Archive of Our Own

Ivan’s supposed to be studying. Instead, his gaze has drifted away from his textbook to the teenager struggling on his own homework a few seats over. Study hall is the only period they have together aside from lunch and gym, as Ivan’s been taking advanced classes ever since he started high school the previous year.

His father expects excellence from him, including perfect grades. This paper on the effects of French Revolution on American politics isn’t going to write itself, however watching Till chew on the end of his pen in frustration is much more interesting.

He’s been going at it for the past five minutes. Ivan’s positive he’s almost chewed it down to the ink cartridge. Any moment now he’s going to have a mouthful of blue ink. Ivan rests his chin on his palm, elbow on his desk, hiding his smile as best he can. He could warn his friend, but where’s the fun in that?

Right on cue, the pen explodes. Till jolts back in his seat, green eyes wide with surprise, which quickly turns to dismay as he looks down at the mess of blue ink splattered over his homework. It’s dripping off his fingers, staining his lips and chin, and droplets have landed on his shirt as well.

“Fuck!”

The teacher at the front of the room looks up from her book. “Till Seong! Must I write you up for foul language again?”

“My pen exploded!” Till protests.

Ivan lifts his hand. “I can help him clean up, ma’am.”

The teacher waves them off dismissively, so Ivan takes that as approval. He stands and walks over to take Till’s elbow to help him up without touching anything. Till holds the pen gingerly, dropping it into the trash on their way out of the classroom.

Ivan holds the door for him as they step out into hall. “You really should stop chewing on your pens,” he offers with a small smirk.

“I don’t even realize I’m doing it half the time,” Till grumbles. He glances over at Ivan. “Is it bad?”

Ivan keeps his expression flat. “Nah.”

The relief in Till’s eyes doesn’t last. As soon as they enter the restroom, he catches sight of himself in the mirror and immediately freaks out.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Ivan doubles over with laughter. He can’t help it. Till turns on him with a glare.

“You said it wasn’t that bad! I look like a Smurf!”

Ivan gasps for air, gripping the edge of the sink to keep from falling to the floor as his legs grow weak. Till lunges at him, stained hands going for his face. Ivan quickly recovers and grabs his wrist to keep them away.

“Hey! It’s not my fault your bad habit backfired on you,” he says, as Till struggles against his grip, reaching for him.

“Stop laughing!”

For as thin as he is, Till’s wiry, deceptively strong, and he manages to push Ivan back against the wall near the paper towel dispenser. Ivan’s heart pounds faster in his chest. He resists the urge to release Till’s wrists and grab him around the waist to pull him closer. His lips and teeth are blue, and Ivan stares at them, wanting so badly to lean forward and press his lips against Till’s to see if the blue will transfer to him.

He lifts his gaze to Till’s eyes, brows drawn low over them in annoyance. He’s no longer pushing against Ivan’s grip to get at his face, his stained palms hovering in the air where Ivan has stalled them. Something shifts in Till’s expression, and his cheeks grow red.

“Whatever,” he mutters, yanking his wrists out of Ivan’s grasp.

Ivan lets him go, watching as he storms over to the sink to turn on the water, pumping soap into his palms and rubbing them together vigorously under the running faucet.

Ivan slowly moves away from the wall, turning to gather a few paper towels before joining Till at the sink. He wets a couple under the warm water, adding a dollop of soap, before lifting his hand toward Till’s face.

“Close your mouth,” he instructs.

Till presses his lips together, and Ivan gently scrubs the soapy paper towels over them and his chin, doing his best to clean the ink from his skin.

“Shit, this stuff is really sticking,” Till mutters, his gaze lowered onto his hands. He doesn’t look at Ivan, as he carefully wipes the corners of Till’s mouth.

“Mm. It’s pretty stubborn,” Ivan agrees. He grabs another paper towel, this time wetting it without soap, going back over Till’s lips and chin to rinse away the suds. “But it’s coming off a bit, I think.”

Till heaves an angsty sigh, his warm breath ghosting over Ivan’s fingers and sending a chill down his spine.

“If you’re struggling with your homework, I can help you,” Ivan offers after a moment, scrunching the wet paper towels in his hands and throwing them away.

Till wrinkles his nose as he grabs more to dry off his mouth, chin, and hands. “Don’t you have your own work to do?” he asks skeptically.

Ivan shrugs. “I finished early,” he lies.

“Ugh, this isn’t going to come off,” Till mutters, swiping now at the spots on his shirt.

“Mm. Might need to be dry cleaned.”

“I can’t afford that!” Till yelps.

“I can get it done for you,” Ivan says, holding out his hand. “Give it to me.”

Till covers himself with his arms. “I’m not walking back to class shirtless, you perv,” he says.

Ivan smirks, lowering his hand. “Why don’t we swap, then?” he suggests. Without waiting for Till’s agreement, he removes his hoodie and unbuttons his school shirt, peeling it off and holding it out to Till, who’s now looking away, the tips of his ears flushed pink. Ivan raises his eyebrows. “Hey.”

Till scowls but snatches the shirt from him, quickly unbuttoning his own stained shirt and handing it over. Ivan resists the urge to sniff at it, slipping it on and fastening the buttons carefully. It stretches tight over his shoulders and across his chest, making the fit uncomfortable, but he simply pulls his hoodie back on, watching as Till finishes with his own buttons. By contrast, Ivan’s shirt hangs off his wiry frame limply.

Ivan’s heartbeat quickens once more. “I’ll have it back to you by the end of the week,” he offers.

“Sure,” Till mutters, spinning on his heel and walking out of the restroom.

Ivan follows, adjusting the collar of the tight shirt before finally just unbuttoning the top button and zipping his hoodie up all the way. He has an extra shirt in his locker, but he doesn’t bother going to retrieve it. Instead, he reenters the classroom behind Till and follows him to his desk, looking down at the ink splattered worksheet.

He picks it up.

“Hey!” Till protests.

Ignoring him, Ivan walks to the front of the class. “Can we get another copy of this?” he asks the teacher with his best smile.

The woman sighs like he’s just asked her to do something extremely difficult before opening her desk drawer and pulling out another worksheet. Ivan smiles again and bows slightly with thanks before returning to Till’s desk and handing it to him.

“But I’d already written answers on that one,” Till says, frowning at the stained papers in Ivan’s hand.

Ivan barely glances at it. “They were incorrect.”

“How do you know?” Till asks with a frown.

Ivan just smirks and walks over to toss the worksheet into the trash bin by the door. He grabs a new pen from his own desk before going to stand by Till’s, handing him the pen and tapping the worksheet with one finger. “Start by doing the problems you know you can answer. Anything that stumps you for more than a couple minutes leave for later. We’ll go over them after school.”

Till glances between the paper and Ivan’s face. “Don’t you have skating practice?”

“I’ll let Coach know I’ll be late.”

Till chews on his lip, his brows drawn together once more. “That won’t get you in trouble, will it?”

It most likely will, but Ivan doesn’t care. “The easy ones first,” he reiterates, tapping the paper again before turning to walk back to his desk. He thinks he feels Till’s eyes on him, but when he sits and glances over, his friend is bent over his desk, filling out the worksheet.

Ivan glances at the clock on the wall. He won’t be able to finish his paper before the bell rings. Oh well. It was worth it.

Helping Till with his homework makes Ivan thirty minutes late to training. His coach makes him skate laps around the rink as punishment before moving into the routine they’ve been working on for his next competition. He does his best to focus and not think about the way Till’s eyes lit up when he finally understood a problem or the way his knee pressed warmly against Ivan’s thigh, as he sat cross-legged in the grass beside him.

At one point a ladybug landed in Till’s hair, and he sat still as a statue as Ivan carefully plucked it out. They spent a good few minutes just watching the bug crawl around Ivan’s palm before it flew away, and the tiny smile that tugged the corners of Till’s lips lingers in Ivan’s mind even now.

He lands wrong, tipping over and falling hard onto the ice.

“Ivan!” Coach Weir yells, smacking her ruler against her palm. “Get your head out of the clouds and pay attention!”

Standing, he brushes himself off and skates into the triple axel again, pushing off and managing the three and a half spins before landing correctly. He finishes the routine before skating over to his coach, panting softly, each inhale pulling cold air into his lungs. Coach Weir’s lips press together tightly.

“You cannot afford to make mistakes like that in the competition,” she tells him flatly as she hands him his water bottle and a towel to wipe the sweat from his face and neck.

“Yes, Coach,” he says with a nod, taking a sip of the water.

“Your movement has improved, however you’re still not where I need you to be in terms of fluidity. Do it again.”

Ivan hands back the towel and water bottle before skating back out onto the ice. He repeats the routine twice more, remembering to focus on matching his movement to the music and the correct angles for his jumps, making sure to land properly each time. Coach Weir doesn’t smile (she never does), but she does nod approvingly.

Once she’s satisfied with his performance, she allows him to step off the ice and do cool down stretches. As he does, he watches her step away to take a phone call. Checking his own phone, Ivan smiles faintly at a text from Till along with a photo of his stained teeth.

[Till]
can’t believe i spent the whole day with blue teeth
my teammates couldn’t stop laughing
this is ur fault

Oh? How is it my fault?

[Till]
idk it just is!!!

Ivan stifles a laugh, standing and making his way to the locker room to change.

“Remember to maintain your diet and daily exercises,” Coach Weir tells him as he heads for the door.

He gives her a nod and thanks her for her time before stepping outside where his father’s chauffeur waits with the car. Ivan’s steps slow as the driver opens the door for him, revealing Unsha already seated inside. Inhaling deeply, Ivan adopts a passively polite expression before getting into the vehicle.

“Father,” he greets as he sits and buckles in. “I did not expect to see you.”

“I was just speaking with your coach,” Unsha says, putting his phone away in his suit pocket. “She says you have been improving, however not at the rate we’d hoped.”

Ivan grips his gym bag on his lap. “Admittedly, my body weakened while I was ill, but I’m working to increase my stamina and strength. I believe I’ll be able to surpass my previous scores at the competition.”

“While that may be true, I’ve already spoken with the dean of Collège du Léman in Geneva, Switzerland,” Unsha states. “You’ll start classes there after winter break and attend the Skating School of Switzerland twice a week for supplemental lessons.”

Ivan’s blood runs cold, draining from his face. “You said I wouldn’t have to go if could prove my training here was good enough.”

“I said I would consider it, but the fact remains that Coach Weir is not enough to get you to the Olympic level. I don’t believe she’s sent a single student to the Olympics in the entirety of her career.”

Unsha continues, going on about the merits of the boarding school and the quality of the coaches he’ll have access to in Switzerland, but Ivan barely hears a word. He stares down at his gym bag, feeling as though he’s sinking underwater, the pressure growing in his ears, making his head ache.

“I don’t want to go,” he admits softly.

“Excuse me?” Unsha cuts himself off, and Ivan can feel the weight of his disapproving stare. “This isn’t about what you want. This is about what’s best for you, for the family.”

“But Till . . .” Ivan’s voice has fallen barely above a whisper.

Unsha scoffs. “That boy has only ever been a distraction. It will do you well to spend this time away from him. It’s unlikely you would have remained in touch once you left for university anyway. He’s the type to end up working at gas station or busking street corners.”

Ivan’s jaw clenches, as he lifts his head. “He’s an amazing basketball player. He could make it to the Olympics before me if he really wanted to.”

Unsha laughs derisively. “A boy like that doesn’t have the wherewithal to go nearly as far as the Olympics,” he says, shaking his head. “Forget about him, Ivan. He’s nothing. A nobody. I will not allow him to hold you back any longer.”

Ivan presses his lips together, staring out the window as he does his best to keep his expression impassive. The pain in his chest has only grown, and he knows it’s no use trying to talk his father out of this. There’s the option to run away, of course, but he doubts Unsha will allow that either. With his resources he’ll most likely track him down easily, especially if he correctly assumes Ivan won’t go anywhere without Till.

Till.

Will he be pissed at Ivan for leaving? He scolded him rather heatedly when Ivan got sick the first time he attempted to avoid this outcome. Honestly, Ivan still surprised by that. He didn’t think Till would care at all.

Even if he does care, how long will it take for him to forget about Ivan? Two and a half years might as well be a lifetime when you’re that far away from home, and Till’s not known for his attention span. While Ivan considers Till his best friend, he doubts Till ascribes such a label to Ivan himself.

Picking up his phone, Ivan stares down at the screen, opening his texts. His thumbs hover over the keyboard, but he doesn’t know what to type. It’s better to relay this type of news face-to-face, isn’t it?

Ivan turns off the screen, setting his phone down on his gym bag. Maybe he won’t tell him at all. If it’ll just piss him off, maybe it’s better to make sure their last days together are full of good memories. Ivan doesn’t want to lose Till before he’s forced to leave him behind, and Till tends to storm off and avoid Ivan when he’s angry with him.

He’ll keep this information quiet for now. There are still a few weeks before winter break starts. Perhaps Ivan can still come up with a way to convince Unsha to let him stay.

He knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up.

There are ten seconds left on the clock. Till has the ball, but he’s blocked by two guards. As he dribbles, he looks left and then right toward his teammates. He makes a motion as if to pass the ball, and the defenders fall for it. They lunge to block the throw, but he ducks low and spins around them, running toward the basket.

Ivan holds his breath, as Till jumps and tosses the ball in a high arc. The buzzer sounds as the ball descends toward the hoop. It swishes through cleanly. The spectators erupt in cheers, and Ivan exhales slowly, unable to hide his grin, as he stands and joins in the celebratory shouting.

Till’s beaming, surrounded by his teammates as they slap him on the back and hoist him up on their shoulders. His face is bright red, and he’s drenched in sweat, but he’s laughing, raising his fists in the air.

He’s beautiful.

As his teammates carry him off the court, Ivan makes his way down the bleachers, pushing through the milling crowd until he reaches the hallway outside the locker room. He’s tempted to go on inside, he almost does, but at the last minute he pauses and takes a few steps back.

He leans against the wall to wait, giving Till time to shower and change. He stares at the clock on the wall as the seconds and minutes tick by. Finally, he hears chatter and laughter echoing from the locker room, getting louder as a group of teenage boys exit, Till among them.

Ivan pushes off the wall quickly. “Till.”

Till slows to a stop, his eyes widening. “Ivan!”

Ivan smiles faintly. “Good game.”

“Thanks.” Till turns to the group. “I’ll catch up in a bit.”

Ivan catches a few of them exchanging looks but nobody says anything other than vague “see yas” and “sure things” as they continue down the hall, leaving Till and Ivan temporarily alone.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Till admitted, pushing damp hair off his forehead. “I didn’t think I mentioned this one to you.”

“You didn’t,” Ivan admits. “I read about it on the school website.”

Till snorts. “Of course you read that thing,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You know that’s just for parents and shit, right?”

“Are you hungry? I thought we could get something to eat.”

Till hesitates, glancing toward the group at the end of the hall. “We usually all go grab something after the games,” he says slowly.

Ivan’s heart sinks in his chest, but he maintains his faint smile. “Oh, okay. I’ll leave you to it then,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets as he turns to leave.

“Wait,” Till says quickly, grabbing his hoodie sleeve.

Ivan stops, startled by the gesture. He glances over to find Till fidgeting slightly.

“You could come with us . . . if you want,” Till offers, not quite meeting his gaze.

Ivan blinks. “Watching a bunch of loud, homophobic jocks masticate greasy food isn’t really a priority on my to-do list.”

Till rolls his eyes. “You’re such a nerd. Come on, they’re not that bad,” he says, shaking his head. “Have you even met any of them?”

“No,” Ivan admits. He’s never really had the desire to hang out with a group of teenage boys high on testosterone, adrenaline, and heteronormativity. It’s bad enough that his father makes a point to never mention his son’s sexuality. Ivan’s not looking forward to it being thrown in his face alongside derogatory jokes.

“I promise they’re cool,” Till insists. “Would I hang out with them if they weren’t?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s different for you than it’d be for me,” Ivan says pointedly.

Till frowns faintly. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ll see you in school on Monday.” Ivan starts walking again. He can feel Till staring after him, but he doesn’t look over his shoulder to see what his expression might be. He tells himself it’s not a big deal. Till doesn’t understand the urgency because Ivan hasn’t told him anything yet. That was Ivan’s choice. He has to live with it now.

Later that evening, though, Till surprises him by calling him.

“Hello?” Ivan says slowly, bracing himself to hear Till’s foster mom’s voice telling him Till’s been in a terrible accident or something.

“Okay, I kinda get what you meant,” Till says without preamble.

Immediately Ivan’s heart starts racing. Till never calls him. What’s happening right now?

“. . . Oh?”

Till sighs. “Argh. I guess I never really paid attention before but yeah some of their jokes . . . really aren’t that funny. It was only one or two guys and as soon as I said something the others shut it down too. I probably should’ve been doing that from the beginning, though. I’m sorry.”

Ivan stares at his bedroom wall, honestly stunned and not entirely sure what to say. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Yeah, I do! You weren’t comfortable hanging out with us because of those idiots, and I should’ve known why. I mean, I think I figured it out. You’ve never talked about girls or gone out with any that confess to you, even if they’re really cute. You . . . you’re gay, right?”

Ivan chews on his lip. “Yeah,” he says finally.

“. . . How long have you known?”

As soon as I met you. “My whole life,” he answers as honestly as he can.

Till pauses, and Ivan can imagine his face as he processes this information. “How come you never said anything?” he asks.

“Because you hang out with guys like the ones making those jokes,” Ivan says, falling back on the bed and draping one arm over his face with a sigh. “I couldn’t be certain you didn’t think the same way.”

“Seriously?” Till sounds offended. “I’m nothing like those assholes! Fuck, man . . .”

Ivan’s lips twitch. “I suppose you’re not.”

It’s true that Till’s never made homophobic jokes or made fun of Ivan for his choice in sports careers the way other jocks at school do. In fact, Till’s only ever complimented Ivan on his figure skating. Ivan’s really not seen much evidence for the assumption, so perhaps it’s always been his own fear holding him back from sharing this important piece of himself and not anything Till did or said.

“Well, I’m definitely not letting that shit fly anymore,” Till declares. “You gotta tell me if they ever mess with you, okay? I’ll fucking knock them on their asses.”

Ivan can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of his chest at the thought of small, wiry Till beating up the tall, muscular jocks that go out of their way to taunt him.

“What?! You don’t think I can do it?!” Till squawks in his ear indignantly.

“I have complete faith in you,” Ivan says warmly, perhaps with more affection than he means to because the line goes quiet. For a moment his breath catches in his throat, and he worries he might’ve gotten too comfortable. But then he hears a huff and Till’s voice comes crackling back over the line.

“Man, whatever. I got homework to do. I just wanted to call and say I’m sorry and shit so. Yeah. Bye.”

Ivan sits up quickly. “Till?”

“What?”

Ivan’s heart thuds quickly against his ribs once more. “You know the winter formal coming up?”

“. . . Yeah?”

“Do you want to go?” Ivan knows he’s taking a risk, a big one, but he wants to leave with as few regrets as possible if he can.

Till heaves an angsty sigh. “Dude, come on,” he complains.

“What?” Ivan asks, honestly confused by this reaction.

“Are you making fun of me? Even if I wanted to go to that shit, you know I don’t got anyone to ask.”

Ivan grips his elbow tightly, as he presses the phone against his ear. “Why don’t you go with me, then?” he asks, as casually as possible.

“. . . Are you serious?”

Ivan can’t read Till’s tone, and his heart’s too loud in his own ears to even try. “I have to go since I’m on the student council, and we’re overseeing the planning committee. We all get an extra ticket. I really don’t have anyone else to ask.”

“What about Mizi?”

“You know she’s going to go with Sua.” Ivan can sense the hesitation, so he quickly adds, “It’ll just be as friends, obviously.”

“Oh. Yeah. Obviously . . .” Till’s voice sounds odd, but Ivan can’t parse out why it would.

“It’s still a couple weeks away, so if you need time to think about it, that’s okay,” Ivan offers.

“No, uh, it’s . . . it’s fine.” Till clears his throat. “Um. Yeah. Okay.”

Something warm and light enters Ivan’s chest, and he does his best to tamp it down before it grows too strong and gets his hopes up.

“Perfect. I’ll take care of everything, so don’t worry about it. Just show up so I don’t look lame being the only one on the council without a plus one,” Ivan says, barely containing his grin.

Till snorts. “You’re definitely gonna still look lame.”

The grin slips out then, as the warmth lingers in his chest. This is dangerous, he knows that, but the very fact that Till’s agreeing to it feels like a miracle, an opportunity he shouldn’t take for granted, even if it’s fake.

If this is the last school event he gets to attend, he must make it one to remember.

Mrs. Kwon starts packing up his room. Ivan knows the polite thing to do is help her, but he really doesn’t want to be the one digging his own grave, so he focuses on his homework and getting things prepared for the winter formal.

He gets Till’s foster mom’s number from Mizi and coordinates with her to custom order Till’s suit for the dance. He spends Saturdays at the school with the planning committee to ensure everything they ordered arrives safely and is set up correctly. He does tell his fellow student council members about his transfer, knowing they’ll need to elect a new vice president once he’s gone, but otherwise he doesn’t speak a word of it.

“Hey kid,” Joanna says with a sympathetic smile when she catches him moping over a glass of chocolate milk near midnight. “I heard about the transfer. I’m sorry. I know you were trying your hardest to stay here.”

Ivan sighs. “It never matters what I do. Father’s going to do what he wants anyway,” he says resignedly.

“What did Till say when you told him?”

Ivan presses his lips together tightly before picking up his glass to take a long sip.

Joanna’s dark blue eyes widen. “Ivan! You need to tell him!”

Ivan sets the glass down firmly. “It’ll just piss him off,” he says. “Or worse, he’ll try to fix it somehow. My father already dislikes him. He won’t hesitate to destroy his life if he thinks he’s somehow a threat to my career.” He shakes his head. “It’s better if he doesn’t know.”

“Isn’t he going to be more pissed when you disappear without saying anything?” Joanna asks.

Ivan shrugs. “He has plenty of other friends. I doubt he’ll think too much about me once I’m not around him all the time.”

Joanna frowns. “Do you really think his feelings for you are that shallow? He did come all the way here to check on you when you were sick. He genuinely cares about you.”

“That’s just the kind of guy Till is,” Ivan rationalizes. “He’d do that for any of his friends.”

“Mm. I don’t know . . .”

“Well, you don’t really know him,” Ivan points out.

Joanna gives him a long look. “Do you?”

The question is ridiculous. Of course Ivan knows Till. He’s been at his side since elementary school. His eyes have remained fixed on the other boy for as long as they’ve known each other. Ivan knows what Till sounds like when he talks in his sleep. He knows the rough timbre of his voice when he sings, the way it pitches high when he’s nervous or scared. He knows the warmth of his skin, his smile, his laugh. He’s categorized Till’s expressions and treasures them all.

He knows the boy’s favorite color (red), his favorite coffee (Americano), his favorite scent (cedar). He knows his best subject (creative writing) and his worst one (math). He knows that Till used to be afraid of the Easter bunny (“Why is it so huge?? How does it get into the house?!”) and is currently afraid of ghosts (“One could be right here next to us! How would we know??”). He knows he went through five foster homes before settling down with the Seongs and has a single photo of his bio mom that he keeps under his pillow.

Ivan knows all these things and more about Till, but the thing he knows most of all is that Till’s only friends with him because Ivan’s never left him alone. He’s been selfish with Till’s attention, and once he no longer has it, he fully expects Till to forget about him. He hopes he doesn’t, but it’s likely that he will.

Ivan’s left very little impact on Till’s life in the grand scheme of things.

As much as he’d like the winter formal to stay in Till’s memory, he doubts it’ll be much different for Till than any other school event they’ve attended.

At least Ivan will remember it.

The day of his figure skating competition arrives, and though Ivan does his best, he still only gets second place. As the silver medal is placed around his neck, he can hear Unsha’s voice in his mind already, pointing out all his mistakes.

As he exits the rink, however, the first person to greet him isn’t his father, but Till, along with Mizi and Sua. He blinks as they gather around him with smiles and congratulations. Mizi hands him a bouquet of flowers, which surprises him further. He's received flowers for competitions before but never from his parents or anyone who knew him. It's a small gesture, but one that means more than Mizi probably realizes.

He touches the petals gently before looking between the three in front of him. “What are you all doing here?” he asks curiously.

“You spied on me, so I spied on you,” Till says, punching Ivan’s arm gently. “I stole your phone and checked your calendar.” He smirks, looking rather pleased with himself. "You should really change the passcode. I mean, zero-six-two-one? Anyone who knows we're friends could guess that."

Ivan stares at him, wondering if he also guessed the specific significance behind Ivan choosing those numbers as his passcode. Nothing on Till's face suggests he's figured it out, though.

Mizi grabs his wrist, shaking it gently. “You did amazing!” she exclaims with a grin. “Wow! I've always loved watching figure skating at the Olympics. You looked just like those skaters! It was like you were flying! It was beautiful.”

Ivan ducks his head in a small bow. “Thank you, though I don’t think my father will be very pleased about second place.” He looks down at the silver circle resting on his chest.

Sua frowns faintly. “Second is still impressive if you consider the number of skaters and the complicated routines.”

Ivan gasps and places his hand over his heart. “A compliment from Sua-noona? Am I in heaven?”

Sua purses her lips. “I’m just stating the facts,” she says, grabbing Mizi’s hand and stepping behind her slightly.

Ivan chuckles softly, though it fades quickly as he glances up and sees his parents approaching. “It was good to see you all,” he says, touching Till’s elbow lightly. “I’ll see you at school.”

He can feel Till’s eyes on him, as he walks over to greet his parents. His mother congratulates him, but Unsha’s expression remains displeased.

“How do you expect to make it to the Olympics if you continuously fall short?” he demands.

Ivan lowers his gaze to the floor. “I’ll work harder.”

“Yes, you will. This is exactly why I’m sending you to du Léman. The coaches there will not tolerate such sloppy performances.”

Ivan can only nod. As his parents turn and head for the exit, he glances over his shoulder to see Till still watching him. He signals ‘you okay?’ with his hand, to which Ivan only gives a nod along with one of his practiced smiles, the one that claims everything’s well and good.

He’s not sure if Till buys it, as his brows furrow slightly, but Ivan faces forward once more, ignoring the desire to return to his friends instead.

The next two weeks pass in a blur. Before Ivan realizes it, it’s time for the dance. He’s supposed to arrive early to oversee the ticket collection and ensure nobody tries to sneak in alcohol, so around four in the afternoon he’s downstairs in his dark red button down and black suit with a boutonniere of red anemone and baby’s breath pinned to his left lapel. A matching boutonniere sits in a carton in his hand, as he waits for their driver to pull the limo around. He requested to borrow it for the occasion, and his father must’ve been in a good mood because Unsha agreed without any stipulations.

The drive to Till’s takes them in the opposite direction of the school, into the part of town Unsha always cautioned Ivan against visiting alone. It truly isn’t that bad, just poor, and Ivan can’t fault the people living there for holding resentment toward people like him who happened to be one of the lucky few selected to live in luxury.

Till’s apartment building comes into view, and once the limo parks, Ivan makes his way up to the second floor. He could’ve called Till from the car, but despite telling his friend that this is a platonic affair, he can’t help but want to make romantic gestures.

This might be the last night they get to spend together, after all.

“Ivan Lee, is that you? You’re so grown up and handsome,” Mrs. Seong exclaims as she opens the door.

Ivan bows slightly. “Hello again, Auntie,” he says with a smile. “Is Till ready?”

“Till!” Mrs. Seong calls back into the apartment with a twinkle in her eyes. “Ivan’s here!”

“I can’t believe you called Ma to get my fucking measurements,” Till grumbles as he steps into view, fiddling with his belt. “That’s so creepy.” His head comes up, and he stops short, his eyes wide as he stares at Ivan.

Ivan finds himself staring as well, taking in Till in the forest green suit with the cream-colored button down underneath. The jeweled tone of the jacket brings out the jade of his eyes, and his hair is slicked back from his face, though a few stubborn strands have fallen forward.

He’s breathtakingly beautiful, and Ivan feels somewhat like he’s been punched in the stomach.

“Uh,” Till says, blinking, his cheeks growing pink as his gaze falls to the carton in Ivan’s hand. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing.

Ivan looks down at it dumbly for a moment before holding it out stiffly. “It’s for you.”

“Oh! A boutonniere! How thoughtful,” Mrs. Seong exclaims, hand to her cheek.

“A booten-what?” Till frowns faintly.

“See what Ivan’s wearing on his lapel? It’s the same thing, but for you,” Mrs. Seong says, taking the carton from Ivan and opening it. She steps up to her foster son, fastening it to his own lapel, patting it gently. “There. Oh! Pictures!”

“Maaaaa,” Till complains. “We don’t need pictures!”

“I’d like a photo,” Ivan says quickly, stepping forward. He’s not about to miss the chance to capture Till in this look for eternity.

Till shoots him a glare. “No, you don’t,” he says quickly.

Ivan just grins and wraps his arm around Till’s neck, tugging him over to the wall for a better background. Mrs. Seong has her phone out already, and despite Till’s struggles, Ivan manages to keep him in place, as he grins and tilts his head toward Till’s, forming half a heart with his other hand and placing it near his cheek as Mrs. Seong snaps away.

He releases Till and steps forward to go through the photos with her, smirking as he looks at Till’s scowling face and pink cheeks. “Can you please send these to me?” he asks hopefully.

“Of course,” Mrs. Seong says, beaming. “You boys be careful and don’t come home too late!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Till says, waving over his shoulder as he escapes toward the door.

“Thank you, Auntie!” Ivan calls, taking the steps quickly to get ahead of Till so he can open the limousine door for him.

Till stops short when he sees it. “You rented a limo?” he asks incredulously.

“Of course not,” Ivan says. “It’s my father’s.”

Till rolls his eyes. “Fucking rich people,” he mutters as he gets into the car.

Ivan nods solemnly as he follows. “Mm. Yes. The economy in this country is truly heinous. You should definitely eat the rich.” He pauses, considering that notion for a moment. “I’ll gladly sacrifice myself for the greater good.” He holds out his wrist in front of Till’s face. “Please eat me, Till. It would be an honor to reside inside you.”

Till shoves his arm away, ears tipped red. “Fuck off, weirdo.”

Ivan laughs.

As the driver pulls away from the curb and heads back toward the school, Ivan watches as Till explores the interior of the car, opening the mini fridge and pulling out a couple small bottles of vodka. He lifts his eyebrows at Ivan, who hesitates only briefly before nodding and holding out his hand.

It’s ill-advised, especially considering he’s supposed to be the sober police, but just one won’t hurt. Probably.

By the time they reach the school, Ivan can feel the warmth of the alcohol in his blood, and his head feels suspiciously both light and heavy at the same time. Till’s cheeks are flushed and when they lock eyes, they both erupt into giggles.

“Shh, stop, you’re going to get us in trouble,” Till says, snickering even as he presses a finger to his lips.

Ivan grins. “Don’t worry, they won’t suspect me of anything,” he says confidently, pushing open the door and stepping out. Despite only drinking the one bottle, he feels somewhat unsteady on his feet, and he has to grab the top of the limo to keep from tipping over. He shakes his head to try and clear it. It’s most likely due to his diet that the alcohol has hit so quickly. Not enough carbs in his system to soak it up.

Till stumbles out next, and Ivan grabs him before he can fall.

“Whoa.” He takes Till’s shoulders and pushes him into an upright position. “When we go inside, head straight for the snack table and get something to eat. Oh, and drink water.”

Till frowns. “What about you?” he asks. “You’re worse off than I am.”

“I’ll get something later. I have to check in with the committee,” Ivan admits. He realizes he’s still holding Till’s shoulders and releases them quickly, straightening his own suit jacket. “The dance officially starts at six, so I’ll come find you once I’ve made sure the doors are covered.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Till says, saluting him with a snort that sends him into more giggles.

He’s always adorable but in this suit tailored to perfection, he’s adorable and incredibly sexy and Ivan’s heart beats faster as he resists the sudden urge to kiss him.

“Right. I’ll . . .” Completely forgetting what he was about to say, Ivan turns and walks up the school front steps to the entrance, letting himself inside and heading straight for the bathroom.

He splashes some water on his flushed cheeks, wrapping his cool, damp hand against the back of his neck as well. Staring into the mirror, he takes a moment to gather himself. The last thing he wants to do is something impulsive that will ruin the evening before it even starts.

“Get it together, Ivan,” he tells his reflection sternly.

He probably shouldn’t have consumed that vodka.

Thankfully, if the president of the student council notices Ivan’s somewhat inebriated state, he doesn’t comment on it. Two members of the planning committee sit at a table just inside the front door, where they will take tickets and hand out nominee cards for the Ice King and Ice Queen that students will vote for throughout the night. Ivan knows he’s one of the nominees on the card, but he honestly couldn’t care less. He hasn’t campaigned at all, and he's sure one of the more popular boys will win.

Mizi’s on the ballot for Ice Queen, and he goes ahead and votes for her, slipping his card into the ballot box without glancing at any other name.

Students start trickling in around five-thirty, those diehard fans of school events who like to come early and get “good” tables. Till shows up around five-forty-five with a paper bowl of chips and a bottle of water, handing them to Ivan with a pointed look.

“I don’t wanna hear about your diet, you need to eat something,” he says flatly.

Ivan can’t help but smile faintly. “Sir, yes, sir,” he says, opening the bottle to take a long drink. Till watches him closely, only leaving once he’s witnessed Ivan eat a few chips after which he nods and returns to the gym where the hired DJ has started playing music.

Ivan’s stuck at the door for the next hour as students begin arriving in droves. Each time he tries to leave, another group will come in forcing him to stay and check their pockets and purses for alcohol before waving them through.

Finally, the council secretary arrives and relieves him. Ivan heads quickly into the gym where the dance is in full swing.

Refreshment and snack tables line the walls, monitored by teachers on chaperone duty. On the inside of these are round tables with white plastic table clothes set up surrounded by chairs where students sit and congregate around them, talking and laughing and snacking. After the tables is the dance floor, a large area filled with bodies.

From the rafters hang streamers of white and various blues, along with giant snowflakes. Fairy lights also dangle in long strips like icicles and a disco ball spins above the center of the room.

Ivan searches the crowd for Till. He catches sight of Mizi and Sua dancing with other students from their class. Mizi looks stunning in a blue sequined dress, and Sua’s a princess in white with puffed sleeves and a white headband against her short dark hair. They’re gazing into each other’s eyes in a way that makes Ivan’s chest ache, knowing he’ll likely never have that.

He turns away, scanning the room once more before spotting Till leaning against the folded bleachers with a few of his basketball teammates, grinning and talking with them animatedly. Briefly, Ivan considers leaving him be. He’s already having fun with his friends, and more than anything Ivan wants Till to have a good time.

But Switzerland looms over him, and with the alcohol in his veins bolstering his confidence, he strides forward and places himself just outside the small group, clearing his throat to get their attention.

“Excuse me,” he says with a polite smile when they turn to look at him. “I was hoping to get a dance with my date.”

“Date?” one of the guys echoes, glancing between Ivan and a furiously blushing Till.

“I’m not his date, we’re not dating,” he says quickly, even as he pushes off the bleachers and grabs Ivan’s wrist to tug him away.

“It was nice to meet you,” Ivan calls cheerily over his shoulder with wave before turning to look at the back of Till’s head as the other marches him a few feet away.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Till complains, dropping Ivan’s wrist. “Are you done with bouncer duty then?”

Ivan nods. “I was serious about the dance,” he says, glancing over at the throng of moving bodies. “Feels like a quintessential high school experience we shouldn’t miss.” He holds his hand out to Till with a smile.

Till stares at him, not taking his hand. “. . . I don’t know shit about dancing,” he admits.

Ivan’s smile widens. “As a figure skater, I’ve been taking dance lessons since I was a kid. I’ll guide you.”

Till frowns. “You’re just going to make me look stupid.”

Ivan steps closer, picking up Till’s hand and holding it between them, giving it a small squeeze as he allows his smile to soften. “I promise I won’t make you look stupid,” he says.

Till’s throat bobs as he looks from Ivan’s face to their joined hands. He nods, just slightly, but it’s enough to brighten Ivan’s mood instantly, and he gently leads Till onto the dance floor.

The current song isn’t one that they can really dance to, so Ivan takes Till’s other hand and pushes and pulls his arms back and forth to the beat to loosen him up. Till snorts, rolling his eyes.

“This is dancing?” he asks skeptically.

“No, but you gotta warm up first,” Ivan prompts, bouncing slightly on his toes as he continues with a smile.

“You’re so weird,” Till complains, but his lips twitch into a tiny smile, and he slowly starts to shift his body back and forth, following the movement of his arms that Ivan’s still guiding.

“There you go,” Ivan encourages, bobbing his head now too as he starts stepping from side to side. “Come on.”

Till sighs but copies Ivan’s steps. He doesn’t look as stiff now, and Ivan feels like he’s accomplished something, especially when Till allows him to spin him around under his arm with a small laugh of surprise.

“Dork,” he says, still grinning, even as Ivan pulls him closer.

“I know you are but what am I~” Ivan singsongs, spinning Till around again with a laugh of his own.

It’s easier to get Till to move after that. The next track is a very danceable number, and Ivan guides Till through some swing triple-steps. The teen actually pays attention, following Ivan’s on-the-spot dance lesson with the same focus he uses when playing basketball. Maybe it shouldn’t be as surprising as it is, considering Till’s always poured his entire being into things he’s interested in.

They bump into a few people now and then, laughing through their apologies and thankfully everyone seems good-natured about it. Eventually, though, the faster songs fade into slower ones, and as people begin to pair off, Ivan drops Till’s hand and takes a step back.

Till glances up at him with a frown. “What’s wrong?” he asks breathlessly. His hair has fallen out of whatever product he used to slick it back before, sticking to the sides of his face with sweat.

Ivan rubs the back of his neck. “Ah. Well, I do know some waltzes, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to keep going with the vibe shift.”

Till looks around, seemingly only just now noticing the couples slow-dancing near them.

“Oh.”

“I had fun, so we can consider this the end of our high school dance obligation,” Ivan offers.

Till purses his lips and grabs Ivan’s hand, startling him. “You said you know dances that go with this type of music?”

Ivan nods, staring at Till, at a complete loss as to where he’s going with this. Till takes a deep breath and steps in close, hesitantly resting his hand on Ivan’s shoulder.

“Like this . . . right?” he asks quietly, lifting his gaze to meet Ivan’s briefly before averting it quickly. It’s difficult to tell if the flush on his face lingers because of their previous dancing or not. “I’ve seen it in movies and shit so . . .”

Ivan’s body moves before his brain registers what’s happening. He rests his free hand against Till’s back, just beneath his shoulder blade, lifting his elbow so that Till’s rests against his. His other hand shifts into the proper position in Till’s, and his feet move forward as he gently pushes Till back, guiding him into a waltz.

Till moves with him effortlessly. They glide around the perimeter of the dance floor, and Ivan’s certain they’re standing out as the only ones actually dancing, but he can’t bring himself to care. Till’s face is inches from his, and when their eyes meet, Ivan feels as though time stops.

The lights dim and it’s just the two of them, waltzing in this winter wonderland. Till’s warm and pliant in his arms, and his swift feet do him justice, moving in tandem with Ivan’s rhythm without missing a single beat.

Ivan doesn’t believe in magic, but at this moment, it does feel like something enchanted is in the air. Maybe it’s the alcohol or the intoxicating air from Till’s lungs against his lips, but Ivan wants to bottle these minutes in a jar so that he can take them with him and replay them over and over when he’s alone in the cold Swiss Alps.

The music draws to a close and Ivan comes to a stop, panting with Till as one. Till stares back at him, lips slightly parted, pupils dilated in his large green eyes. He’s frozen and Ivan is too, unable to look away or release him. His gaze falls to Till’s mouth, and he hears the other’s sharp intake of breath.

“Alright students, gather ‘round! It’s time to announce this Winter Formal’s Ice King and Queen!”

The blaring voice of the school principal cuts through the tension and Till startles like a frightened rabbit, jumping back a good twelve inches. Ivan’s hands fall to his sides, already mourning the loss. Till twitches, turning toward the front of the gym where the principal has stepped out on the small stage there, holding a microphone.

It takes every ounce of willpower within Ivan to tear his gaze away to turn toward the interruption, frowning faintly at the man who dared disrupt the dance.

“We’ve counted up all your votes, and I’m pleased to announce that this year’s Ice King and Queen are . . .” The principal holds up an envelope, making a show of flipping it open and reading the card. “Mizi Shin and Ivan Lee!”

Ivan blinks, as the students around him start to applaud. He glances over at Till, but his classmates start pushing him toward the stage before he can catch a glimpse of Till’s expression. Before he fully realizes what’s happening, he’s on stage next to Mizi and a member of the planning committing is putting a silver crown dripping with fake diamond icicles on his head and a tiara of a similar design on Mizi.

“Congratulations to our Winter Formal royalty!” the principal exclaims. “Is there anything you’d like to say to your subjects?” The man gives them a cheesy smile as he holds out the microphone.

Mizi steps forward to take it. “Thank you so much! I’m dedicating this crown to my beautiful girlfriend Sua!” She gestures to a blushing Sua in the front row, who quickly hides her face as people cheer, but Ivan can tell she’s smiling. “I love you, baby!”

She hands Ivan the microphone, blowing kisses toward Sua.

Ivan’s not sure what to say. He honestly didn’t think he’d win. He’s surprised so many people even know his name. He stares out at the crowd of students, unable to see individual faces with the lights shining in his eyes. He brings the microphone to his lips, taking a breath, hoping words will come to him.

He wants to follow Mizi’s lead and dedicate his crown to Till, but they’re not a couple and he doubts implying that they are would be good for Till’s reputation. Ivan might be leaving, but Till has to remain here with his homophobic teammates, and he’s not sure they’re as few and far between as Till seems to think.

“Thank you,” is all he says in the end, handing the microphone back to the principal and giving a deep bow before stepping off the stage. He turns to help Mizi down, and the principal turns to the DJ to begin the “Dance of the Ice King and Queen” track.

They’re supposed to lead the others in a dance, so Ivan keeps a light grip on Mizi’s hand and leads her to the center of the dance floor where the crowd has parted to allow them room. He gives her a brief smile as he pulls her close to begin waltzing.

“You look lovely tonight, by the way,” he offers.

Mizi grins. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she says, smoothing her hand over his shoulder. “I saw you dancing with Till. How’s that going?”

Ivan blinks down at her. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he admits.

“I know you two came together,” Mizi says, leaning forward and speaking conspiratorially. “Did you finally confess?”

Ivan widens his eyes. “Confess what?” he asks, feigning ignorance.

Mizi gives him a stern look and slaps his shoulder lightly. “You know exactly what, Your Majesty. We’ve been friends for how long? I know you’re in love with him. Sua knows too.”

Ivan glances over to where Sua’s standing with her hands clasped behind her back, watching them closely. He gives her a small smile, but she doesn’t smile back. He scans the crowd for Till, but his view is somewhat obscured by the other couples stepping into the circle to dance.

“There’s no point in confessing that. He doesn’t feel the same,” Ivan says absently.

Mizi hums softly. “How do you know? Have you asked him?”

Ivan pulls his gaze back to Mizi. She stares up at him with her large green-gold eyes, and he feels somewhat unsettled by the intensity.

“I’ve observed him for a long time. I think I would have noticed if he liked men, let alone if he liked me,” Ivan says pointedly.

“I think you’re missing the forest for the trees,” Mizi says lightly.

Ivan’s familiar with the idiom, but before he can ask her what exactly she means by that, he finally catches sight of Till. He’s standing on the edge of the circle of students, arms crossed tightly over his chest as Durian, treasurer of the student council, speaks to him.

Ivan’s heart leaps into his throat. The icicles on his crown seem to become real, dripping ice water down his back, as a chill runs through him. Till’s frowning, his expression growing darker the longer Durian talks.

The only people who currently know about Switzerland are his teachers and the student council. He can’t read Durian’s lips at this distance, but from the stiffness of Till’s shoulders and anger clouding his face, he gets an idea of what they’re discussing.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” he says to Mizi, quickly handing her off to Sua before pushing through the other dancers toward his friend. “Till!”

At the sound of his voice, Till looks up sharply, glancing in Ivan’s direction. When their eyes meet, Ivan stops abruptly, feeling a painful jolt like he’s been struck by lightning at the furious tears in Till’s eyes.

“Till . . .”

“Fuck off!” Till turns on his heel and takes off, heading for the exit.

Grimacing, Ivan races after him. “Till, wait!”

Till doesn’t slow until they’ve entered the hallway. He slams his fist against the row of lockers, causing the entire thing to shudder, before he spins around and grabs Ivan by the lapels. With surprising strength, he slams Ivan up against the lockers. The crown slips from Ivan’s head, hitting the floor and bouncing away.

“Is it true?! Are you going to fucking Switzerland after all?!” he demands angrily.

Ivan swallows hard, wrapping his hands around Till’s wrists. He feels the way he’s trembling, and his chest aches. “Yes,” he says softly, knowing there’s no point in lying.

“Were you ever going to fucking tell me?!” Till asks next, his raised voice cracking on the words. He shoves Ivan harder against the lockers. “Were you just gonna fuck off without saying anything?! Fuck you!”

“I knew you’d be angry.” Even as he says it, it feels like a weak excuse.

“Damn fucking right I’m angry!” Till growls.

“It’s my Father’s decision,” Ivan attempts to explain. “I didn’t want you to try and stop it.”

Till’s expression twists in a way Ivan’s unfamiliar with. “You could’ve still told me,” he snaps in a low voice, his fingers gripping Ivan’s suit jacket tighter. “I thought we were fucking friends.”

The hurt and betrayal in Till’s voice slice into Ivan’s heart like a knife. It takes him aback. He expected the anger, but the tears that shimmer in Till’s eyes don’t seem entirely born from rage.

“We are friends,” he offers hesitantly, hoping the reassurance will help.

“NO!” Till again pushes hard against his chest. “Friends fucking tell each other shit! Friends trust each other! You were gonna leave me behind without a word like I was nothing!”

Ivan doesn’t know what to say. He thought Till would be angrier about him giving in to Unsha’s demands or that he’d direct his anger toward Unsha the way he often did. This accusation is personal, and Ivan can’t refute it. It’s not what he meant to convey, but he can see how Till came to that conclusion.

It just couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Till,” Ivan starts, bringing his arms up, giving in to his urge to hold him.

“Fuck you,” Till says flatly, finally releasing him only to slap his arms away, as the tears start to slide down his flushed cheeks. “Fuck you. Go to fucking Switzerland. I hope I never fucking see you again.”

He runs off down the hall, toward the school exit. Ivan stares after him, heart sinking like a stone in his chest, settling in his stomach like a pit that only grows the longer he stands there. He drops into a crouch, covering his head with his arms, as he does his best to stifle the agonizing pain.

A scream rises in his throat, but he presses his lips together tightly and refuses to let it escape. What good would it do? No matter what he does at this point, it won’t change the fact that he hurt Till.

He didn’t know he could do that.

Sure, he’s physically hurt him in the past. When they were kids and he took every opportunity to bite whatever part of Till was closest. When they’d tussle in the schoolyard pulling each other’s hair and hitting small fists against tender skin. But Ivan put a stop to those antics the moment he realized he’d grown taller and stronger than Till.

He’s never wanted to hurt him beyond repair. He’s never wanted to cause him actual pain.

He saw what Till went through in his various foster homes. He saw the cuts and bruises that Till passed off as sports related. Before the Seongs took him, Till suffered.

Ivan’s never wanted to contribute to that suffering.

Yet he has.

He miscalculated. The trees blinded him to the forest.

Till cares about him.

Cared about him.

“Fuck.” Ivan presses his palms into his eyes, inhaling a deep shuddering breath. He drove Till here. How is he going to get home?

Pulling out his phone, he texts Mrs. Seong and explains everything. The text reads more like a letter, but he needs her to understand Till’s current state of mind when she finds him. Hopefully she’ll succeed where Ivan failed.

Standing, Ivan looks at the crown on the floor before walking past it. He exits the school and walks to where his driver waits in the limo, getting into the car without a word.

“Sir? Are you ready to leave? What about your date?”

“He left.”

“. . . I see.”

They drive home in silence.

Mrs. Seong does let Ivan know that Till got home safely, but he doesn’t hear anything else from either of them. Midterms come and go, ending out the semester before winter break. Ivan knows he did well despite barely paying attention. Till refuses to look at him, and he isn’t in their usual spot to have lunch together, so Ivan eats alone, the pit in his stomach larger than ever.

Unsha’s mood only heightens as the holidays and new year approach. He insists on speaking to Ivan exclusively in French, to which Ivan responds in German to spite him. Apparently, that’s not enough to ruin Unsha’s mood. He plans to go with Ivan to get him settled in and to stay at a ski lodge with Ivan’s mother for a few days for a “much needed vacation.”

Ivan has never felt the weight of expectations more than now. He knows he’s being granted an amazing opportunity. For as much as it’s consumed his life, Ivan likes figure skating. When it’s just him on the ice without his coach yelling at him or judges marking off every flaw, he genuinely feels free.

It’s the one place he’s always been able to express himself without holding back. Not during performances or practice, of course, but when he’s alone, and his music plays in his ear buds, and he can just let his body move how it wants.

He’s never shown that to Till. Maybe he should have. Maybe he should’ve been more open, more honest.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

He can’t take anything back. He has to live with these regrets now. There’s nothing left.

Mizi and Sua must’ve found out from the student council as well, because they both message him. Mizi expresses her sadness to see him leave and hopes he makes new friends and enjoys his time.

[Mizi]
don’t worry about Till, okay?
he’ll come around
he’s going to miss you too much to not

I appreciate the sentiment. However, I fear you are wrong about that.
Till doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.
It’s my own fault.
Look after him for me?

[Mizi]
of course!!
but Till says a lot of stuff when he’s angry that he doesn’t mean
so don’t lose hope

Ivan isn’t sure hope is something he should be cultivating. In his experience, it only breeds disappointment.

Sua’s message expresses her condolences on the fight with Till and wishes him safe travels. It’s short and to the point, and Ivan thanks her. He’s attempted to get closer to her over the years, though she’s always held him at somewhat of a distance. Another regret to add to the pile, he supposes.

They don’t throw a holiday party like they have in the past. His father says they need to focus on the move, so they bring in the new year with a subdued celebration of just the three of them. Ivan sits stiffly at the dinner table, pushing around his food and listening to his parents rave about the new school and how impressive it seems.

Mizi and Sua text him Happy New Year, along with the student council.

Till doesn’t.

Ivan almost reaches out first. His thumbs hover over his phone keyboard, staring down at his last exchange with Till. The pit consumes his stomach completely, pressing up against his lungs. He’s barely eaten or slept, his appetite worse than usual, and his dreams plagued with manifestations of his guilt and longing.

He loves Till so fiercely, but in the end that love proved poisonous.

Perhaps he’s better off without Ivan in his life.

As it’s the end of the holidays, the airport is bustling with travelers. The line for security winds through the lanes and out into the main aisles of the ticket area. Thankfully, Unsha prepares for such delays and has them there several hours prior to their flight. Ivan stands in the queue, staring at the sign listing prohibited items.

Briefly he wonders if he should’ve brought one of those items along. If he’s pulled aside for extra screening long enough, maybe they’ll miss the flight. Of course, it’s too late for such manipulations. Besides, all it would do is stave off the inevitable.

He wishes he could’ve seen Till one last time.

He doesn’t want his final image to be that anguished, tear-stained face.

Pulling out his phone, he taps on his photo app, pulling up the one Mrs. Seong took of him and Till that night. He zooms in on Till’s scowling face, the ache inside him rising so strongly it nearly causes him to double over. Inhaling shakily, he clicks off the screen and pockets the phone.

If Ivan had invited Till over for New Years dinner, would he have accepted, knowing it’d be a farewell?

Till used to attend their annual holiday party, along with Mizi and Sua. They liked to pretend they were fancy, important people, sipping sparkling grape juice like it was champagne and making up fake gossip about imaginary colleagues. They’d go up to Ivan’s room, then, and watch movies until they began to fall asleep.

Last year, Till fell asleep with his head on Ivan’s shoulder. Ivan remembers holding his breath, afraid of disturbing him and making him move away. Eventually he relaxed and when he woke the next morning, Till’s head was on his chest, his arm across his waist. Ivan clung to him, pretending that Till meant to do it, and it made him happy.

He’ll never have that again.

The line moves slowly, and his feet shuffle forward automatically. He can feel the chill settling in already, the numb darkness creeping in from the corners, ready to consume him.

“IVAN!”

Like bursting through the surface of the deep ocean, Ivan lifts his head, air returning to his lungs, the darkness slipping away.

Till.

“IVAN! Shit. Ack. Sorry. Excuse me.”

Ivan turns toward the voice, watching with wide eyes as Till rushes toward him through the crowd, jumping over suitcases and ducking around tourists like he’s on the basketball court heading straight for victory.

He reaches the security line and reaches across the divider, grabbing Ivan’s jacket tightly. “Ivan.”

Ivan’s frozen, staring at Till’s face which isn’t angry or hurt. He looks desperate, and his grip on Ivan’s jacket is vice-like.

“Ivan, don’t hold up the line,” Unsha says sharply.

Instead of moving forward, Ivan unclicks the divider and steps through, into Till’s arms, as they wrap around his waist and squeeze.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Till says breathlessly, pressing his face into Ivan’s shoulder. “I was being an idiot. I-I can’t believe I wasted so much time . . .”

Ivan wonders vaguely if he’s dreaming. He lifts his arms to encircle Till and feels his warmth, the solid plane of his back. In an instant, Ivan melts into that warmth, burying his face in Till’s hair as he clutches him.

“Till,” he murmurs, his chest aching for a completely different reason now. He inhales the scent of his shampoo, committing it to memory one more time.

“I’m still mad at you for not telling me,” Till mutters. “But I-I didn’t want you to leave . . . I didn’t want things to be like that when you left.” He shakes his head against Ivan.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Ivan says softly, knowing he should have apologized from the start. “I thought I was protecting you.”

Till pulls away, looking at Ivan with a frown. “I don’t need you to protect me,” he says. “I need you to know you can rely on me. Just . . . like I rely on you.” His cheeks flush pink.

Ivan finds himself staring, and his hand moves to touch Till’s cheek, cool fingertips against heated skin. Till bites his lip before turning into his hand, nuzzling his palm gently. Ivan’s heartbeat quickens. What does that mean?

“Ivan!” Unsha’s sharp voice calls over the heads of those who have moved up the line behind him. “Get back in line. Now.”

Ivan can’t move. He finally has Till back in his arms. How is he supposed to tear himself away now?

Till glances over Ivan’s shoulder before his gaze slips back to Ivan’s. “How-how long will you be gone?” he asks quietly.

“At least until graduation,” Ivan admits. “We haven’t discussed universities yet, but I’ll try to convince Father to let me return to attend somewhere close by.”

Till nods slowly. “What about the summer? You’ll be back then, right?”

“I don’t know,” Ivan says honestly. “They have camps there. Father might require I stay for those.”

Till grips him tighter. “So, I won’t see you again for two and a half years?” he asks in dismay.

“We can Facetime,” Ivan offers with a faint smile, knowing it’s not the same. “I don’t mind if it’s the middle of the night. You can call me whenever you want.”

Till sighs, dropping his forehead against Ivan’s shoulder once more. “It’s not the same,” he laments softly.

Ivan rests his hand on the back of Till’s head, stroking his fingers through the silky strands of his hair. “It’s not forever,” he reminds them both. “I’ll try to come back for holidays. Mother will want me home for our annual party, I’m sure. We can see each other then.”

Till makes a small noise of protest. “That’s a whole year away . . .”

Ivan smirks faintly. “I had no idea you’d miss me so much,” he admits.

Till pulls away with another small frown, nearly a pout. “The fuck? You’re my best friend. You’ve always been here . . .”

Ivan leans forward to gently knock his forehead against Till’s. “I’ll still always be with you, Till,” he promises softly, bringing his hand down to press it gently against Till’s chest. “Just like you’ll always be with me.” He takes Till’s arm, pulling it from around him to hold his hand against his own chest above his heart.

Till’s gaze drops to their hands.

“Ivan Lee!” Unsha shouts from further away. “I will call security!”

Ivan sighs, reluctantly leaning back. He glances over his shoulder, taking note of where his parents are in line. “I should go. I don’t want Father to get you arrested for some bullshit reason.”

As he turns back, Till grabs the front of his hoodie, yanking him forward once more. Ivan moves with the sudden pull, too surprised to resist. He feels the press of warm lips against his, and it takes him a moment to register that Till’s kissing him.

Till’s kissing him.

Ivan quickly cups Till’s face in his hands, kissing him back deeply. He feels Till’s shaky exhale against his cheek, and he swallows the breath as best he can, chasing it back into Till’s mouth with his tongue. Till makes a wonderful noise as he does, one that sends heat through his entire body.

He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay. He needs to stay.

He needs to stay with Till.

It’s Till that pushes him away. He takes a quick step back, his hand moving to his mouth, touching his lips with trembling fingers. He looks stunned by his own action, and Ivan surges forward to press another quick kiss against the edge of his mouth.

“I love you,” he says softly, before ducking under the divider and rejoining the line, hurriedly pushing past those waiting to rejoin his parents.

“THE FUCK?! HEY!”

He hears Till’s squawk of indignant shock behind him and fights a smile. He ignores Unsha’s disapproving frown and his mother’s scolding, his chest feeling light for the first time in a long time. He places his things on the conveyer belt to move through the x-ray, taking one last look behind him to find Till standing where he left him, staring after him with wide eyes and a red face.

He lifts his hand in a final wave, giving Till his best smile, the one that makes his eyes crinkle closed.

“I’LL CALL YOU LATER, TILL!” he shouts.

“YOU FUCKING BETTER, ASSHOLE!”

Ivan’s still smiling as he passes through security and heads for the gate, toward Switzerland.