “Affected, by our argument. It hurt more than I’d like and– I get worried. I got worried.”
“Till’s heart’s quite soft,” Ivan says, quiet. “It’s like hard, from the exterior, but it’s a piece of flimsy card honestly."
“Flimsy card—”
“He’s so gentle, passionate. It’s one of the things I love most about him. There are often times when I wish I could be as earnest,” Ivan says, with unexpected sincerity. “Outting ourselves feels like a proclamation of our commitment, and I’m very ready to show everyone exactly what I’ve committed to,”
Till’s heart beats traitorously, nausea building up his throat. Commitment? Ivan? He wants to barf right then and there.
“I think you’ve made the right choice. We already love you," Mizi says before winking. “Though, I might be a little biased. Moving on, you two have also added in a few extra dates to your tour schedule. What’s up with that?”
“We figured we might as well make a splash,” Ivan explains before looking at Till, who pipes up.
“We’ve aligned our schedules at the third-way midpoints of our tour. This way, we’ll get to perform a few pieces together."
Mizi nods excitedly, turning to the camera. “Fans can expect to enjoy UNKNOWN’s soulful love songs and BLACK SORROW’s tear-jerking rock ballads at the same venue, coupled with exclusive performances of an elusive duet Ivan himself has written and produced! Look forward to it. There are still tickets left to be sold at the new venues in Busan, Incheon and Seoul. Get them before this rockin’ couple goes viral!”
Till cringes at her wording, while Ivan scoffs, somehow sounding dignified. The outro music begins to play, and the lights dim. The cameras switch off, and Till finally feels like he can breathe again.
“You did great!” Mizi cheers, as Sua and Luka walk onto the set, Mizi’s head automatically shifting towards Sua. “Babe, they did great!”
Sua shifts slightly. "Yeah, they did. Although, Till, you could stand to seem more convincing,”
Till frowns. “What would you have me do exactly? To seem more convincing, that is.”
“Well, for starters, crazy suggestion, by the way, but maybe return his affections every once in a while?”
“That’s…” Till’s frown deepens. “What if I’m just not the touchy type?”
“Touchy’s one thing. You’re straight up avoidant,” Mizi pipes, and Till looks at her, betrayed.
“He doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to,” Ivan interrupts, speaking for the first time since the interview ended.
“I don’t want to do any of this,” Till deadpans as Ivan huffs.
“Can’t help you there.”
“Listen. You two did well. Take a few pictures and post them. You basically don’t really have anything to do together until Busan,” Sua says. “Unless you want to.”
“No.” Till immediately states, slumping off to his bike without waiting for Ivan’s response.
Mizi @MiziMidnights • 2h
Interview with BLACK SORROW’s Ivan and UNKNOWN’s Till! Dishing over their relationship, high school days, and more! [embedded video link to interview]
Book UNKNOWN and BLACKSORROW’s new tour date tickets here! : www.sweetdreamticks/blacksorro….
3.9k Reposts • 4.7k Quotes • 74k Likes
head unknownsorrower @_unknownsorrow • 9h
WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE SEEING THIS
1k Reposts • 500 Quotes • 15k Likes#1 Ivan Fucker @ivansbuttplug • 9h
always knew they were fucking gay. and fucking.
300 Reposts • 200 Quotes • 4k Likes(〒﹏〒) @kisolvetica • 9h
GUYSDFSDF WDYM THEY WERE LITERALLY A JOCK AND AN EMO???? they totally fucked in the locker room brooafjosifd
3k Reposts • 1.1k Quotes • 15k LikesYeong @ianyeonger • 9h
lmao why does till look lowk uncomfortable
20 Reposts • 5.5k Quotes • 470 Likes
“Opening the tour with a bang, I see." Issac hums, mulling over the additions to their set list as Till’s makeup artist fusses over the man.
“Believe me, I didn’t exactly get to have a say in this matter,” Till grumbles. His makeup artist glares at him, prompting him to shut up.
Dewey whistles. “Seriously, dating for six years. That’s one hell of a cover story." He shakes his head. “Just don’t actually bang on stage and we’ll be fine.” He starts to laugh deliriously as Issac and Till level him with an unimpressed look.
“Anyway,” Issac says, clearing his throat, “since they’re in the room next door, I talked to Hyuna.”
Deweys eyes widen. “Oh, right. I should go do that.” He hoists himself up from the chaise he’d been draping a leg over Issac’s lap on, before Issac pushes him back down.
“We’re on in five. Don’t have the time.”
“Aw, you’re right.” Dewey sucks in a sharp breath. “Whatever, we’ll see them after the show.” Issac nods.
Till looks between his fellow band mates, thinking back to her, to Hyuna. Frankly, he doesn't know much about her, beyond the fact that she is BLACK SORROW’s lead guitarist, and that she apparently attributed to Ivan’s sudden ability to write intensely vulnerable lyrics. Whatever.
“You guys could go to a bar or something after,” Till suggests, trying not to let his biases—or lack of them—bleed through his tone.
Issac snorts. “Yeah, don’t worry about that. That was, like, the first thing Hyuna decided to do. You’re coming, yeah?”
Over his dead body.
Dewey and Issac look at him like expectant fathers.
“Sure, yeah, social interaction. Sounds right up my alley."
“Good,” Issac says, disregarding the sarcasm, “that’s good. We’ll leave you and Ivan to that duet at the end– Have you had a few chances to practice it?”
Right. The duet. The untitled duet. Till’s mind harks back to Ivan sending him the audio file at 2 AM. ‘still haven’t changed your god awful sleep schedule, have you?’ ‘pot calling kettle.’
He sighs. “As much as I could in like, five days.”
“How was it? Is it sensual like Paratise? Raw like Nowhere?” Issac questions.
Till stares at him, bewildered. "Did you listen to their entire discography?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t,” Dewey pipes up. "I specifically recall you hunched over your keyboard and a Google Doc, analysing each lyric of Paratise line by line."
Till flushes. “It was a poetic song that begged to be broken down.”
“It’s not the only thing!” Dewey sing-songs as Issac huffs under his breath, Till’s flush only rising higher up his neck.
“Anyway.” Till glares. “It was… Tragic, I guess.”
In actuality, ‘tragic’ didn’t even begin to describe it. The lyrics to this untitled project of Ivan’s were so heartbreakingly raw that Till believed no word could possibly encapsulate the emotion it embodied.
It was haunting, almost. Till imagines it as a song a grieving widow would sing, helplessly throwing her arm atop a closed casket, drawing incoherent lines across mahogany.
“What’s it called, though?” Dewey asks, as he thumbs over his drumsticks.
“He said it’d be a surprise,” Till mutters bitterly. Issac acknowledges the response with a hum, and Dewey stares at him, like he’s trying to figure Ivan out through Till’s eyes.
“Regardless, the show’s about to start." Issac claps his hands before gesturing to the door. “Break a leg, guys.”
Dewey brightens. "Break a leg!”
Till nods. “Break a leg.”
The stage lights are bright, the crowd roaring relentlessly as Till hollers, cries, and sings. His voice is guttural when he belts, breathy when he laments; it’s all intrinsically connected to how his songs move him, almost involuntarily. Unknown, their title namesake, is sharp, cutting, and determined. It is the obvious song to start their set list off, which helps him get in the right headspace.
A shaking paradigm– The lights blur, mixing with the crowd, beginning to look like dot patterns within a kaleidoscope. Till clears his throat. A glance at the looming staircase to pitch black. It shouldn’t feel like this. Shit, it never felt like this. Verse two, a female voice screams at an inhuman level, outlevelling the already amped up crowd. A voice, shrill, cutting through the noise.
No more taking it slow.
Certainly not.
He approaches the bridge, the sound of the cymbal crashing bringing him to the present. His heart beats erratically, his loosely held tie somehow constricting, and Till thinks he needs to get in fucking control.
You'll never know.
Till sweeps through their other tracks. All-In is vocally challenging, but its free-spirited nature lets Till take the edge off, focus on the swells of his diaphragm, the deflection in his tone. His mind subconsciously ticks, waiting for the end of times, for the worst of the lot.
Ruler of My Heart. Hah, Till doesn't want to think too hard about that one. Inflictions at the right place. Get it over with.
“Now, I know you must be tired of us–” Dewey starts as their fans scream in protest, “We’ll hand it over to BS right after our closer, Mi Vida Loca!”
The crowd bellows when the familiar taps against drumsticks begin, a mellow instrumental. Till’s voice drops to a melodic cadence, willing himself to forget about what any of it meant, maybe just for one night— To keep the peace.
Just as he smiles wildly at his fans, he feels leather brush against his bare arm, a palm ghosting over the small of his back. His smile freezes in place, searing heat crawling up his spine as the collateral screaming hits frankly inhumane decibel levels.
“Good evening, Busan!” Hyuna yells into the microphone, “I see you’re far too busy ogling at our lovebirds over there to pay me any mind. Do you think we should just cancel the set? Watch them be gay for, like, an hour instead?”
Till feels himself growing exponentially redder as their fans laugh boisterously, yelling out their apologies (or, more mortifyingly, their approval). Ivan only grins, his signature one, and Till remembers the sort of persona he’s upheld. A rugged gentleman type. Alluring, charming, mysterious. Bullshit.
Ivan’s palm shifts towards mildly gripping Till’s waist, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I wouldn't object to that notion." He chuckles, his chin resting atop Till’s hunched shoulder.
“Y-yes, well.” Till straightens, before pulling Ivan off his arm. “They’ll get to see plenty of us after your set, won’t they?”
Ivan smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Till doesn’t think it ever does.
He hums, his gaze refusing to shift away from Till as the other squirms under its intensity. He slips backstage, catching Ivan’s enthused peace sign towards his fans before retreating, as if that moment never happened.
BLACK SORROW’s sets fly through Till, staring at his phone’s empty display blankly throughout it all. Their namesake song is first and was easily one of Till’s least favourites. The lyrics waft through his ears unwillingly, and he refuses to think about it.
Eventually, he hears a stage hand call for him– And he makes his way back to the stage. To purgatory.
The cheers temporarily blind him to the fact that Ivan is the only other person on stage, his bandmates having left a minute prior.
And then, the sound fades, the stage lights dimming to just a spotlight on himself, and Till remembers where he is.
Cure starts with a brief pre-mixed audio intro—the drum kicks in, and it’s all Till, fingers plucking out a repeated ostinato as he begins to sing the first verse into the mic. To his right, Ivan’s presence feels staggeringly apparent, a silhouette amidst the dim lights, utterly immersed.
Till gulps, forcefully gripping his guitar’s stem, sweaty palms slipping against cherry red metal. Fuck, focus.
And then the caesura drops, the soft piano filling the silence, and Ivan is stepping up to the mic, his voice dulcet as he sings the beginnings of his verse. His head dips down closer to the mic, his fingers dragging up the stand to wrap around it slowly, obscenely, and it takes all of Till’s willpower not to get distracted and lose his place in the music.
Ivan catches his eye in the second half of his verse, his gaze slanted towards Till. He croons into the mic, his hand reaching out towards Till, fingers curled like he’s reeling Till in from an invisible rope tying them together. Ivan pulls the microphone free from the stand and slowly makes his way across the stage to where Till is standing stage left, every movement full of almost practised intent.
Just how much of this did you plan? Is this, one of your diversions—
Till startles slightly, fingers suddenly holding his chin and tilting his face upwards to catch the weight of Ivan’s heavy gaze, the stage lights putting his eyelashes in sharp relief against his cheekbones.
Ivan maintains his searing eye contact, yet Till couldn’t help but feel as if it didn’t fully convey what his body was, almost monotone. Ivan dives into the chorus, his hand curling around the back of Till’s head and running down the nape of his neck, tracing the outline of his face. Suffocating, sexy, Till couldn’t decipher anything between the two.
He feels Ivan glide behind him, dragging lengthy fingertips through Till’s denim tank, ridging through his guitar strap, as Till’s goosebumps lie in their wake. Till’s heart soars as his hand jerks over the strings. He prays to God that no one heard that accidental grace note.
Leather presses against Till’s side as Ivan crowds into his space, emanating heat— that wasn’t necessarily new; personal space was never a concept Ivan understood. It felt reminiscent of a bygone past. Fuck. He wraps his right hand over Till’s shoulder and then drops into a crouch, trailing his hand down the length of Till’s body, feeling him up. Till shudders and glances down to see Ivan already looking up at him, gaze heady.
The lyrics were painfully devotional; Ivan was practically worshipping him in conjunction, but Till was left unable to fill in the dots, for Ivan tripped through the fibres of his brain, the only senses functioning— touch, taste.
And then Ivan stands up again, his body drawn out in a long sinuous line as he pushes off from his knees and does a god forsaken body roll against Till’s torso. The crowd goes nuts, obviously, but Till doesn’t really think he’s capable of focusing. Everything drowns in a sea of crimson.
Ivan looks away, finally, yet as they sing in tandem, Till’s voice can’t help but crack as Ivan’s mercy on him reveals itself as a mere cruel facade. Ivan’s jacket falls into a shoulder-shrug, showing off his— are you fucking serious?
A backless turtleneck. Great. Just. Great.
He’s able to rip himself off the sight of sinuously rolled shoulders against the spotlight, right in time to drop into singing through the final line, his brain in a severely jumbled mess of unholy gibberish. He couldn’t stop, couldn't focus on the way the words had warped him like they had when he first gave Cure a listen, It was like Ivan didn’t allow him— not for a second.
“Woah– Getting a little rough, don’t you think?” Ivan chuckles, dark, as Till’s grip on his leather collar tightens before pushing him against the wall the second they are out of sight, secluded.
“What the fuck were you doing back there?” Till hisses, forearm shoved against Ivan’s chest as the raven smiles lazily in response.
“Performing,” is all he decides to respond with. Till pushes harder. Ivan’s breath stutters against the pressure.
“Performing? I’d say you were doing a lot more than that.”
Ivan’s smirk grows wider. “Call it whatever you’d like, Till-ah. I was just doing my job.”
“Don’t call me that.” Till snaps, “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore."
He tugs on Ivan’s collar, his lips ghosting right over Ivan’s. “You’re right, Ivan. You’re a great actor– Whoring out in the middle of the stage like that.” Ivan shivers against the feeling of Till’s lips brushing over his. Good, fuck him.
“Seriously, everyone tells me to follow your lead.” Till’s free hand travels to Ivan’s cinched waist, fleeting touches turning into teasing gropes, Ivan letting out a strained noise at the sensation. “Yourself included.”
“What point are you trying to make here?” Ivan lets out, attempting to steel himself with another one of those godforsaken grins of his.
“I’m getting tired of you being so fucking good at all this pretending.” The grip on Ivan’s collar loosens, travelling to cup his jaw instead. “Maybe I should get a turn.”
Crimson pupils flare– Wild, manic. “There’s no audience.”
“Isn’t there?”
The force of his kiss sends Ivan stumbling back against the wall. Till stays impossibly close, their hips flush against each other, his grip on Ivan’s waist tightening before travelling backwards, squeezing his ass as Ivan lets out an undignified moan.
His face flushes when Till’s mouth quirks, “You sound beautiful."
“Kind of do that for a living–” Ivan cuts himself off with a poorly concealed yelp at the sensation of Till’s wet mouth latching onto his neck.
Till’s arm slides beneath Ivan’s leather jacket, grazing over firm back muscles, relishing in Ivan’s expression growing dark, shuddering against his touch.
Till slots a knee between Ivan's thighs, pressing against his growing erection. He doubles over almost instantaneously, eyes glazed over.
“Till–”
“Till! Ivan! The afterparty! Everyone’s waiting for you out back!”
Hyunwoo’s bored yell echoes through the dimly lit room, as they separate immediately, Till desperately wiping at his lip, while Ivan attempts to fix his completely mussed hair and jacket.
Till clears his throat. “We should, uh, go.”
Ivan smirks. “Right."
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Till rolls his eyes. “You didn’t need to.”
They stumble out of the dark corner, catching Hyunwoo’s field of vision. He looks the pair up and down, his eyebrow quirking. "Did you two–”
“AHAHAHAHAHA, what was that you said about an afterparty? With alcohol, I’m assuming? Talk to me about all that alcohol, my man." Till forces a boisterous laugh out of himself as he slings an arm over Hyunwoo’s shoulder, who flinches at the sudden added weight.
“My man?” Hyunwoo repeats, incredulously. "We’ve only met once.”
“And?” Till asks, with bared teeth, eyes on Ivan, who watches the scene unfold, crimson, glittering with mirth.
Hyunwoo regards this for about a minute before a smile sprouts over his previously contorted expression. “You’re right. We’re totally bros now.”
“That was easy,” Till mutters under his breath, before he speaks audibly. “Lead the way, er, bro.”
“Bro,” Ivan echoes as Till shudders. “No, that sounds wrong coming from you.”
Hyunwoo frowns. “Well, yeah, that would imply incest.”
The pub Hyuna drags them all out to is dimly lit: yellow bulbs flickering above their dingy booth, fluff spilling out of worn leather couches with a sticky substance Till really doesn't want to investigate spilt right over a rickety table.
“Ah, we should get someone to clean that." Hyuna’s brows furrow. Luka sighs beside her, waving at an underpaid employee with an air of poise. The waiter grimaces, slapping a damp rag spritzed with generic cleaner to wipe over the table.
She whips a notepad out right after, staring at Luka boredly. "So, what’ll it be?”
“A Sex on the Beach,” Luka says as the lady frowns.
“We don’t sell any of that highfalutin stuff over here.”
“You don’t sell the most basic of cocktail concoctions, got it.” He turns to Hyuna. “Why are we here again?”
“Because they’ve got a great in-house brew,” Hyuna says sagely as Hyunwoo rolls his eyes.
“They only sell Heinekens."
“And I love a good Heineken!”
“Babe, nobody likes Heineken." Luka sighs again. “They don’t even sell Tiger." He holds up an eight with his fingers to the waitress, who nods.
“Noona likes the fact that it reminds her of her bar-tending job back in college,” Ivan says, propping his chin up with an elbow as he smiles lazily.
Noona?
Hyuna laughs boisterously. “As usual, Ivan knows all.” Luka’s contorted expression softens, as if he were reminiscing something. The waitress makes her way back to their table with the drinks.
“That job did not help your growing alcoholism.” Issac grumbles as Dewey claps his back.
"Cheer up! We’re here to celebrate!”
“Right! Get that stick out your ass, Issac.” Hyuna chuckles before turning to Till, who feels his posture straighten, transfixed by grey. “So, you’re Till.” Her eyes narrow, as if she were assessing something.
“We’ve met,” Till manages as Hyunwoo clarifies, “Once.”
“At an award show,” Hyuna protests. “That hardly counts. You and Ivan– Dating, huh? Do I need to give you the shovel talk or something?”
Till’s brows scrunch. “I hardly feel like I’m the one who–”
“If you get to do it, then we have to too!” Dewey interrupts before swivelling to meet Ivan’s charming gaze. “Listen here—hic—pretty boy, you can't hurt our little Till-ah, capisce?”
Ivan’s gaze slides to Till meaningfully. He gets to call you Till-ah then?
Till sticks his tongue out, like is was one to fucking talk.
Dewey’s started blubbering at this point, pathetically sniffling through incoherent jargon. “A-and he’s like a son to us. We found him alone, on—hic—the streets, and you’re going to bastardise him.”
Luka rolls his eyes as Hyuna films Dewey’s drunken spiel, Issac patting his back, while Hyunwoo looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.
Ivan raises an eyebrow at this. “If anything, he’s bastardising me.” His gaze shifts to Hyunwoo. “Vouch for me here.”
Till feels his heart lurch as the entire table turns rapidly to Hyunwoo, who shakily waves his hands. “I didn’t see anything!”
Ivan stares, piercing. Hyunwoo gulps.
“Oi.” Hyuna slaps Ivan’s shoulder from across him. “Play nice, boys.”
“Play nice, boys,” Till finds himself repeating, hollow. Issac looks at him the same way he did back when he staged Till’s intervention. Precisely—two months after Black Sorrow was released.
The drinks keep coming after, Hyuna insisting on having it be a ‘bottomless kind of night,' Luka sliding his black card in her direction. Till, ever the free-loader, gladly obliges, what with having an entire make-out session to forget and all that. His attention tries its best to stay fixed on the current glass of beer he's nursing, trying not to divot to something—someone—unsavoury.
“That was a great show tonight.”
He counts the number of foamy bubbles amidst the rim of the beer glass. Twenty, twenty-three, sixty-seven, five.
He hears the sensation of a slender hand grazing through leather, manicured nails tripping purposely through the seams.
“We could keep it going,” it croons. beckons. Like a siren’s song.
His tie is loose, threatening to slip– Despite that, he feels as if it grips his throat, constricting, unyielding.
“Ah– And how would you say we do that?” Easy laughter slips past Ivan’s throat.
Suffocating.
“I know a place, mine, to be specific. What say you and I–"
“Did you not notice him groping me on stage?” Till snaps, glaring at the intruder intruding on their solitary space with her intrusiveness.
The lady pauses, sparing an unbothered glance at the singer. “And who are you supposed to be?”
“Did you not watch the show you claimed to find pretty boy over here great in?” Till notices how they’re not really at the booth anymore. They’re over the barstools. There’s a bottle next to him now. Ivan lies languid over the table. Till wonders how much he’s drunk. He doesn’t think he noticed.
He notices Ivan's eyes glint with interest. Fuck his goddamn interest.
The lady notices their clear-as-day eyefuckery, and speaks up. “Of course I did.”
“Okay,” Till snaps, “Name one song from the set list.”
“I want it that way.”
“What the fuck? The Backstreet Boys?” Till asks, incredulous.
“You are my fire,” Ivan sings. Till knees him, crotch level.
The girl frowns. “I’m a casual listener.” Till raises a brow. She huffs indignantly. “Whatever. I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love me."
“The one, desire,” Ivan croons, swaying slightly, his crotch sore. Till glances at the girl. “That man is too far gone to give a fuck.”
“Even better.” she smirks.
“He’s fucking gay,” Till snaps, the brief and mortifying memory of a lesbian girl rejecting him in middle school resurfaces as he says it. Gods, this is exactly what shouldn't be happening.
The girl’s head snaps towards Ivan.
“Believe, when, I say,” he continues, unhelpfully.
Her frown deepens. "Are you gay?”
“I want it that way."
Till sighs. “I didn’t want to spring it on you like that. Good luck with the rest of your night. I don’t care,” He gets up, gripping Ivan’s wrist loosely. Typically, this level of meagre force wasn’t nearly enough to drag the behemoth that was Ivan upwards, yet his inebriated self seemed to follow Till almost as if it were second nature.
He drags Ivan out, the cold autumn breeze enveloping them instantly. Till shivers despite himself. Ivan blinks in Till's direction, slowly. He shrugs his jacket off before snaking it over Till’s shoulders.
Till flinches, involuntarily. “Idiot, you’ll get cold now,”
Ivan shakes his head slowly. “Full sleeve,” He murmurs, his speech shockingly coherent despite his obvious inebriation.
“It’s backless,” Till huffs, beginning to take Ivan’s jacket off, before Ivan practically boulders into him. Till’s back presses over brick and mortar. “What the fuck are you–”
“I can think of other ways you can warm me up,” Ivan whispers, his head dropping to Till’s clavicle. He grinds patiently against Till as the latter flushes, violent.
“N-No, we– I needed to talk to you about flirting with that girl,” Till tries, ignoring the heat beginning to stir within his gut.
Ivan groans. “You’re always on about me flirting with this and that. Till, I don’t care about her. You’ve said it yourself. I’m gay. So why do I need to remind you?”
“That’s not the– fuck,” Till’s speech stutters as Ivan’s lips graze against his neck, their crotches merely separated by fabric and leather. “Stop that. We’re supposed to be in a relationship.”
“Yeah, I think people in relationships perform this sort of behaviour,” Ivan says, matter-of-factly.
Till rolls his eyes, “I mean, you’re not supposed to have let her, or anyone for that matter, just touch you like that."
“Like what?” Ivan tilts his head, his fingers beginning to graze over Till’s tank, sensuous.
Till’s breath hitches. “I told you to–”
“Stop?” Ivan smiles, teasing. “Was that what you were going to do, before we got cockblocked?”
“There was no cock to block,” Till insists.
Ivan stares. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s keep playing into your charade.” He rips his hands right off of Till, “I’ll take the ‘no’ seriously. Let me give it the utmost of importance.”
The lack of warmth slaps Till right across the face despite the jacket. Ivan simply stands still, limp at his sides, boring holes into Till’s psyche. His principles. His propriety.
“Fuck you,” he spits out, flipping their positions completely as Till traps Ivan between himself and the wall yet again.
Ivan smirks, wild, his hair beginning to sway with the harsh fall winds. “That’s the idea.”
“I’m not,” Till says, about an inch away from Ivan’s lips, “fucking you. We’re not doing that.”
Ivan doesn’t bother asking why, only continuing to give that brilliantly intense deadpan of his, the kind Till used to shudder at under the relentless attention of when they were kids.
The one that looked him right in the eye that night. We don’t work, Till.
“Stop looking at me like that, fucking hell.” Till gasps, Ivan’s brow only quirking slightly in response.
“Shit. Listen. We’re both drunk and horny. S-so, let’s just get this out of our systems. But we’re not having sex– Not while we’re both drunk, not ever, actually.” Till manages, his eyes darting towards anything that isn't crimson and onyx.
Ivan tilts Till’s head towards him, almost forcefully. Till gulps. Ivan's lips purse imperceptibly. “Okay. Let's do it.”
“Do it?”
“Let’s get this,” he says, gesturing to their inflated pants, “out of our systems.”
Till’s lips connect with Ivan’s almost as if they were moving on command, a squeeze at Ivan’s waist, black locks slithering through his fingers, the coppery tang of Ivan’s snaggletooth pricking into Till’s shoulder desperately as Till pushes into him in tandem.
A guttural moan rings through his ears; it’s just about the last thing he registers before the haze clouds over.
RockCrave @RockCrave • 2h
LEAKED!!! Multiple pictures of BLACK SORROW’s Ivan and UNKNOWN’s Till making out were taken behind Anakt Bar!! Sources report seeing Ivan with an unknown woman minutes prior, possibly a rouse….. Read more
69.2k Reposts • 8.9k Quotes • 112k Likes
head unknownsorrower @_unknownsorrow • 9h
HELLO???? TILL WEARING IVAN'S JACKET LIFE IS SO GOOD THE BIRDS ARE CHIRPING TJE SKY IS BLUE THE SUN IS SHINING i AM SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS OH MY GOD
3k Reposts • 1.5k Quotes • 37k Likes#TillTheEnd || SAW UNKNOWN LIVE!! @tillsnailclipper • 9h
LMAOOO WAS IVAN TRYING TO GET TILL JEALOUS? It worked a bit too well dawg…. that man gay asf what was Till even worrying about lmaoo
780 Reposts • 479 Quotes • 7k Likesivan bondage porn wip @paragayyy • 9h
DO YOU GUYS THINK HE’D TIE IVAN’S WRISTS UP WITH HIS TIE…. DO YOU SEE THE VISION
7k Reposts • 12.1k Quotes • 18k LikesYeong @ianyeonger • 9h
this is so obviously a PR thing dude lmfaoooooo they had to do damage control bc Ivan couldn’t keep it in his pants at the bar
13 Reposts • 15.8k Quotes • 250 Likes
ivannnn heart eyes @ivanbbg • 9h
are you stupid on purpose? he’s stated his sexuality multiple times? he’s openly gay???? he’s been openly gay since he DEBUTED??
70 Reposts • 13 Quotes • 500 Likes