Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ivan was watching Seoul’s night cityscape from the limousine window as they were driven to the venue of the gala for the Korea premiere. He was tapping his finger on his lap, head leaning on the cold window.

“This movie is set to be a huge success, I’ll tell you that!” Hyuna was talking on the phone, across Ivan’s seat. Compared to Ivan’s suit, though, hers was a lot more flashy.

Ivan’s eyes found Till from the reflection on the car window.

His suit, on the other hand, could be the most spectacular. Sure, no wonder. If the lead actor wasn’t set to steal the show, there was no point in making a gala.

Although Till didn’t seem to be sharing the same thoughts.

“Quit checking your hair from your phone screen,” Ivan mumbled. “You look fine.”

Till turned his head to both sides, observing how he looked from each angle. “Do you think I used too much gel? Maybe I shouldn’t have slicked it back. Maybe I should’ve left it be. Or styled it different? Should I leave a few strands to fall on my face or not?”

Ivan rolled his eyes. “There is a word in Russian for someone who asks a lot of questions. Pochemuchka. That’s what you are.”

Till frowned at that. “Okay, rude.”

“Once again, you look fine.”

To that, he didn’t answer. Both returned to watching reflections: Till watching his own from the phone screen, Ivan watching Till’s from the rear windowpane.

“You’re telling me Mizi already arrived?” Hyuna went on, on the phone. “Shit—avoid the carpet! I need her to pose with Till. We didn’t arrange those matching outfits for nothing.”

Observing Till’s chiffon and satin suit, Ivan couldn’t help but wonder what Mizi might be wearing.

A phone flash took Ivan’s eyes off of the window and made tim turn to Till, who was holding his phone up.

“Pose for the camera, Ivan. That’s going on my Instagram.”

Despite the way Ivan frowned, his lips still curled into a ghostly smile. “You’ll have enough pictures to post from the carpet.”

Till shrugged. “Nah. I prefer my phone over that.”

The limousine came to a stop and Hyuna straightened in her seat. “Alright, boys.” She hung up the phone and tilted her head, making the sunglasses on her head drop in front of her eyes. “Let’s have one hell of a night.”

Till grinned. Ivan tried to mimic.

When the driver opened their door, Ivan was momentarily blinded by the flashing lights and squeaking fans. He got out of the car first, holding a hand out for Hyuna. They were greeted with a humble ceremony of a few fans cheering and several cameras blinking at their sights. Sure, a director and a screenwriter wasn’t the reason why people pooled in front of a venue on a week night like this.

After them, got out Till. 

That was when the crowd roared. Flashing lights went wild, people started clapping and whistling, girls in the front rows of the crowd extending their hands to touch Till’s.

The famous movie star took the reaction with a soothing smile and an easy attitude. As he followed Ivan and Hyuna into the venue, he posed for a million shots, high-fived with fans who probably would never want to wash their hands again, and signed a few posters with his face on them. 

“All this hype before the carpet?” Ivan said as he and Hyuna waited for Till to catch up by the venue gate.

Hyuna simply shrugged. “What do you expect, Ivan? He’s a phenomenon. Nobody would dare miss a chance with a living legend.”

. . .

There was a time before Till was named a phenomenon.

Hell, there was a time when he was nothing better than a college dropout. 

Ivan had met him back then. Both boys were freshly out of highschool, ready to step into the next chapter of their lives. It was a prestigious university they were attending: one only the gifted and wealthy of the country could attend, but only the clever and consistent of that cohort could graduate.

Ivan had always thought of Till to be clever, yet consistent? That was a matter of doubt.

Ivan was majoring in language studies at the time, since there was nothing better for a confused college kid to go and do the easy thing for themselves.

With a Russian father and a Korean mother, Ivan was already sufficient in two languages due to his upbringing. English was a tool for his passion for western cinema. Mandarin and Japanese, he had taken in the university. Similarly, Latin was a mandatory class, and before the end of his first year in college, Ivan was growing a specific interest for romance languages.

When all he had to do was complete a few readings for classes and write essays for his finals, Ivan had found more than enough time to engross himself into every language he wanted to get a grip of, expand his knowledge in every possible chance.

But Till was different. Whatever lectures he attended, he wasn’t interested. Whatever assignments he had, he slacked off. He spent every week until the finals partying until dawn, calling Ivan from unknown numbers to ask him to take him home.

By the end of the first semester of their sophomore year, Till had made his decision.

“I’m dropping out,” he had told Ivan one night as they sat on the balcony of Ivan’s apartment, watching the stars with the company of two cans of beer and some Don McLean Till had put on.

If it was anyone else, Ivan could’ve thought of quitting the most prestigious university of the country to be stupid. He would’ve tried to convince them otherwise, counting a whole list of advantages their future degree could get them in the working life.

But when he’d looked at Till’s eyes in that moment, he knew there was no use in any of that. He knew Till had a plan. He knew his face was beaming with some hope Ivan had never seen before.

So, he had smiled instead. “Is that so?”

Till had nodded. “I got this job on a commercial,” he had said. “The director gave me a list of auditions in Seoul that I could try out.”

Starry, starry nights , the song kept playing from his phone, on the concrete floor between them. Flaming flowers that brightly blaze, swirling clouds in violet haze … 

As if on cue, Till looked up at the starry night sky. “I’m not sure if it can open any doors for me,” he had said. “But better no regrets than playing safe.”

“I’m pretty sure the saying goes ‘better safe than sorry’,” Ivan had said.

Till had rolled his eyes. “We live once, Ivan. I’d rather live it to the fullest than hope for a stable salary, a wife and two kids. That shit is no fun.”

Ivan had to agree with that. That was no fun.

But now that Till had brought it up, Ivan had begun thinking. What was he going to do with his life when he graduated? He’d never pondered that before. Not relatively.

Though thankfully, he didn’t need to answer that question just yet, because Till didn’t ask. He never did, not when it was about the future. When the two of them sit together on a night like this, it was only the present. The sole moment they spent breathing in the cold air and watching the city lights that blinked as much as the stars.

“One day, I will make it, though,” Till had said. “I’ll show them what I’m made for.”

Ivan found he had no doubts about that. Not even the slightest.

. . .

Who knew posing for the red carpet could get a man exhausted enough to down three glasses of champagne, fourth on the way. 

Till gulped down a big sip from his drink, exhaling like it was water. “That was good .”

“You’re acting like you ran a marathon,” Mizi said, casually drinking her own champagne.

“Yeah, a marathon of cameras,” Till retorted. “I’m relieved now that the picture session is over.”

Sua gave a soft laugh. “If this is how Seoul gets you, I wonder how you’ll handle the world press tour.”

At that, both Mizi and Till turned to her with wide eyes, confusion readable in both their faces. Even Ivan, actually, found himself staring at Sua, waiting on an elaboration.

The silence stretched out until, “The world press tour?” Mizi echoed.

Till looked like he could drop his champagne at any given chance. “That’s confirmed?” he asked.

Sua blinked. “Oh,” she let out. “Hyuna didn’t tell you?”

Ivan glanced over at Hyuna across the room, who was talking to some white directors with hand gestures, most likely illustrating her wild ideas for the poor man caught in her spider web. “I think she wanted it to be a surprise,” he said matter of factly.

“Well, it’s not anymore!” Till said as a grin painted his face. “Go on, Sua, tell me! Where are we going for this tour?”

Sua tapped a finger on her chin. “Let’s see. We start with Tokyo if I’m not mistaken, followed by Los Angeles—”

“ Los Angeles ?” Till repeated. 

Mizi beamed. “Oh, I had missed L.A. so much! Haven’t visited there for like three years.”

Till hummed mockingly. “Three years,” he said. “Try twenty four.”

The smile on Mizi’s face was quick to be erased. “Oh, Till! You know that’s not what I meant!”

He put on a winning smirk. “Keep ranting, silverspoon!”

“Don’t call me that!” Mizi complained.

“Speaking of the tour,” Sua chimed in. “Mizi, we need to get in touch with a trusted translator. I know you are quite sufficient in English, but the tour schedule extends over Europe and Asia. You know what that calls for.”

Till’s eyes slid towards Ivan absently, yet Ivan pretended not to notice.

“Right,” Mizi said thoughtfully. “I’ll ask dad to see if I can get a trusted name.”

“When do we leave?” Till asked. “For the tour, I mean?”

Sua frowned as if she tried to remember. “Must be monday. That gives you—”

“ Two days to pack for a whole world tour?” Mizi sighed. “Goodness, Sua, you need to help me choose what to pack.”

Sua smiled. “As much as I love my job as your manager, I’m thinking it is time you get yourself a proper stylist, Mizi.”

“Hell no,” Mizi strictly said. “Nobody does it like you! The last stylist I got was pairing pink stilettos with bright green dresses. Who wears those two together ?”

As the girls were lost in their own conversation, “Hey,” Till said, head tilted towards Ivan. “What would you say about being my translator?”

Ivan blinked. “Your translator?”

“You know, for the press tour.” 

There was a short silence as Ivan let the question sink in, weighing the words. It was unexpected, coming from Till.

Though, Till must’ve taken it as a no since he immediately amended, “Okay, my English is awful and you know that already. Sua said it extends over Europe and Asia, it’s clear as shit I need someone. How many languages did you know? It was at least five back in college, right? There’s nobody else I could ask this. Whoever Mizi plans to hire probably costs half my fortune. You know I ain’t got mansions in France like she does—”

“I’ll do it, pochemuchka ,” Ivan said.

“I get that you don’t want—” Till stopped. He blinked. “Hold on. What?”

Ivan shrugged. “I said I’ll do it,” he said. “I’m a screenwriter in the movie, remember? I’m being dragged to this tour whether I like or not. Might as well take my chance to practice my skills.”

Till’s blank face quickly morphed into happiness. “Really?” he asked. “You’ll do it? Like, you’ll actually be my translator for the entire press tour?”

“Ask me that question one more time and see how I change my mind, Till.”

“Okay, okay, sorry!” He looked away, though he was still smiling.

It hadn’t even been two minutes when Hyuna appeared from behind, throwing her arms over Mizi and Till. “Here are the stars of the night!” she let out, planting a kiss on Mizi’s cheek and ruffling Till’s hair in a way that messed up the perfectly styled slick-back.

“Hyuna,” Mizi said, half in a greeting manner and half in a plea for her to squeeze her less so she can breathe.

Hyuna didn’t seem to care. “I’ve been waiting all night to get to you two. I have insane news and I’m sure you’ll be super excited to—”

“Can I have a wild guess?” Till offered. “Could it possibly be—”

“A world press tour?” Mizi finished in his stead.

Hyuna froze. Her smile fell as she raised a brow, and Ivan had to try so hard to not snort at her reaction. 

“Alright, who let the cat out of the bag?” she asked, but the only response she got was Till and Mizi bursting into laughter.

Sua chuckled with them, and at that rate, even Ivan couldn’t help a smile.

“Who the hell cares?” Till said. “We’re going on a world tour!”

Chapter Text

“Sua, did you take my pink bag and blue luggage?” Mizi was asking as Till and Ivan climbed the stairs to the jet plane.

“Alongside with your other blue luggage and the yellow one? Yes I did.” Sua followed them into the plane with four bags in her arms, two of her own, two of Mizi’s.

Mizi pushed her sunglasses to her head and put both hands on her hips in a thinking attitude. “Wait, did I take my makeup kit—”

“That I already handled, princess,” Hyuna called, already sitting inside the plane with her legs extended to the front seat. 

Good thing they were taking a private flight, Ivan thought as he took a seat towards the back, beside the window.

Till hopped on to the seat in the other back corner, right behind Mizi and Sua’s seats. 

“How long does the flight take again, Hyuna?” Till asked, lengthening his legs on the seat made for two and getting comfortable.

“About two and half hours,” Hyuna responded from the front seats. She’d already grabbed a magazine and a lollipop to spend her journey with.

Mizi had worn her headphones, Sua had taken out a pastel nail polish to paint her nails. As the plane moved for the lift off, Ivan took a book out of his bag, a Japanese classic. This was something he often did during his college summers where he spent traveling overseas for interpretation internship.

Wherever he went, he read a piece of their literature. Glimpsed into their culture, immersed himself into that world.

He took a look at the cover of the book in his hands before flipping it and getting a smell of the pages. Ginga Tetsudou no Yoru (銀河鉄道の夜) by Kenji Miyazawa.

It was a children’s book in its nature, yet Ivan had some sort of a bond with the story he couldn’t let go of. 

It had merely been ten minutes since the plane took off and Ivan started reading, but someone had already sat on the seat next to him.

“What are you reading?” Till asked, peeking at the page.

Ivan sighed. Unchanging, meddler Till, about to disturb everybody in the plane one by one if Ivan doesn’t ease his boredom right now.

“A Japanese classic,” Ivan said, showing the cover. “It’s called Ginga Tetsudou no Yoru .”

Till stared at his face blankly. “Which means?”

“ Night on the Galactic Railroad ,” he translated. “I have the Korean copy too, if you’d ever like to read it sometime.”

Till clasped his hands at the back of his head. “You know I’m not big on reading, Ivan,” he said. “But you can tell me about it. Then I can say I’ve read it in public.”

Ivan frowned. “That’s deceitful.”

“Being a celebrity is being deceitful,” Till said. “So, go on. Fill me in.”

Ivan glanced out of the window, watching the blue sky and white clouds in sight. “It’s not a deep story like Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment or so.”

“Better.” Till shrugged. “I wouldn’t have understood that anyways.”

When Ivan turned back to the boy sitting next to him, Till’s eyes were already closed as if he was a child waiting for a bedtime story. Ivan had to take his eyes off of him before he would start wondering how come Till had such long lashes. “As the name implies, it’s about two boys traveling across the Milky Way in a train.”

Till chuckled. “That’s a good one to read on our way to a world press tour.”

Ivan rubbed his thumb over the letters on the cover. “It ends badly though,” he said. “One of the boys, Campanella, dies.”

“Oh,” Till let out, smile falling from his face. “How? On the train?”

“Sort of,” said Ivan. “Campanella vanishes from the train when they approach a black hole. The other boy, Giovanni, cries after him. He returns home in the mourning of Campanella. When he does, his classmates ask Giovanni where he’d been and tell him that Campanella died trying to rescue a boy from drowning.”

Till finally opened his eyes, making Ivan realize he had been staring at his face. But Till didn’t budge. “I thought he had vanished at the black hole?” he asked with a frown.

“That’s the thing, Till,” Ivan said, meeting his eyes. “Campanella died to rescue Giovanni from misery.”

“But now that he is dead, isn’t Giovanni even more miserable?”

Ivan shrugged. “Well, he grieved him. But he wasn’t miserable, because Campanella showed him new sights of the world and gave him a reason to live on.”

Till hummed in consideration, crossing his arms as he turned to the ceiling. The back of his head rubbed against the plane seat, tousling his gray hair. “It really does sound like a depressing book.”

“It isn’t, so long as you don’t read the ending,” said Ivan. “Maybe it will help you with your Japanese, though.”

Till shook his head like he was asked to do math. “No, that’s what you’re here for, dumbass!” he said.

Ivan didn’t respond, but smiled.

There was a short silence where Till glanced at him briefly, before blinking away again. “But I guess you could teach me some common phrases. You know, I’m going to be giving out autographs and interviews. Might come in handy.”

Ivan gave him a knowing smile.

For the rest of the flight, the two spent time fiddling with basic Japanese. Till asked the meaning of a random word every two seconds, Ivan tried his best to help Till perfect his pronunciation on greeting words, and show him simple kanji from the book that could help him with interviews.

. . .

Two and half hours had flown by, and when the plane landed Ivan hadn’t even reached half of his book. As soon as they were allowed to take off their belts, Till stood up and stretched. “God, my legs are sore from sitting.”

Mizi wore her sunglasses as she stood up after him. “Landed in Tokyo!” she cheered. “Tonight will be so fun!”

Hyuna popped a gum as she checked her business phone simultaneously with her personal one. “Alright, we’re checking into the hotel now, getting dressed for the carpet and leaving for the venue. All in…” She checked the screen of her other phone. “Five hours approximately. We have a red carpet interview and a live stream to be broadcasted on a national channel. There’s also a trailer screening, though you guys already know what to do with that. Clap and smile. Easy.” She walked out of the plane with her bags hanging from her arms and a black cap on her head. 

Mizi and Sua followed her out, as Ivan packed his stuff. “Five hours,” Mizi was repeating.

Sua was nodding as she stared at her phone. “Your dress is ready, makeup artists will be brought to the hotel. I’ll handle that all.”

Mizi gave a relieved sigh. “My savior.”

Till humped his own bag and tucked his sunglasses between his messy hair. “Come on, Ivan. Let’s go.”

Ivan paused, looking up at him. “How did we say that in Japanese?” he asked playfully.

The question got Till hesitating. “Shit,” he grumbled, though it didn’t take him long to blink as an idea came to him. Taking a chance, “行こうぜ?” he asked. Ikou ze .

Ivan smiled. “You got it,” he said. “行きましょう.” Ikimashou .

. . .

They quickly checked into the hotel thanks to Ivan’s fluid Japanese skills and the recognizable faces of Mizi and Till. They parted ways for their respective rooms and Ivan took his time to unpack his luggage, take a shower, style his hair and wear his suit for the night. By the time Hyuna texted the group chat calling everybody to the lobby, he was already walking to the elevator.

He pressed the button, waiting for the large elevator to ding at his floor. It arrived rather quickly, golden doors mechanically opening to both sides. 

Though, it wasn’t empty. Inside, stood Sua and Till, having a conversation. When the doors opened wide and Ivan was exposed to the lights of the elevator, both turned to him.

“Oh, Ivan!” Sua said. She had worn a white turtleneck and a black plaid skirt, styled her short hair naturally. “You look stunning!”

Ivan smiled. “Same goes for you,” he said. Turning to Till, “Both of you,” he added.

Indeed, Till looked stunning. A shimmering silver suit that complemented his hair, dangling chain earrings that matched the same vibe. No wonder why every billboard wanted this man’s face, Ivan thought. He had an odd appeal to his looks, the kind that made him want to stare for hours.

Till didn’t compliment back. “Thanks,” he said coolly, trying to keep his attitude.

He stepped into the elevator. “Where is Mizi?”

Sua sighed as if she just remembered about that. “Right. About Mizi. She wants my opinion on which shoe to wear apparently, so I’m going to her room. Tell Hyuna we’ll be there in five minutes, alright?”

Ivan nodded. “We will.”

When the elevator stopped at the second floor, Sua walked out, waving both boys goodbye as she rushed to Mizi’s room.

And just like that, Ivan and Till were left alone in the hotel elevator with some soft piano playing from the muffled speakers.

“Are you ready for the interviews?” Ivan asked after a brief silence.

Till blinked. “The interviews?” he repeated, then shrugged. “Not really. I’ve been doing that for a long while now. I just hope I’ll look good on camera.”

Ivan shot him a sideways glance. “You will,” he said, somewhat with confidence.

Till didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. Ivan had already seen the slight smirk painting his face, even though he had looked down to hide it.

. . .

The Japanese media had greeted them well and nicely, and the red carpet session had ended without much pomposity. The screening had ended, producers had come to shake Hyuna’s hand and reporters had kept Till and Mizi busy. During that, Ivan and Sua had gone to eat some snacks—canapé and champagne.

When the clocks had hit eight, they were all in the venue studio for the TV broadcast.

The host was a sweet woman, who shook hands with all of them professionally before wearing her mic. Everyone except Sua sat on the wide couch before the camera, with Mizi and Till taking the spotlight. A man counted down from ten, lights fixated on their faces, and when the stream was declared live, the interviewer woman wore a big smile and greeted the camera in her polite, euphonious Japanese.

Japan was easy. Ivan’s translation wasn’t as needed, because they already had staff sufficient in Korean. They were more than prepared to host such famous names in their country, asking the right questions to everybody. 

“Till, Mizi, how did you two decide to take part in this movie? Was there an audition process, or was the role offered to you?” their interviewer asked in Japanese.

Before it was left for Ivan to lean towards Till and translate, a staff member undertook the job, quickly translating the question for both actors.

“It kind of goes both ways,” Till responded with an easy smile. “I had just happened to be there at my friend Ivan’s place one night when he was working on the manuscript of this movie.”

As he waited for a second for the staff to translate his words into Japanese, he turned to Ivan. They exchanged a smile. Under the spotlight, Ivan realized, Till looked straight out of the movies he played in. Makeup artists must be loving to work with him, he thought irrationally.

Till turned back to the interviewer. “I had the chance to read an excerpt from the script then, and had told Ivan that if this would ever make it big, I would love to take part in it. Fast forward a year, he calls me and tells me if my offer still stands. I remember saying yes without a second thought.”

When his words were translated, the interviewer laughed. “That’s a great story,” she said.

Till must’ve understood that, because he nodded in agreement. That was no surprise. Ivan had gone through that phrase while they were practicing on the plane. (“When they like something, you’re likely to hear いいねー .”)

“I got the offer from Hyuna,” Mizi explained. “They were missing a female lead and she told me she didn’t want any pretty actress who could do the job, but somebody who could portray the specific emotional distress the character goes through.”

“Allow me to say,” Hyuna chimed in. “You did portray that well.”

Their responses got translated, and the story got another laugh from the Japanese crew.

“I’m truly excited to see the movie once it comes out,” the interviewer said. Her eyes met Ivan’s, and he felt the next question coming for him. “Ivan, you know Japanese if I’m not wrong. You’ve worked on several Japanese productions previously in your career.”

Ivan nodded. “I do,” he said in clear Japanese. “I took classes during my time at school.”

The woman nodded in appreciation. “I want to ask you some questions about the script. First off, the name of the movie, Anakt Garden.” She checked the small card in her hands to make sure it was correct. “Where does that come from? What inspired the name?”

Ivan straightened in his seat. “This movie can be considered a love story, or a tragedy; depending on the perspective you look at it. Anakt Garden is the place where this love, therebeside this tragedy begins.”

“I see,” the interviewer said in a tone of interest. “What do you mean by a story of love and tragedy, simultaneously?”

“It’s a story of unconditional love,” Ivan said. These were the words he’d told Till when he asked what it was about. The words he’d told Hyuna at their first meeting to discuss the production. The words he’d told Mizi and Sua when he first handed them the script.

“The kind of love you experience only once in your life,” he went on. “The kind you will always carry with you, even after the one you love is gone. The kind that doesn’t wash away, no matter what you do. That’s the beauty of it, as much as the tragedy for both characters. What I wrote, Hyuna took over and did a perfect job reading into my vision as I was writing it. To me, this movie depicts the perfect world for those looking for a love that will break their hearts, as well as patch the wounds delicately.”

As the words were in Japanese, nobody had understood what he’d said. Not Mizi, who kindly smiled as if she was understanding. Not Hyuna who, similarly, nodded to his words without a clue, probably. And certainly not Till, whose eyes were stuck on his face as if he’d seen a new side of him that he didn’t know before.

The interviewer hummed. “Your words are now making me curious,” she said.

Ivan gave a soft chuckle. “Wait until it’s out in theaters,” he said. “It will make a sound. About that, I’m certain.”

. . .

By the time their work was over, Mizi had switched her black heels to sneakers and worn her hair in clip claws. Similarly, Hyuna had changed from a suit to a black tank top, and Till had taken off his silver jacket, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows and hair tousled into the usual messy style. Ivan, as well, had changed his button up into an oversize shirt, despite the velvet trousers still being a part of his suit.

When they left the venue, Tokyo was gleaming in neon lights. Several people were in the streets, but it wasn’t enough to make Mizi and Till hide behind sunglasses and masks. 

As soon as they were outside, Sua took out her phone for a picture. “Everyone, smile for a selfie!”

They posed for the picture, making sure the glowing street was visible in the background, enough to remember tonight each time they would look at it.

Hyuna got onto finding a 24/7 available restaurant on Google Maps as the rest followed her, watching the screens of advertisements on towers above their heads. Each time Till tried reading a sign, Ivan had to fix his terrible takes on kanji and wrong pronunciation.

“私… How do you read the rest?” Till asked, pointing at another neon sign glowing on a closed convenience store.

Ivan took a look at it. “私たち,” he pronounced. “When you add tachi to the pronoun, it makes it plural.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Till said.

“It kind of does,” Sua chimed in from the front. “It’s the same logic in Mandarin as well.”

“Hold on, Sua. You know Mandarin?”

She shrugged. “I remember a little from school.”

Mizi beamed with excitement. “Oh my god, Sua, you need to teach me sometime!”

“Here it is!” When Hyuna abruptly stopped, Mizi bumped into her. “An open ramen restaurant! Dive in, people!”

It was a small place, a pair of red noren s hanging from the  door like curtains with the place’s name written on them.

Hyuna pushed through them and entered the place, followed by Mizi and Sua. Ivan ducked the curtains and held it to one side for Till to pass. 

A man old enough to not recognize either of the movie stars stood behind the counters. He was probably washing the dishes of the previous customers, water running calmly into the sink. Despite the group disturbing at this hour, he still wore a greeting smile.

“失礼します,” Ivan kindly excused as Hyuna settled for a long table, gesturing for the others to sit as well.

“Order five ramens for us, Ivan,” Hyuna said with a winning smile. “It’s on me tonight.”

Till grinned, Sua thanked her, and Mizi clapped. “First night celebration!” she said. “Get us sake as well!”

Ivan nodded with a smile as he headed towards the counter. “On it,” he told them.

As soon as he approached, the old man raised his head from the dishes. “Are you guys from Korea?” he asked with a dialect Ivan struggled to understand fully.

“We are,” he said. “Here for business, but also to have a little fun.”

The man’s smile widened. “Have it while you’re young. Tokyo is a beautiful city. Better experience the most of it.”

Ivan smiled back in agreement, but the wording the man used was stuck in his head. 幽玄, he had used for Tokyo. Yuugen. It didn’t have a direct translation to English or Korean. Mystery , some claimed. Beauty , others decided. But as far as Ivan knew, it meant more than what a single word could explain. It meant an indescribable, profound sense of beauty. But also, the sad grace of human suffering.

The latter had Ivan pondering a little more than usual.

“Ramen for all of you?” the old man asked, bringing him back to the moment.

Ivan blinked. “Yes,” he said. When the man dried his hands from the water and got to preparing the food, Ivan turned his back to return to the table, but stopped as he remembered the drink. “Also, sake please,” he added.

The old man gave a knowing smile. “A celebration kind of a night?” he asked. “I have just the bottle.”

. . .

Five bowls of ramen were quickly gobbled down, and an entire bottle of sake had gone victim to Till and Hyuna’s drinking competition. By the time Sua had called a limousine to drive them back to the hotel, both were already unrecoverably drunk.

“No you don’t understand,” Till was saying, stumbling over words. “What I need you to do, Mizi, is to stop talking while we’re getting our makeup done, because I personally have heard more about your love life than my dad’s.”

Mizi frowned. “And what I need you to do, Till, is to stop invading other people’s dressing rooms in between takes,” she strictly said.

“I go to the dressing room that has the air conditioner!” Till excused himself. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did the same.”

Hyuna gave a laugh, throwing her arms around both actors. “The shooting was over months ago, and you two still discuss that?”

“Honestly,” Sua said, smiling despite the way she rolled her eyes. “It’s a miracle these two finished the shooting without killing each other anyway.”

 “Yeah, she’s not easy to work with,” grumbled Till.

“What?” Mizi exclaimed. “You’re not easy to work with!”

“But truth to be told,” Hyuna said, “you two look amazing together on camera.”

Ivan wasn’t so sure about that yet. He hadn’t seen the movie, despite being a screenwriter. He was there at the table read, a few of the scenes where Hyuna had to consult him, and had watched about fifteen minutes of it in the post production facility once.

But that was it. What he’d written, he didn’t know how Mizi and Till had portrayed. 

He was curious about that.

“The limo has arrived,” said Sua, urging Hyuna and Till to stand up. “Pay for our food, Hyuna.”

Hyuna blinked. “Ah shit,” she mumbled. “That was on me, right? Hand me my wallet.”

“I’m off then,” Till said, grabbing his jacket as he stood up. He struggled with his balance shortly, having to hold onto the table.

Ivan grabbed his arm and put it around his neck. “Slow down, Till. You can’t even walk straight.” 

He walked Till out of the restaurant, stopping to thank the old man before he stepped beyond the noren and waved for the limo.

. . .

They were back in the hotel in no time.

Ivan was glad he hadn’t drunk much, because leaving Mizi and Sua to handle this chaos would surely make him feel bad afterwards.

“Which floor was yours?” Ivan asked as they were getting into the hotel elevator. The lobby was dim, nobody around except the receptionist at this hour. Till’s arm was still around his neck, stumbling every two steps.

“Mine?” Mizi asked. “Oh no, don’t bother. We’re going to the fifth floor to drop Hyuna at her room first.”

Sua sighed. “Who decided drinking outside was a good idea?”

Mizi pursed her lips blamefully. Ivan snorted, yet he didn’t remind Sua that ordering sake was Mizi’s idea.

“Then I’ll be taking Till to his room,” said Ivan. “Which floor was yours?” he asked the boy holding onto his arm.

Till mumbled some words, yet it made no sense.

“Twelfth,” Sua said in his stead. “It was twelfth. The king suite by the end of the hall.”

“You’re a savior, Sua,” said Ivan.

Sua gave a smile. “Well, somebody has to keep track of you all.”

The girls got off the elevator to drop Hyuna, and Ivan and Till continued to the twelfth floor. The elevator was playing a soft song once again. Whether Till already knew the song or had caught up to the melody on spot, Ivan wasn’t sure, but he’d begun mumbling the music and kept singing until the elevator dinged at the anticipated floor.

Without a word, Ivan dragged the boy out of the elevator.

“Hey, Ivan,” Till muttered.

Ivan hummed in response.

“What was the thing you told the interviewer lady tonight, in Japanese?”

The hallway was too quiet, soft yellow lamps lighting up their path as they went. While other guests beyond each door they passed were sleeping, two boys were walking slowly to the king suite.

“She asked me the theme of the movie, and I told her.”

Till was silent for a moment. “What did you tell her?” he asked then.

“That it was tragic love.”

To that, Till gave a hum.

Ivan looked at him. “What’s up with that reaction?”

“Well,” Till said, “to me, the theme is hope.”

That made Ivan raise a brow. “Hope?”

“Yeah. You know, the characters meet, fall in love, fall out of love, then go their separate ways in the end, don’t they? The ending leaves us wondering what happens next. It gives the characters an open door that could let in anything. To me, that’s hope.”

Ivan wasn’t sure why, but something in Till’s words had touched his heart. The way he spoke with open sincerity was making Ivan want to stare at his face, just to see the emotion on his face. “Is that so?” he asked. 

Till hummed in agreement, yet didn’t say anything else.

The two walked to the end of the hallway in silence, until Till broke it again. “Ivan,” he said.

“Yes, Till?”

“Thank you.”

That was so random that Ivan frowned in confusion. He tried to remark an occasion from today that deserved a thank-you, though nothing seemed to visit his mind. But before he could ask why, Till gave an awkward chuckle.

“Sorry, I just recalled our university days for a second,” he said. “You used to drag me home from bars back then, too.”

“Well, things have changed,” said Ivan. “You no longer hang around at bars or drink excessively.”

Till laughed again. “And you no longer lose your temper when I drink.”

“That’s because you’ve matured enough to know what’s bad for your health,” Ivan said. “Which, I’m glad you do because most celebrities don’t.”

Till didn’t respond. Though, before the awkward silence could settle, he said, “Thank you for supporting me back then, about dropping out.”

“You would drop out whether I supported or not,” said Ivan.

“But the way you did helped me feel less guilty about it,” Till admitted. The alcohol in his veins was getting to his words. “You were the only person to support me back then, unlike my…” He trailed off, leaving the moment to silence. “Whatever.”

The end of that sentence wasn’t going to come anytime soon, and they had already arrived at the king suite. Till took out his room card from his back pocket and opened the door.

“Good night,” said Ivan, watching the boy enter the suite.

Till gave him a crooked smile. “Night,” he said. “How do you say it in Japanese?”

“おやすみ,” Ivan translated. Oyasumi.

Till smiled. “おやすみ,” he told him, right before the door closed shut and left Ivan alone in the silent ambiance of the hotel.

Chapter Text

Next morning during breakfast, Sua was checking social media to see the responses on the Seoul gala.

“Oh, it’s good,” she’d said when Ivan asked. “As far as I see, there’s a great anticipation building up already. It’s bigger than any productions made in the last six months. Of course, having such stars as Mizi and Till in the lead roles helps that a lot.”

Surely that had an effect. Mizi had been in show business since she was a child, with a retired idol mother and a producer father. She was posing for cameras from a young age, modeling for billboards before she knew how to speak. If there was a production she took place in, it wouldn’t fail.

As for Till, Ivan thought, glancing over at the boy who drank miso soup as he was talking to Mizi, it was different.

His fame had peaked purely on his looks. Nobody knew who he was, until his name became a trending hashtag overnight. An average production TV series was what brought him fame for the first time. Till had a minor role for one episode, a side character who had a few lines. But from the moment that episode had dropped on the internet, Till was the only person everybody talked about. His attraction had stolen the spotlight, his social media accounts had gained thousands of followers. And only after a few months, he was everywhere. He booked new, better jobs. Got asked for countless interviews, was invited to film festivals and award shows. Ivan couldn’t even tell when his friend from the university had become a phenomenon everybody wanted to get a taste of.

But all this fame and attraction was making him more of a private person each passing day.

He wasn’t the type to talk about his life. Even to this day, Ivan knew so little about his family. He knew Till had issues with his father and rarely talked to his mother for reasons he wouldn’t elaborate, but that was all. Not that he wasn’t curious, but because Till avoided at all costs to mention it. The information on his love life was limited on the internet too. Unlike Mizi, who had an unveiled dating life, Till hid his relationships. Whoever he dated, he didn’t talk about them. Ivan knew he bought flowers and went to see them at times but something about it just never felt sincere to him, though he never told this to Till.

It was almost like Till saw dating as… a part of his job.

“Morning, everybody.” Hyuna entered the hotel restaurant with a yawn. “I got recognized in the elevator just now.”

Ivan snorted. “You’re lying,” he said.

“I’m not!” Hyuna protested. “They watched our interview last night apparently. Mizi, Till, be prepared just in case some fans come up to you with flashing phones.”

“Hyuna, could you tell me when our next flight is? I’m trying to arrange Mizi’s personal staff accordingly,” Sua said as soon as Hyuna sat next to her on the table.

“Let’s see.” Hyuna scratched the back of her head. “I tried to leave this afternoon unoccupied so we all can travel in Tokyo. We’re going to check out of the hotel towards the evening and head to the airport. Our next flight is to Los Angeles, so it’s going to take ten to eleven hours. We’re merely going to spend one day in Los Angeles anyway so I figured we take the night plane and not pay for the hotel—”

“Wait, what ?” Till let out, almost spitting out his soup.

“What?” Hyuna shot back. “There’s a budget the agency gave us for this tour! I know you two are globally famous actors but I’d rather stay one night at the best hotel than two nights at a worse one—”

“We have only one day in Los Angeles?” Till asked loudly.

“Oh.” Hyuna rolled her eyes. “That’s what got you.”

Till leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. “That’s not fair, Hyuna!”

“It’s not something in my power, Till, the next venue we booked is in Mexico City the exact next day. We have no time for holiday.”

“Besides,” Mizi chimed in, “L.A. isn’t even thrilling. It’s all media. See Hollywood once and you’ll understand.”

“Oh, you don’t get to speak, silverspoon,” Till said. “I had a dream!”

“Look, if what you want is a picture before the Hollywood Sign, we’ll have time to get that, okay?” Hyuna said. “We arrive in L.A. in the morning, and the gala is in the evening. Though, you better make time to get prepared for it because it’s the first time we’re having a screening. So many producers and reporters will be there. Not to mention the fans.”

“We’re having a full screening?” Ivan asked, leaning forward. 

“We are,” said Hyuna with a smile. “What’s up, Ivan? Excited to see what I’ve created out of your script?”

Truthfully, he was. But what he was more excited about was to see what Till and Mizi had created out of his work.

He wasn’t the sole writer in the project, but the original draft belonged to him. Other Korean and American writers had then gotten involved during the revision stage, but the characters and storyline that belonged to Ivan had remained untouched in the finalized script. Though, he had never written it picturing Till as the male lead—nor Mizi as the female lead.

Now that he was thinking about it, he had something to be excited for in Los Angeles: the screening.

“Yeah,” he told Hyuna in the end, clasping his hands under his chin. “I really need to see what you made out of it.”

The director gave him a grin. “Then I guess you need to wait until tomorrow night.”

. . .

The flight was in the evening and that meant they had more than enough time to explore the sights of Tokyo. Just as they were leaving the hotel, though, several fans caught the recognizable sight of Mizi’s pink hair and wanted to take pictures with her and Till. At the fans’ insufficient attempts to communicate in Korean, Ivan interjected and kindly told them they were in a hurry (which was a lie, but Mizi and Till thanked him afterwards for allowing easy access out of the hotel and more time to travel, so maybe it was worth it).

A private limo, Ivan found out, made traveling so much easier. They went to see the Tokyo Tower, where of course, Sua didn’t neglect to take another group selfie. Following that was the Senso-ji Temple, where Mizi and Sua prayed and Till sat under the shades, distracting Ivan as he tried to finish reading Ginga Tetsudou no Yoru.

Hyuna, Till, and Mizi got lost in shopping at Shibuya Crossing; so during that, Ivan and Sua had sat at a coffee shop, discussing the future stops of the press tour.

“Los Angeles, Mexico City, New York, Toronto,” Sua was counting the order from memory. “After that, we move to Europe, then Russia, and finally, China.”

The idea of Russia had brought a smile to Ivan’s face. He had looked out of the window, staring at the crowded city, the flashy advertisement banners, and cars that passed from time to time.

He had missed his homeland. “Is it just me, or is this tour getting better each day?” he'd asked

Sua had laughed. “I just hope we’ll get done with it without any trouble.”

After spending considerable hours at Shibuya Crossing, they had visited Jinbocho, where Ivan had absolutely fallen in love with. The district was full of bookstores: new releases, Japanese classics, second-hand vintage books. They had it all. Each step he took brought forth a different literature to his feet, the scent of books merged into the air.

“Ah, here we go,” Till had grumbled as soon as Ivan’s eyes were stuck on a window display.

“What’s wrong?” Mizi had asked.

Till had sighed, pointing at Ivan. “I know this look when I see it. He’s going to spend hours in this bookshop now.”

Ivan had frowned. “Hours is an overstatement. I’ll just take a look and leave,” he’d responded as he pushed the shop door open.

“Tell it to the hand, bookworm!” Till had called behind him.

“I waited hours for you at Shibuya Crossing, you might as well show the dignity to wait for me here!”

As Till and Hyuna had found some place to sit and eat instead, Sua and Mizi had joined Ivan in his book hunt (though, only Sua seemed interested in the books themselves and Mizi was more there for… photography purposes).

By the time it was evening and they were heading back to the hotel, Ivan was carrying a dozen freshly bought books, Mizi had at least six designer brand bags hanging from her arms, Hyuna had bought local snacks, Till’s bags were filled with street fashion clothes, and Sua had taken so many pictures that Ivan could bet her storage was fighting for its life.

They packed their bags and checked out in less than an hour, and took the limo to the fixed-base operator. And by the time it was sunset, they had already loaded their stuff to the private jet.

“Ah,” Sua let out as she settled comfortably on her plane seat. “I’m going to miss Tokyo.”

“Sure, it was fun,” Till said as he walked past her, throwing his bag on the backseat. “But think about this: when we wake up, we will be in Los Angeles!”

“That’s why, you all better sleep well on this ride,” Hyuna said, placing her elbows on the heads of both seats as she stood in the hall between. “You wouldn’t want to look bad on Hollywood’s carpet.”

“Never,” Till confidently mused as he positioned his seat to lay backwards, preparing for sleep.

Mizi stood up in a rush, one hand twisting her hair as the other fumbled to tie it in a claw clip. “I need to do my skincare before my beauty sleep,” she said as she walked towards the bathroom.

“Yeah guys, don’t talk to me now,” Till said in a tone that imitated hers. “I need to get my beauty sleep!”

“Stop doing that, Till!”

. . .

Ivan didn’t remember when he’d fallen asleep to the sound of the jet’s soft engine with a book left open on his lap, but he could specifically remember the moment he woke up.

“About half an hour left until we land at Los Angeles airport, ” their pilot had sounded from the speakers as Ivan was still in a state of half-sleep.

As soon as the announcement came, “Holy shit!” Till yelled out loud.

Ivan opened his eyes at the sound of his voice.

“We’re fucking here!”

“I’m trying to sleep here, jackass,” Hyuna grumbled from the front seats.

“I don’t give a shit, Hyuna, we’re in Los Angeles!”

Ivan drowsily reached for his phone and opened the lock screen. It was six in the morning. When he raised his head, he could see Sua and Mizi still sleeping, both wearing their headphones on.

Ivan ignored Till and closed his eyes again, crossing his arms as he got comfortable in his seat. Half an hour meant more time to sleep.

Just as he was about to fall asleep again, “Hey, Ivan,” someone whispered.

He nearly jumped, opening his eyes. He blinked a few times and turned to the boy who just happened to be next to his seat. “Till?”

Till’s hair was messy as usual, strands falling to his face. His green eyes were sparkling as he stared at Ivan. “Will you travel around L.A. with me?”

Ivan rubbed his eyes to wake up properly. “Me? Why me specifically?”

“Well, I mean, since you’re technically my translator, you’re going to have to, anyway. But still.” He shrugged. “You know this city is like Mizi’s second home, so she’ll get bored quickly. Sua will be with her too, surely. And Hyuna will probably be so caught up in Universal Studios that she’ll start talking about how she always wanted to be a director and stuff, and ruin the moment. You’re the most bearable companion here.”

Ivan rolled his eyes. “Why, thank you.”

“That’s not how I meant!” Till amended in a whisper. “I mean you’re enjoyable to be around, and I need your language skills! Plus, there’s so much stuff I want to see. The Hollywood Sign, Walk of Fame, Pacific Park, Griffith Observatory—”

“Alright, alright,” Ivan said, unable to resist a smile. “I get it. I’m almost as thrilled as you, so let’s do that.”

Till blinked. “Really?” he asked excitedly.

“What did I tell you about asking questions, pochemuchka ?”

Till let out a loud laugh to that response. He stood up abruptly, shoving both fists at the air. “Let’s go, we’re going to see Hollywood!”

“Shut the fuck up, Till!” Hyuna yelled.

Till sat down. “My bad.”

. . .

It was hard to tame Till, but Ivan managed to convince him to wait at least until they had a proper breakfast before going out to explore the wonders of Los Angeles.

Their jet landed on the Los Angeles International Airport, and thankfully it was close to their hotel, which was near the beaches. On their way to the hotel, Till took every chance to open the window and breathe in the salty air, while Mizi took a thousand pictures to post on her Instagram.

In their same old fashion, they checked into the hotel—the receptionist was a young girl who recognized Mizi as soon as they entered, so she allowed them faster access to their rooms.

“Oh, how I love traveling with a movie star,” Hyuna was saying in the elevator, hands clasped at the back of her head.

“Hello ?” Till said annoyingly. “Movie stars. Multiple.”

This hotel had, thankfully, room service on food. Before Ivan even unpacked his luggage, a breakfast tray arrived at his room. He ate a little bit of everything they served: crepes with syrup, eggs and beacon, a plate of fruits. 

Just as he had opened a book and laid on the smooth hotel bed to eat grapes and have a peaceful moment, his phone buzzed with a message.

Ivan took a look at it and saw Till’s name on the lock screen.

He sighed, dropped the book, and reached for the phone.

Till: What’s your room number?

Ivan fumbled his pocket to find his room card. 204 , he texted the number on the card. When Till didn’t respond, Why , he added, but Till didn’t see the message.

Before it had even been a minute, the door of his room got knocked.

Ivan didn’t need another second to figure out who it was. He put the breakfast tray aside and threw his phone on the bed before he stood up and opened the door.

Till was standing right before him, with a black cap over his head and a Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt. He beamed as soon as he saw Ivan. “Ready to go?”

Ivan shook his head, walking back into the room. “Hold on, I’ve got to change.”

Till must’ve thought of the open door as an invitation that he walked in. “Wow, your room has a better view than mine,” he said, hopping over Ivan’s luggage towards the window. “You can see the sea!”

“You don’t?” Ivan asked as he took his shirt off. 

“Barely,” said Till, pushing the curtains to get a better view. “This one beats mine to it. Though, it’s quite smaller than my room.” Just as he’d turned his back to observe the room, he caught a glimpse of Ivan changing.

Ivan had already worn his new shirt, yet Till still whistled. “How much did you work on those abs, Ivan?”

Something in Ivan made him avoid looking at Till. His muscles tightened under his skin. “Aerobics and a healthy diet,” he told Till as he grabbed his phone and wallet, and wore his sunglasses over his head. “I recommend it a lot.”

Till crossed his arms with a smirk. “Teach me your ways, so I can add it to my gym repertoire.”

“Do you even go to the gym, Till?”

“Well,” he mumbled. “You could say that I’m trying?”

Ivan looked at him with a face that didn’t believe a single word of that sentence. “That’s a lie.”

Till didn’t buy that. “I’m a celebrity, Ivan. Lying is my area of expertise.”

. . .

Ivan was impressed by the way Till’s guess was so spot on, because just as he’d claimed in the plane, Mizi and Sua had decided to stay at the hotel for a few more hours and agreed to meet Ivan and Till at the Pacific Park in the afternoon. Hyuna, meanwhile, was talking on the phone to someone about venues and organizers, so the crew assumed she was busy with work and didn’t even offer going out.

The limo was reserved for when they moved together, and since Hyuna was on one of those long calls, Ivan and Till didn’t have the chance to ask whether they could use it. Instead, they called a cab and hoped Till’s sunglasses and black cap would do the trick.

“Where to?” the cab driver asked, shooting a glance on Till’s disguise from the rearview mirror. Though, he didn’t elaborate. This was Los Angeles, after all. He had to be seeing the same thing at least ten times a day.

Ivan turned to till. “Where do you want to go first?” he asked in a low Korean.

Till didn’t even think. “The Hollywood Sign, of course,” he said, pulling the sunglasses down to meet Ivan’s eyes.

Ivan smiled in response. He told their destination to the driver, and so the car engines started running.

There was a silence of some muffled song playing on the radio and the blowing wind from the open windows, until the driver decided to speak up during a red light.

“Where you guys from?” he asked, staring at them from the rearview mirror.

“Korea,” Ivan responded easily.

“Tourists?” the driver asked.

“Not quite,” Ivan said. “Business, more of.”

The driver’s glance slid towards Till once again. “Show business, I’m guessing.”

Ivan nodded. “Yes. I’m his translator for the trip.”

The driver hummed thoughtfully, yet didn’t ask who Till was. The lights turned green, and he hit the gas again.

In about twenty minutes, they had arrived at Mount Lee. The cab driver had dropped them off at a place that saw the Hollywood sign clearly, yet was away from tourist attractions. Without anybody around, Till had the liberty to take off his disguise and take pictures as he liked, posing a million different ways before the sign.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” he was saying each time he turned his back and took a look at the big, white landmark. Ivan did the same, putting a hand on his forehead to block the sun.

“I know,” he told Till. “It’s unreal.”

Till approached him and put his black cap on Ivan’s head. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s take a picture together.”

“Together?”

“As a memory,” said Till, grabbing his phone. “One day, when I’m an Oscar winning actor and you’re an Oscar winning screenwriter, we’re going to take a look at our first time in Hollywood and think how far we’ve come.”

Ivan’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of that. To win an Oscar for his writing. To visit Hollywood in the future again.

He liked the idea of that.

Being the taller one, Ivan grabbed the phone from Till’s hands and undertook the job of taking the picture.

Till gave a nose scrunching smile at the camera. “To winning an Oscar!” he declared.

“To winning an Oscar,” Ivan repeated as he smiled. He made sure the Hollywood Sign was in the frame before he clicked the screen, and saved the moment forever in Till’s camera roll.

Their next destination was the Walk of Fame, as Till had decided. So, they took another ride there. As they walked around, Ivan could notice several passers-by looking twice at Till as if they recognized him, but whether it was because Ivan was staring back at them or they weren’t sure if Till was a celebrity, they refrained from approaching the two.

Till seemed unaware of it, though, as his eyes were on the ground, instead. “Holy shit, look, it’s David Bowie!” He pointed at the star on the ground with Bowie’s name written on it, and took a picture.

Ivan followed him as he went. “You know, there’s a word in English that reminds me of you.”

Till looked up from his phone. “What is it?”

“Wanderlust,” Ivan said. “Which means to have a strong desire to travel.”

Till hummed in interest as his eyes trailed back to the ground. “I mean, in a place like Hollywood, of course I want to travel,” he said. “You get it, right? I’m an actor. You’re a writer. We are artists born for fame.”

Ivan, as well, looked down at all the familiar names they were walking upon.

“It’s only natural that I want this,” Till went on. “To be a part of this world. To know I’m seen. To feel like I belong here. You know what I mean.”

To one extent, Ivan did. There was a reason he wrote. A reason he told stories. A reason he created, and painted with words on a canvas called paper.

But the reason he published his work had never been in the pursuit of fame and wealth. It was a pursuit of unfolding himself to the world instead, though easily precluded by the industry. That was how being a writer worked in an industry of benefit: people took what they liked from your work, and scratched the rest. Not a single person asked what was important to you.

Initially, Ivan had made his peace with that. But no matter how much he tried not to, the contents of his heart always crept through the tip of his pen, bleeding into the ink he used. If he wasn’t a skilled writer who knew how to play the game by its rules, Hollywood would’ve left him out the door already.

“Oh.” Till’s voice brought him back to the present. “Mizi just texted. They’re leaving the hotel for Pacific Park now, apparently. Shall we go as well?”

Though a beat late, Ivan still managed to look up from the stars on the ground. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”

. . .

Santa Monica was a lively place in the afternoon, and Pacific Park seemed to be the center of it. Ivan and Till had met Mizi, Sua, and Hyuna before the pier, and they all had entered the theme park with their mouths open as they stared up at the huge rollercoaster, the ferris wheel, and colorful shops.

As Hyuna and Till went for a rollercoaster ride, Sua went to buy funnel cakes for herself, Mizi and Ivan.

Though, until they finished eating, Mizi was approached by at least five teenage girls who asked for pictures or autographs.

The day went on with trying out ice cream flavors, hotdogs, churro; basically anything sold at the Santa Monica Pier.

By the force of Till, everyone went on another rollercoaster ride with him (which Ivan hated) before they returned to the hotel to get ready for the premiere night (which, this time, Till hated).

Three hours of preparation had passed like sand slipping through his fingers, and by the time Hyuna had texted everybody to meet her at the lobby, Ivan was staring at his reflection in the vanity mirror.

He’d worn a tuxedo, but unlike the way he’d worn a white button-up in Tokyo, this time he’d chosen a black turtleneck. A silver necklace was adding layer to his outfit, and his dark hair was brushed back, though strands still fell on his forehead.

Once convinced he looked good enough, he wore a cologne and left his room to meet the others at the lobby.

The moment elevator doors opened at the entrance floor, he found Mizi, Sua, and Hyuna in the lounge. Their flashy outfits made them easily recognizable. And Ivan had to admit, they all looked incredible.

Hyuna was wearing a fashionable dark green suit that brought out the color of her eyes, Sua’s pearl accessories were matching her puffy dress, and Mizi—she looked like a real star. A diamond necklace, a sparkling black dress that complemented her body shape, silk black gloves, and an elegant fur shawl draping down her shoulders. She looked straight out of a 1950s movie.

Hyuna beamed when she saw Ivan. “Ivan!” she called. “You look amazing, dude.”

“Not as amazing as you,” he complimented. He shortly looked around before asking, “Where is Till?”

“Right behind you,” Till’s voice came.

Ivan turned his back in expectation, and certainly was not disappointed. Till knew better than to settle for a casual tuxedo for the Los Angeles he’d been gabbling about all day long.

He was wearing a chiffon black button up that was almost see through—his wrists and neck were ruffled elegantly. His high waist, flared trousers were pitch black, and his overcoat looked like a cape when he wore it over his shoulders, as he did now.

“How do I look?” he asked with a grin.

Silver earrings clinked as they dangled from his ears and black pencil colored his waterline like a rockstar. Unlike the way it was in the Seoul gala, his hair was left to its natural state of messiness.

He looked better than he ever did.

Ivan must’ve been staring, because Till tilted his head. “Ivan? Is there something on my face?”

Hyuna laughed. “Other than objective hotness, I see nothing.” She clapped to urge everyone towards the hotel gates. “Let’s go now, people! The limo is waiting.”

As they all turned to follow their director out of the hotel, “Till,” Ivan called, making the boy halt.

Till turned. “Yeah?”

Compliments raged in his mind, trying to get out of his mouth before one another. But what Ivan said at that moment was none of those, but instead, the first thought he’d decisively pushed behind in his mind. “You look beautiful.”

To that, Till raised a brow. “Beautiful?” he echoed. “You could’ve gone with hot, you know?”

Ivan exhaled, wondering why he even said that in the first place. Yet still, “Don’t underestimate the power of the words I use, Till,” he told the movie star, before following the rest of the crew out of the hotel.

. . .

Ivan didn’t know much about the budget the agency had put aside for this tour, but it was clear they had spent a good amount of it for the Los Angeles venue. The carpet was immense with more photographers than there were in Seoul. Fans too, seemed to have heard of the gala online, because they were pooling behind the barricades, phones raised and hands extended to touch the actors.

Mizi and Till handled the fans smoothly, and the crew moved to the carpet for a thousand pictures as paparazzi yelled for them to look at their cameras. They took pictures with fans, and were interviewed by reporters while Ivan spent a lot of time translating the questions for Till.

The session was over after almost an hour of posing for flashlights, and Hyuna had led them towards the theater where the movie would have the screening. 

On their way, Ivan was approached by many white men in suits, introducing themselves as screenwriters, reporters, producers; all shaking hands with him and uttering their excitements for the film.

As they were entering the theater saloon, “Ivan,” Till whispered over his shoulder.

Ivan glanced at him. “Yeah?”

Till extended a card to Ivan and waited a second until he read it. It was the contact information of a producer. “I couldn’t understand half the stuff he was saying,” Till admitted, “but he gave me this! Is it just me or am I about to book a new job?”

Ivan smiled wide. “Hell, that’s amazing, Till!”

“I know right!” Till tapped on his shoulder. “Today couldn’t be better!”

As soon as they entered the saloon, reporters and fans who got tickets for the early screening clapped for them. Mizi and Till smiled for the crowd, Hyuna made a short speech about the values of the movie, and while they were settling on the front row for the movie to start, Ivan’s heart was drumming in his ears with an untamed curiosity for what was to come and pure realization that he was now in Hollywood, about to watch a movie he wrote.

The lights went out, the crowd ceased the noise. And with a countdown from three appearing on the big screen, the movie started.

. . .

In the middle of the movie, there was a scene Ivan had written for the sake of art only: for the sake of making the audience feel something, to remember the romantic nature of the characters.

At least that was what it was on the draft: an emotional reciprocation of unspoken feelings, an action of impulse for when words weren’t enough. A kiss that delivered everything that needed to be delivered. That was what Ivan had thought of it as he was writing it.

But to see it on screen was another experience.

The lighting of the shot was perfect. The soundtrack, whatever it was, was composed just for this scene. When people listened to it in the future, this was going to play in their heads.

Till’s face so close to Mizi’s, noses grazing and eyes interlocked. The acting was so good: the anticipation in Mizi's expression, the desire in Till’s eyes—almost to the point that made Ivan freeze. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought they were in love.

It started delicately. Till leaned forward just an inch, enough to touch Mizi’s lips with his own.

Ivan could hear the audience gasp in excitement behind him.

The second touch was more confident, and when Mizi responded by wrapping her arms around Till’s neck, his kisses had begun getting deeper.

By his side, Mizi said something, to which Hyuna giggled and leaned to whisper at Till. Maybe they were making fun of the scene. Maybe it was embarrassing to watch themselves kiss on the screen. But whatever they talked about, Ivan didn’t listen. He didn’t even hear.

He was too caught up on the scene unfolding before his eyes, the words he wrote coming to life. For some reason, his eyes were stuck on Till. The cold determination on his face, balanced with soft affection. How the camera always caught the good side of him—or maybe how he looked good in every angle recorded. As he watched Mizi’s fingers dig into Till’s hair, he couldn’t help but wonder what it might’ve felt like…

He closed his eyes to let the unwanted thoughts out.

“What’s up?” Till’s voice whispered by his side. “Is it so bad that you have to close your eyes?”

Ivan hesitated. “No. Just wanted to feel the music for a second,” he lied. “It’s composed for this scene only.”

“Is it?” Till turned to the screen and closed his eyes, imitating Ivan. After a brief moment, “It’s a good piece,” he said.

Ivan nodded in agreement.

After half an hour, the movie was over, and as the cast stood up to answer a few questions, the audience was still clapping and cheering. Everybody was impressed; whether by the performance, the story, or the directing. The theater crew brought microphones for them, and so they stood before the screen as the credits finished rolling.

The Q&A session wasn’t set to last long, since the questions actors could take were rather limited. A few reporters asked Hyuna about the motives behind specific scenes, the clothing choices of the characters, and if different lighting and colorings had a meaning.

All Till and Mizi were asked, on the other hand, was questions about each other. “Was there anything you did to prepare for the kiss scene?” a reporter asked, to which Mizi kindly laughed and said it was just her job in English.

Meanwhile, Ivan leaned in and translated the question for Till. “They’re asking if there’s anything you did to prepare for the kiss scene.”

“Other than mints?” Till asked sarcastically. “Not really.”

When Ivan translated his response to English, the audience laughed, Mizi rolled her eyes.

“Was it hard to not catch feelings for Till?” another young journalist asked, making sure to put emphasis on Till’s good looks.

Ivan translated the question for Till, watching him grin confidently.

Though, breaking through his ego almost immediately, “Oh, not at all,” Mizi said. “He’s exhausting to work with. You’d be surprised how many takes that scene took because he couldn’t stop laughing.”

“Apparently you’re exhausting to work with,” Ivan whispered.

Till rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s not new.”

“And she complains that the scene took so long because you laughed a lot.”

“Really?” Till turned to Mizi. “Oh, admit it, Mizi, you loved every second of it.”

As Hyuna laughed, Ivan translated his response for the crowd, and people gave out another collective laugh, several fans cheering. From the front row, Sua was taking a video of them like a mother watching her children perform. Ivan smiled at her camera when he caught a sight of it, and shot a sideways glance at the movie star by his side. Till was grinning with pride, waving hands and blowing kisses for the fans in the back rows as Mizi answered a few more questions. With a face suited for the spotlight and an energy that pulled people to himself, he looked like a real star. A legend.

Till was wrong. One day in the future, he wasn’t going to belong in Hollywood, because he already did. This was his nature. And one day, the golden stars they walked on today was going to write his name.

Ivan believed in that, more than anything.

. . .

The gala was over after midnight, and everyone except Till seemed exhausted from all the work. The limo took them back to the hotel, their driver wishing them a good night and a nice sleep as they unitedly said it back. As soon as they were in the hotel, Mizi took off her heels and Hyuna was walking so wearily that Ivan was afraid she’d fall asleep before getting to her room. Nobody talked in the elevator, only Sua yawning and Ivan asking when the breakfast was, tomorrow morning.

“At eight sharp,” Hyuna drawled. “We’re flying to Mexico City at nine in the morning. Don’t be late.”

Everybody left for their respective rooms, and Ivan took a relieved breath as he got into his. He took off his black jacket and dropped his stuff on the vanity table before laying on his bed to ease his sore muscles. Touring was exhausting, and he could only guess how much harder it would get with each city. All he needed was a good sleep now…

His phone vibrated with a message.

Ivan opened his eyes and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

A message from Till. He clicked the notification.

Till: Are you asleep yet?

Ivan snorted.

Ivan: Why, you need my “language skills”?

Till seemed to be typing for a second, but the three dots disappeared and left Ivan’s message without a response.

Only two minutes later, though, the door knocked.

Ivan straightened from the bed with a knowing smile and went to open the door.

As soon as he did, Till greeted him. “Hey,” he said. He was still wearing the chiffon, ruffled button up and the black trousers from the gala, though he seemed to have taken off his overcoat. “Wanna go out to the beach?”

“The beach?” Ivan repeated, making sure he didn't hear wrong. “It’s past midnight, Till.”

“So what?” Till leaned on the doorframe with his crossed arms. “We’re in Los Angeles for one night and we’re going to spend it sleeping ?”

“We have a flight in the morning,” Ivan insisted with a yawn.

Till groaned. “Then we’ll sleep in the plane! Come on, Ivan!” He tugged at his wrist.

Just a touch of fingers at his wrist, but Ivan’s eye still got stuck at the small contact. He blinked away and pulled his hand back. “Okay, wait here. Let me get my phone and room card.”

To that, Till gave a laugh. “You’re the best, Ivan, you know that?”

. . .

So soon, the two had left the hotel and walked down the road to the beachside. The late hour didn’t seem to affect people, since a lot of them were sitting on the sand, playing music and hanging out together. Till and Ivan decided it wasn’t the wisest idea to sit near the crowds, especially when Till was still wearing a designer suit that pulled the attention and made him recognizable. Instead, they walked along the beach, avoiding streetlights and staying in the shadows until they found more of a quiet place to sit.

“Look, a pier!” Till pointed, heading towards the wooden dock.

Ivan followed him. Till took off his shoes and sat on the edge of the pier, extending his legs into the water. Next to him, sat Ivan, crossing his legs. 

They were silent for a long while, breathing in the salty air and listening to the waves hitting the shore. The sea was too dark to select out the horizon, but Ivan stared at the darkness in the quiescence of the moment, anyway. A soft music was playing from somewhere afar, though it was too quiet to hear the words.

“Today was worth it,” Till said after some time.

Ivan took a look at him, but was caught off guard by his tranquility. The boy's gray hair was rippling with the wind. Eyes closed, chin raised. Even without a script or a camera, he looked like a shot out of a movie, worthy of a photograph.

“It was,” Ivan said at last. “I had fun.”

“Me too.”

A long silence again. Ivan let his gaze drop to the water, where Till moved his feet, creating undulations on the surface of the water.

“What do you think about the movie?” Till asked.

Ivan gave a hum. “Hyuna did a great job,” he admitted. “You and Mizi too, of course.”

By his side, Till opened his eyes and sighed into the night. “You know, when they asked about the kiss scene, I thought of university for a second.”

“Oh yeah?” said Ivan mockingly. “Which one of your flings did you remember?”

Till laughed. “Not the flings, asshole,” he said. “I thought of my first girlfriend.”

Ivan remembered about her. That was the only relationship Till had had before being an actor, aside from the drunk flings. And maybe the only girlfriend he treated like a real person and not a public stunt.

Not knowing what to say, “Do you miss her?” Ivan asked, without putting much meaning to it.

“Not at all,” Till said. The answer undeniably satisfied Ivan, for whatever reason. “We were no match. There was a reason we broke up, you know.”

“I know,” responded Ivan.

Before the silence could settle into the moment, “But thinking of it,” Till started again, “I don’t remember you dating anybody during university.”

Ivan didn’t have an answer to that. He swallowed, teeth clenched as he decisively looked away at the ocean.

Till must’ve been watching his reaction, because he snorted. "What's wrong?" he asked, laughing. “Don’t tell me, are you a virgin ?”

“I’m not,” Ivan instantly said. “Goodness, Till, we’re adults.”

“Which means there’s nothing to be ashamed of, Ivan!” he kept on teasing.

Ivan rolled his eyes. “No, but you're acting like a high-schooler," he grumbled. "I have dated before."

Till hummed playfully. “Was she good in bed?”

She. Ivan squeezed his hands into fists. “Stop asking these questions, Till, because you won’t get an answer.”

“For the record, mine was pretty good.”

“Didn’t ask!” Ivan countered. “Why are you telling me all this anyway?”

It wasn't a question he'd asked to get a response. It had just left his mouth spontaneously, but Till actually seemed to be thinking of an answer to it. He hummed into the silence as the wind blew his hair out of his face. “Maybe,” he mumbled, “because I feel more comfortable in a place where nobody else understands what I’m saying. It feels safe, and free at the same time.”

To hear it phrased like that made Ivan realize the liberty and comfort lying in speaking a language only the two knew. Seriously, he considered, looking away at the beach where Americans spent their night at. How many of them could understand Korean? Possibly none.

Right now, at this moment, whatever he said to Till was going to be reserved for both of them only. There was privacy in it, even in a city like Los Angeles. There was freedom in it, even for someone like Ivan.

Till gave a laugh. “You know, I could yell a swear word in Korean and nobody would bat an eye.”

That ruined Ivan’s thoughts. Yet still, his face softened. “No, for God’s sake, Till, please don’t do that.”

Till laughed even more, taking out his phone in the process. The time was nearing two in the morning.

“We should get back to the hotel,” Ivan decided.

But Till didn’t even move from where he sat.

“Till,” Ivan complained. “Come on, we need to be up before eight in the morning—”

“There’s still one place we haven’t visited, Ivan,” Till said, eyes on the endless ocean.

Ivan raised a brow as he tried to think. “Which is?” he asked hesitantly.

Till grinned. “Griffith Observatory.”

From the mischievous glint in his eyes to the sly smirk on his face, Ivan could guess everything he was thinking and what he was about to suggest. “No,” he said before Till could even open his mouth to speak. “We’re not going, it’s late.”

Upon his rejection, Till scrambled to his feet. “We are going, Ivan,” he decisively said. “It’s our first time in Los Angeles, we’re not going to leave here without stargazing!”

“There are no stars in this city, Till, it’s all light pollution.”

Till held his wrist to keep him from walking back to the hotel. Here it was again, the same small contact he did subconsciously. “Then we imagine the stars, dumbass! Come on, let’s go. Call the cab and let’s take a ride!”

Then we imagine the stars. That had a nice ring to it. The way it sounded was inspiringly beautiful, Ivan thought, noting the sentence at the back of his mind to maybe use in a script later. Little did Till know, every word he said was poetic sometimes. 

“Fine then, you win,” Ivan found himself mumbling. “Let’s go imagine some stars.”

Chapter Text

It turned out, Till didn’t want to leave Los Angeles at all. Before getting down to the hotel lobby, he begged for five minutes more. As they finished their breakfast, he begged for five minutes more. Even before getting into the limo, he begged for five more minutes, until at last Hyuna had to drag him by force.

They were in the plane now, in about a three hour flight to Mexico City. 

“What are you reading this time?” Till asked, settling next to Ivan’s seat.

If Ivan looked close enough, he could see the lack of sleep on Till’s pale face. Indeed, they had spent at least one more hour in the Griffith Observatory last night, though Ivan had repeatedly told Till that there was no point in waiting for the stars to show up and that they needed to rest.

As soon as they returned to the hotel at nearly four in the morning, Ivan had fallen into a deep sleep. But from the way Till looked now, with his purple eye bags, uncombed bed hair, and the black hoodie that he randomly seemed to have grabbed from his luggage, he didn’t seem like he’d slept half the amount Ivan did.

Ivan raised a brow. “You sure you don’t need to sleep?”

“I’m fine,” Till grumbled. “What are you reading?”

Ivan raised the book in his hands. “A Mexican classic,” he said. “Pedro Páramo.”

Till took the book and flipped through the pages. He halted. Frowned. Glared at Ivan. “This is in Spanish.”

“So what?” Ivan asked. “Everyone knows a little Spanish.”

“No,” Till protested. “They don’t.”

“Well, it’s an easy language to learn, once you have a grip of Latin.”

Till handed the book back to him. “See, that’s the issue,” he said. “People don’t learn Latin.”

“And that’s a shame,” Ivan countered. “They’re missing out on The Aeneid .”

Till rolled his eyes. “Don’t even want to know.”

“Till!” Mizi called, walking out of the bathroom of the private jet. She was wearing a tank top and shorts, hair tied into a bun and face covered by a white clay mask. “Take this.” She threw him a bag of ice.

Till hissed at the cold bag dropping on his chest. “Shit, Mizi, what is this for?”

“For your eye bags,” Mizi said as she walked back into the bathroom. “You need to get rid of those before the carpet!”

Till grunted in annoyance, but Ivan laughed. “Just put them over your eyes and rest a little,” he told Till. “We have three whole hours.”

“Don’t talk like you’re so much better than me,” Till said, casting him a sideways glance before contending with closing his eyes and placing the ice bag over them. “You slept for like, five hours barely.”

“Then I’ll sleep too, after I read for a while.” He opened Pedro Páramo and found the last page he was at.

“Right, that book,” said Till. “What is it about?”

Ivan took a moment to think, running his thumb on the beige cover of the book. “Well, it’s about a boy named Juan, going on a journey to find his father, who left him and his mother a long time ago.” He watched Till as he waited for him to react, well knowing what he would think about a story like this.

“Hah,” Till let out, lips curling into a smirk. “That doesn’t hit far from home.”

Ivan wished Till would lift the ice bag over his face so he could see the true reaction in the green of his eyes.

Though, he didn’t.

“I guess,” said Ivan, turning to his book.

“How does it end?” Till asked. “Does Juan find his father?”

“No,” said Ivan, watching Till’s smile fade. “His father was already dead. And Juan dies of a fright of ghosts that were haunting him.”

Till visibly hated that. “Really?” he asked. “Why do you even read stuff like this?”

The question had him thinking a little. Really, why did he? What was it about tragedy that made him feel drawn? What about unhappy endings made him want to have a glimpse of the character’s pain and sorrow? 幽玄, Ivan thought of the word. The sad grace of human suffering.

“That aside,” Till began, “you need to teach me some Spanish.”

Ivan gave a sigh. “Of course I do, desvelado.”

“What does that mean?” Till asked.

Ivan didn’t even miss a beat. “Someone who is sleepless.”

If it wasn’t for the ice bag on Till’s face, Ivan could see his frowning brows of offense. “Fine,” he mumbled. “I’ll sleep, asshole.”

A short silence.

“How do you say asshole in Spanish?” Till asked.

It was hard to not laugh at that. “Pendejo,” Ivan translated.

Till nodded, repeating, “I’ll sleep, pendejo!” Without any other words, he grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt and pulled it over his messy gray hair.

“Good night, desvelado.”

. . .

Merely after reading two fragments of Pedro Páramo , Ivan fell asleep with the book on his lap and his head inclined towards the jet window.

When he opened his eyes, Till was already awake. Hair hidden under the hoodie, legs crossed on the plane seat as he sat with a terrible posture, staring at his phone.

Ivan yawned, straightening. He found his phone from his pocket and checked the time. They were supposed to land in… about ten minutes. He’d slept for almost three hours.

“Morning,” Till said. “How to say that in Spanish?”

“Buen día,” Ivan mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “You didn’t know that?”

Till shrugged. “Now I do. Buen día. Did you sleep well?”

“As well as one can do in a plane.”

The ice bag was gone and Till’s eyes were in a better condition, Ivan noticed. “Did you?” he asked.

“Oh yeah,” Till said. “I even had a dream where I was in Los Angeles once again.”

“Stop using that against me, Till, for fuck’s sake,” Hyuna complained as she walked away from the portable fridge, biting on a chocolate bar she’d bought from Tokyo. “Alright everyone, we’ve almost landed. You know the drill: check into the hotel, spend the day, get ready for the gala—though, we don’t have much time to travel here. The event starts at five in the afternoon, and is expected to end before nine. We’re not staying in Mexico City, but taking the night flight to New York.”

Till groaned in boredom. “Why is this schedule so tight?” 

“Again, that’s not up to me,” Hyuna said. “I made sure to leave our first night in New York unoccupied, but the second day is quite busy.” She took out her phone as if to check the schedule to be sure, but her eyes widened at whatever she was staring at. “Fuck off.”

“What?” asked Mizi. “Something wrong?”

“Yeah, something is wrong,” she grumbled. “Because who in the agency decided on this shit?”

“Decided on what?” Sua asked, concerned.

Hyuna ran a hand through her hair furiously. “They put you on a damned talk show.”

Till blinked, looking at everyone shortly. “Isn’t this supposed to be good news?”

“No, it’s not.” Hyuna looked so close to throwing her phone. “Think of it for a second, Till. Who in New York City hosts the best known talk show?”

Mizi frowned as she gave it a thought, considering the options. “It must be Luka, isn’t—” She halted in realization. “Oh,” she let out. “It’s Luka.”

Luka. A sensational celebrity pursuing multiple careers in multiple industries of entertainment. A man born to wealth, who used his brains and looks to get more of everything. And remarkably, Hyuna’s former boyfriend, whom Hyuna had told Ivan about one drunk night during a production meeting for Anakt Garden.

“I can’t fucking believe I’ll go to New York and have to see that ungrateful son of a bitch.” She squeezed her phone so hard Ivan could’ve sworn he heard a crack.

“Okay, let’s calm down!” Mizi stood up. “The talk show is on our second day, right? How about we spend the first day doing something fun, so we can ease our nerves?”

“Like weed?” Till suggested.

“Like Broadway ,” Mizi corrected, glaring at Till. “I’ll check out tickets for tomorrow night, so we’ll watch a show at the Broadway Theatre. How does that sound?”

Hyuna gave a sigh at last. “Do whatever you like, Mizi.” She walked towards her seat to pack her bag. “Come on, people. We should handle Mexico before we worry about New York.”

“Roger that,” everyone responded in unison.

. . .

When they checked into the hotel, it was noon. Since they weren’t going to stay the night but only used the hotel as an accommodation to get ready for the gala, Ivan didn’t feel the need to unpack his luggage at all.

He took a cold shower to wash the heat of Mexico off of him, and changed into clean clothes. Just as he was heading to the bathroom to dry his hair, his phone buzzed with a notification.

Ivan let his hair towel drape from his shoulder and reached for the phone on the vanity. It was a message from Till, to the group chat.

Till: Hyuna, I'm hungry.

Hyuna texted back in no time.

Hyuna: I’m not your mom, Till. Get your own food.

Till: Can we go out to eat?

Mizi was suddenly online.

Mizi: Yes please! Let’s have lunch outside.

Hyuna: Do whatever you like. Just don’t get lost in the city.

Till tagged Ivan as a response to that message.

Till: You heard that, pendejo. Don’t you dare allow us to get lost.

Ivan chuckled as he plopped down onto the hotel bed. He clicked on the screen and texted a single sentence.

Ivan: What do you want to eat?

The response came so fast that Ivan nearly couldn’t see the three dots form on the corner of his screen.

Till: Tacos.

. . .

In fifteen minutes, Ivan had dried his hair, worn a shirt and cargo shorts, taken his sunglasses and wallet, and left the hotel with Till, Mizi, and Sua to find somewhere to eat tacos. Hyuna, though, wanted to stay at the hotel no matter how much they tried to convince her to join them.

Ivan didn’t say much, but he knew this was about Luka, and she was going to be insufferable in New York, for sure.

In the end, they decided they would bring tacos for Hyuna when they returned, and headed outside.

Sua found a good place on Maps and they took the limo there without much discussion. They all were hungry after the flight and would do anything just to get some food in their stomachs.

 “What type of taco should we get?” Mizi asked on the way.

“They have types?” Till asked, pure confusion draping from his words.

“Of course they do,” Ivan said. “Carnitas, al pastor, lengua… Though, I like chorizo the best.”

“Chorizo?” Till tried to imitate his accent. “I’ll try that one out.”

In less than ten minutes, the limo dropped them in front of the Mexican cuisine restaurant.

A waiter with a kind smile stood at the door, gesturing for them to get inside.

“Buen día,” Ivan respectfully saluted the man as they were walking in.

“¡Buen día, señor!” the man said. “¿Mesa para cuatro?”

Ivan nodded. “Sí, por favor.”

The man got them a table on the patio, gentlemanly pulling the chairs for Mizi and Sua. All of them got handed the menu, and Ivan told the waiter they would need some time to decide on the order, so he left them alone.

“What was the one you told me in the car?” Till asked, showing the menu of tacos to Ivan.

Ivan easily found chorizo on the page and pointed at it. “This one.”

Uninvitedly, a camera flashed from behind their backs.

Paparazzi. Ivan raised his head, shortly looking at Mizi and Till. Of course. Neither were in disguise. They had taken the limousine for granted.

Mizi subconsciously raised the menu to her face as if to hide behind it. Till turned away from wherever the cameras were. Another flash, another click.

Sua was the first one to break the tense silence. “They’re crowded,” she whispered.

“Mizi!” a reporter yelled from outside the patio. Another camera shot them.

Mizi tried her best to ignore their presence.

Till, meanwhile, wasn’t saying a single word, but Ivan could notice his grip tightening on the menu. He was uncomfortable.

Ivan glanced at the reporters over his shoulder. As soon as he turned his face, several more cameras went off, flashes blinding him momentarily. 

He instantly turned back to the table. “We can leave, if you guys want,” he suggested.

Till grunted in annoyance, leaning forward to the table. “All I wanted was to enjoy one fucking meal.”

“I really wanted to try out Mexican cuisine but like this…” Mizi couldn’t even look up.

Another camera flashed. “Till, look over here!”

Till’s hand curled into a fist.

Ivan pretended to not notice. Instead, “I have an idea,” he said. “Let’s go to some market and buy taco ingredients. We can make our own lunch at the hotel. I’ll check out a recipe, if needed.”

“Perfect.” Till didn’t wait another second to stand up from his seat, chair scraping the ground as he did. “Let’s get out of here. Sua, could you call the limo?” He walked around the table and put an arm around Mizi as they left the patio, with the sole intention of hiding her from the unwanted cameras.

As they were walking out of the restaurant, Ivan came across the same waiter. The man, though, seemed to have understood the situation. He seemed to have recognized Mizi and Till, even.

“Lo siento por causar problemas, señor,” he apologized. Sorry for the trouble. 

Ivan gave the man a soft smile. “Está bien, lo entiendo.”

So soon, the limo was at the door, so they got in without allowing the paparazzi any more shots, and drove to the closest market where they could get taco ingredients.

Sua was always good at reading the room. Getting a sense of Mizi and Till’s coherent discomfort, she’d tried to change the subject and keep the spirit up for the entire ride. As Ivan was watching her smile with a hand over Mizi’s, interlocking their fingers, a simple Korean phrase came to his mind. 눈치가 빠르다 . Nunchiga ppareuda . Another phrase that got lost in translation, but roughly translated as observant, percipient. But in literal meaning, it got a little deeper. It meant somebody who felt the reality of the situation.

At that moment, Ivan thought, the phrase suited Sua so much.

They arrived at the market, and the girls instantly found the snacks aisle, checking out Mexican sweets.

Ivan, meanwhile, had found a taco recipe online and was searching through every aisle for the ingredients.  And Till wanted to follow him around, apparently, from the way he observed every packet Ivan threw into the cart and asked what it was.

“Are you sure you know how to cook chorizo?” Till asked as they were trying to choose drinks from the refrigerator.

Ivan grabbed several cans of cola and put them into the cart. “It can’t be that hard,” he said. He knew how to cook—an advantage of moving out in university. Surely he could make some tacos. 

“Mira eso,” someone mumbled. Look at that.

Ivan looked over his shoulder. There stood two boys across the aisle, who looked away from Till as soon as Ivan noticed them.

They had recognized him.

The other boy gave a laugh. “Maldito mamón.”

Fucking snob .

With the side of his eye, Ivan glanced at Till. “Any specific drink you want?”

Oblivious of the boys, Till hummed and wandered his eyes on the colorful drinks of the refrigerator. “Let’s try out stuff we haven’t before,” he suggested.

Ivan shrugged. “That works. Choose whatever you like.”

Till grinned at him and pulled the refrigerator door to grab random drinks. There was a look of pure curiosity and focus of decision on his face as he reached upwards, towards the top shelf. His green eyes were blinking across cans in his hands, silver earrings swinging each time he moved his head. At times like this, Ivan liked to imagine his eyes as a camera and Till as the perfect actor for the scene he was shooting. 

“Did you know that there’s a phrase in Spanish,” Ivan abruptly started, “that reminds me of you?”

Till raised his head from the drinks. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “What is it?”

“Tener duende,” Ivan said tenderly. 

“Tener… duende?” Till repeated with a poor accent. “What does that mean?”

“Well, literally, it means to have a high spirit,” Ivan explained, managing to look away from Till and grab two more random drinks. “But it’s more used for charm. The power of attraction, sort of.”

One of the boys on the other side of the aisle moved. “Mira lo que haré,” he told his friend.

Ivan’s eyes slid towards them suspiciously, but before he could watch for long, Till hummed by his side.

“So you think I’m hot?” he asked with a smirk.

For a moment, all Ivan could do was to stare at his face, trying to resist every single response that came to his mind. In the end, he looked away. “That’s like common sense, Till.”

Till was visibly amused by that answer. “So you do think I’m hot!”

That was when the Mexican boy started approaching Till from behind like he was a target, his friend watching expectantly. The boy kept his hand hanging low as his steps fastened towards Till.

Ivan didn’t need another second to understand what he was doing.

Before the boy could even touch Till, Ivan grabbed his wrist.

His hand closed over the boy’s wrist like an iron clasp, making sure it hurt. “Si yo fuera tú no haría eso, el mozuelo,” he mumbled threateningly. “Stealing is not a good behavior.”

Panic was quick to consume the boy’s gaze. In fear, he pulled his wrist from Ivan’s grasp and ran away with his friend, both rushing out of the market before Ivan could say another word.

Till was confused, watching the way the boys went. “What the fuck was that?” he asked.

“He was reaching for your wallet,” Ivan explained. “They recognized you. I overheard them talking.”

Till was silent for a long moment that Ivan had to look at his face to figure out what he was feeling. Though, what he saw was only a trail of discomfort. His blank, frowning stare didn’t give away much. But whatever he thought about it, he wasn’t pleased.

“Till,” Ivan mumbled, but Till turned back to the drinks as if nothing had happened. “Guess you could say there are bad sides of having duende too, am I wrong?” he mocked. “Maybe I should’ve gotten you as my bodyguard rather than my translator.”

Ivan hesitated, caught off guard by his casual reaction. “Till, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Till shrugged.

“You almost got robbed.”

“But I didn’t,” he said matter of factly. “I had you to prevent that.”

I had you . Ivan swallowed. Surely Till hadn’t meant it like that, but it still gave Ivan a welcome sense of flutter in the chest.

“Also, when you speak Spanish threateningly, you have duende too,” Till added.

Ivan was caught off guard by that. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works,” he muttered.

“Should I just call you hot, then?”

“Till.”

“It’s the truth!”

. . .

They returned to the hotel with enough taco ingredients and thankfully, without any other paparazzi or thief incidents. What happened in the market, Till didn’t mention afterwards. Neither to Mizi and Sua, nor to Ivan.

Mizi had suggested cooking the meal in her suite, which was big and fresh enough to have a private kitchen, a balcony, and a dining table; so everybody agreed to meet in her room.

When Ivan arrived with bags of meat and vegetables, Sua was already there. She and Mizi had changed into comfortable clothes, watching some telenovela.

“Till and Hyuna haven't arrived yet?” Ivan asked as he was taking out the ingredients from the bags and washing the vegetables.

“Not sure where Till is, but it will be a miracle if Hyuna arrives,” Sua said mockingly. “I just hope she has the energy to smile for the cameras tonight.”

Right. The gala. Ivan had almost forgotten.

Upon the girls’ request, Ivan began preparing the taco stuffing, listening to some norteño music coming from the TV. After a while, Mizi and Sua decided to sit in the balcony as they drank those colorful drinks they’d gotten from the market, and once alone in the room, Ivan couldn’t help but wonder where Till was. 

He pushed the cutting board aside and dried his hands with the towel before reaching for his phone. He found Till’s name in his contacts and clicked to call.

The phone rang by his ear for a while, but nobody picked up.

Without letting it go on for too long, Ivan hung up and decided to send him a message instead. His fingers hovered above the keyboard for a second, trying to think of what to write, before he gave a sigh and asked the question directly.

Ivan: Where are you?

The text remained unread for the next minute as Ivan vacantly stared at his screen, expecting Till to be online. 

But he didn’t.

The balcony door slid open and Sua walked in barefoot, floral dress flowing as she stepped over the threshold. “How is the food coming off, Ivan?” she asked. “I’m starving.”

Ivan took one last look at the unread message, then put his phone on the counter and resumed cutting the peppers for the tacos. “The stuffing is nearly ready. Give it a few more minutes.”

“Thank you already.” Sua opened the fridge and put packets of half eaten snacks inside. “It already smells good,” she mused.

There was a short silence of chef knife cuts and refrigerator buzzing as Ivan considered the phrase again. 눈치가 빠르다. To read the room. Feel the reality of the situation. He put the knife away. “Hey, Sua.”

“Hm?” She raised her head from the fridge.

Ivan spoke without thinking. “How do you handle Mizi when she’s upset?”

Not that he needed to know, maybe, but Sua was the type of person to tide through every situation. If there was someone to enlighten Ivan, it had to be her.

She closed the fridge door slowly. “How do you mean?”

“I mean, if you felt like she was feeling alone and upset, what would you do?” What should I do? the question yearned to get out, but Ivan didn’t let it.

Sua’s eyes lingered on the half cut peppers as she thought of an answer. Or more likely, thought of why Ivan might be asking this to her. But despite the obscurity of his question, she still gave a thoughtful answer. “I would remind her she’s not alone,” she said. “And that she always has me to confide in.”

Ivan wished it could be this easy with Till.

As if on cue, the door knocked. “I’ll get it,” said Sua, walking across the room.

During that, Ivan returned to the food. He grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and poured the shredded peppers into it. Just as he was about to check the chorizo on the stove, “Till!” Sua greeted. “We were waiting for you.”

Ivan turned to the door immediately.

“I’m here,” Till told Sua with a grin, walking into the suite. “God, it smells delicious. Are the tacos done already?”

He met Ivan’s eyes from across the room. He was still wearing the same shirt and pants, though looked visibly more lively. More energetic, as if today never happened.

Ivan gave him a nod. “It’s ready,” he said. “Come here and help me set the table.”

Till joined him in the kitchen to take out serving plates and Sua returned to the balcony, to Mizi’s side. As soon as the glass door was slid shut, though, Ivan lowered the plates down.

“Where were you?” he asked.

Till blinked. “In… my room?” he blandly said, before scoffing. “Why ask the question like I’m cheating on you with other women, Ivan?”

Ivan rolled his eyes. “You didn’t respond to my text, haven’t spoken a word since those boys tried to steal your wallet in the market, and disappeared from sight as soon as we stepped into the hotel. I was just worried.”

For a moment, the look in Till’s eyes got genuine, like something Ivan said had struck him. But it was only for a second; there in his eyes once, gone in the next blink. He swallowed. “Yeah, now that you said it like that, it does sound quite concerning. I didn’t realize you paid attention.” Till took the plates from Ivan’s hand, fingers grazing his so slightly.

As Till started placing the plates on the suite’s dining table, Ivan turned the stove off and poured the vegetables into the stuffing. “I do,” he responded, though he hadn’t realized that before Till named it. You pay attention.

Indeed, he did. Maybe that was another outcome of duende, Ivan thought. He couldn’t help but pay attention at Till.

. . .

After Ivan taught them how to stuff a taco, they ate their chorizo s and discussed tonight’s gala. Though, as they had expected, Hyuna didn’t come to lunch. Sua assured them she would take the leftovers to Hyuna’s room afterwards, and so they let it be.

“Why did she and Luka break up anyway?” Mizi asked. “Neither Luka nor Hyuna ever told that story before.”

Of course, growing up in the industry made Mizi’s childhood friends such highly names that just to hear about a few of her cousins would make one’s jaw drop. Luka was one of those. They spent summer vacations in France together, attending fashion runways for fun and drinking Dom Pérignon to ease their nerves, apparently. But despite their proximity, the way Luka never mentioned Hyuna to his cousin got Ivan curious, as well. 

“Hyuna seemed to hate that man,” Till pointed out, chewing his food. “Maybe he cheated on her.”

“Luka wouldn’t do such a thing,” Mizi defended.

“Never trust your relatives, Mizi,” Till warned. “Not even your dad.”

Ivan snorted at that comment, though Mizi didn’t seem as amused. “I just hope Hyuna wouldn’t act this moody throughout our New York trip,” Mizi went on. “I want her to enjoy it.”

“Speaking of New York, did you get tickets for a show?” Sua interjected

The question brought a mischievous smile to Mizi’s lips. “I did,” she mused. “It’s a secret.”

Till rolled his eyes. “Yeah, leaving us hanging as always.”

“None of you know anything about musicals, so it had to be my choice, okay?” She grabbed another taco from the serving. “I’m sure you’re going to have fun with it, though.”

After lunch, Sua urged everyone to cease the conversation and return to their rooms to get ready for the gala, since they had merely two hours left before departure, and Mizi’s hair was going to take as much time. Ivan took his time to style his hair, choose a suit to wear, match his accessories, and put on powder to his face to look proper in the cameras. By the time they were ready, Hyuna (finally and thankfully) got out of her room and called them to the lobby. They left the hotel in their casual fashion, arrived at the reserved venue, and entered the red carpet, posing for pictures that would drop on the internet by next morning.

Most of the reporters knew English, apparently. The questions came in Spanish accents which Ivan struggled to understand from time to time, yet still managed to translate them roughly for Till. They asked about what he felt for this character he played, which brand styled the clothes he was wearing, what sort of projects he wanted to take place in the future; and Till answered all of them with an attractive smile and a polite attitude, laughing at every terrible joke the reporters made.

Tener duende, Ivan found himself thinking once again as he watched his confident hold on the microphone, the color of his eyes bright under the light of the flashing cameras. That could be the perfect phrase to describe Till.

“Ivan, you’re the screenwriter, if I’m not mistaken,” a Spanish reporter directed the microphone to him.

Ivan wasn’t expecting anyone to know his name, let alone being asked a question. “I am,” he answered, though with hesitation and an awkward smile.

The reporter woman smiled. “I’m quite interested in your work, as I have watched previous productions your name shared the credit of.”

Those words brought an irresistible smile to Ivan’s face. To know somebody was interested in his writing enough to spare time searching his name up on the internet. “I’m honored,” he said, meaning every syllable of the words.

The woman smiled. “There’s this one question I’ve been meaning to ask about the movie Anakt Garden, though we haven’t seen it yet.” She checked the small card in her hand before she continued, “What was the inspiration for this movie? As I’ve seen in the trailer and the summary, it’s a unique love story that isn’t based on a classic retelling or a theme. You’ve come up with an original storyline, in a great attempt to create something not created before, unlike the common love stories in the media.” She gave him a smile like she knew the value of the question she was about to ask, before continuing, “Also, I can’t help but really wonder if it is based on real experience.”

As she extended the microphone to Ivan, he forgot everything he could’ve said as an answer to this question. Based on real experience. Maybe, in the first draft, it was. Maybe as the script got revised, the fragments of reality had been ripped off of the story. Maybe, for the sake of reputation, Ivan had crossed out the names of the characters, changed their pronouns, scratched the free nature of it to make his work seem applicable for the producers of the industry.

But did any of that change that it was based on real experience?

Did it change the fact that from the moment he’d begun writing the first page, he’d been thinking of someone he once loved, who might’ve loved him back if he wasn’t a boy?

Ivan didn’t let the thought get to his head. That was the past. Someone who was no longer in his life.

He slightly leaned into the microphone. “Some parts of it are, some are not,” he simply answered.  “You know, people tend to write about things they know well. That’s the nature of mankind. But don’t forget that mankind also writes about things they wish had happened. Keep in mind that this script is a work of fiction, despite the fraction of reality in it. If I write it all from real experience, where is the element of imagination in it?”

The reporter smiled at his response. “This gets me curious,” she said enthusiastically. “As always, I will make sure to get my ticket and watch it in the theaters.”

Ivan laughed. “I really hope you enjoy it.”

Once the camera cut the recording, the woman asked if she could upload the interview as an article on social media, to which Ivan agreed. She didn’t neglect to hand him a card of her contact information if he ever needed a reporter, to which Ivan thanked delightfully.

As soon as he walked away from the barricades towards the carpet again, Till appeared next to him. “What was that?” he asked curiously. “The woman asked a long question and you gave a long answer. I can’t believe I’m missing out on it because I can’t speak Spanish.”

“You can read it afterwards,” Ivan said proudly. “The reporter is going to release my responses in an article.”

Till’s eyes glistened when he heard that. “Really?” he asked. “Rest assured, because I’ll be reading that.”

Strangely, the Mexico City gala ended without any trouble. Hyuna was particularly poised—spending the day at the hotel after several exhausting days seemed to get her to feel relaxed. Sua brought them champagne after the interviews, and they made a toast for the movie.

Once the press tour was over and they returned to Korea, Anakt Garden was already going to be released internationally. 

Maybe it was the trick of the champagne or the thrill of the moment, but to know that brought an immense sense of happiness to Ivan. To bring a creation to the public eye never ceased to make him feel that.

. . .

Two hours before midnight, they were already on the plane: gala dresses changed into comfortable shirts, luggages loaded back onto the jet. Mexico City to New York City was a five hour ride, and when they landed, it was probably going to be three in the morning.

They all collectively decided they should sleep. Nobody made any excited statements about waking up in New York with the fear of irritating Hyuna, so everyone wore their headphones, covered their hoods and curled on their seats to sleep.

Hyuna changed the light setting into low, and folded the jet plane into darkness, with only neon blue led lights glowing above their heads.

Ivan crossed his arms and tipped his head at the back of his seat. Eyes closed, legs sore, head craving to turn off the thoughts.

Something thudded next to his seat.

Ivan opened one eye curiously, only to see a boy sitting right by his side.

“Hey,” Till whispered. It was hard to see his face under the blue lights, but Ivan could still tell he was smiling.

“Hey,” he whispered back. “Do you not have the intention to sleep?”

Till gave a soft, quiet laugh. “I wanted to show you these before sleeping.” He took out his phone, leaning towards Ivan.

Their shoulders brushed, but Till didn’t pull back. If he leaned in a little more, Ivan could almost smell the traces of the cologne he wore for the gala.

“Look at this,” Till whispered, sliding through pictures on his phone.

Ivan blinked a few times at the sudden light, frowning at the screen. They were the pictures they took in Hollywood—million poses before Mount Lee, rollercoaster selfies in the Pacific Park where Sua was freaking out, Mizi eating a funnel cake in a very photogenic way, a photo taken at the ramen restaurant in Tokyo, though everyone seemed to be unaware of the camera (Hyuna was drinking sake from the bottle so wildly that Ivan had to cover his mouth to not laugh out loud. In the end, Till zoomed in and screenshotted that specifically). And on the final slide, was a picture of Ivan on the Walk of Fame, taken from behind. 

“You look so good in this one,” Till said.

Blood rushed to Ivan’s cheeks uninvitedly, making him grateful for the darkness of the jet plane. “You think?” he asked.

Till nodded. “The light and your posture,” he pointed out. “Man, L.A. makes everything look like a movie.”

“It’s not Los Angeles, it’s you.”

That made Till pull away, enough to look Ivan in the eyes. “What?”

The realization of what he said hit Ivan a beat late, but despite the flush, he didn’t let it get to him. Instead, he clarified, “You’re the one that makes everything seem like a movie. Not Los Angeles.”

To hear that made Till’s confusion melt into a smile, visible by the light of his phone screen as he stared at Ivan. After a silence that felt like forever, “You know, what you said just now had duende.”

Ivan blinked at the unexpected reply. “Till that’s not how it is…”

At that, Till giggled silently, in attempts to not wake anybody else. The sound so subtle yet so present, almost in a way that made Ivan want to close his eyes and just… listen.

Chapter Text

It was three in the morning, the world so quiet and dark. The perfect hour to be asleep, to be dreaming.

Though, Hyuna didn’t seem to be thinking the same way.

“Get up everybody, we have landed on a damned shithole named New York City!”

Ivan blinked his eyes open. He’d fallen asleep arms crossed, black hair falling to his face, neck quite sore from leaning towards one side the entire flight. As he tried to straighten, though, he felt a weight on his shoulder.

His gaze trailed down, to his side.

Till’s head was lying on his shoulder, a mess of gray hair tickling Ivan’s cheek.

He bristled with realization. When had he even fallen asleep? The last thing he remembered was looking through pictures on Till’s phone, which now stood loose between Till’s unconscious fingers, about to drop.

“Till,” Ivan whispered, moving his shoulder so slightly. “Get up.”

Till awoke with a yawn, dropping the phone from his hands. When it thudded on the ground, he straightened from Ivan’s shoulder properly.

“Holy shit, I fell asleep?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Have we arrived already?”

“We have, Till,” Hyuna responded, clapping in a manner that made them pack their stuff faster. “Come on, guys. The faster we get to the hotel, the more we get to sleep.”

They left the plane, all in a half-sleepy mood as they grabbed their luggages and got into the limousine. Ivan was the type to enjoy nighttime, but even he couldn’t keep his eyes open to watch the cityscape of New York as they drove to the hotel.

When Hyuna told them they arrived and opened the door, Ivan was almost falling asleep again.

He blinked awake, got out of the car and helped Mizi and Sua get out. Hyuna, meanwhile, was taking their luggages out of the baggage.

“ This is our hotel?” Till asked as he stared upwards at the building.

Ivan looked up with him. Indeed, the building was fancy. It was so tall—though, what was tall worth in a city of skyscrapers?—with yellow lights blending into the night and winking like stars.

“It looks amazing,” Ivan said.

“I know,” said Hyuna, walking past the giant glass gates of the building. “That’s an advantage of Manhattan.”

They followed her into the hotel, coming across several men in suits who seemed like… guards to Ivan’s eyes.

As soon as they were in, the woman at the reception recognized them, saying they’d been expecting their arrival. The night shift staff took care of their luggages, led them to the elevators, and despite the clock nearing four in the morning, wished them a good night.

“Let’s go to Times Square tomorrow!” Mizi suggested in the elevator. “And what’s a New York trip without visiting the Statue of Liberty?”

“I kind of want to see the Federal Hall,” Ivan said.

Till gasped. “Will we climb to the top of the Empire State Building as well?”

“Yeah, of course, all that,” Hyuna said as if trying to evade them. The elevator dinged at her floor and she grabbed the handle of her luggage. “But we’ll sleep first. Good night, gang.”

She walked out of the elevator without saying a word. Mizi was staring ruefully after her, Sua staring down in deep thoughts. Soon after, the doors closed back and the elevator resumed to the next floor.

“Well.” Till was the first one to break the uncomfortable silence. “Whatever New York did to her, I don’t think she’s here to forgive.”

Mizi sighed. “Pretty sure it’s not the city itself but just…” She halted, hesitating before saying the name. “Luka.”

“Maybe,” Ivan said, “it’s both.”

And nobody argued with that.

. . .

Their first morning in New York was a whirlwind of travel and pictures, starting at nine in the morning. Ivan couldn’t even remember when they’d gotten dragged out of the hotel by Till and Mizi and walked all the way to Times Square, while they could’ve taken the limo.

“Using vehicles ruins the New York experience,” Mizi decisively said as they were walking against the morning wind. “We’re going to walk and see the sights of the city.”

Ivan wasn’t sure how long that could last, considering Mizi and Till were probably going to get recognized by fans soon and have to take cover. Though, he didn’t mention that and ruined their freedom.

At Times Square, Mizi took pictures with a billboard of a famous friend of hers, Till pointed at every single new movie poster, and Sua clasped a hand over her mouth when she caught a promotion ad about her favorite TV series getting a new season.

Hyuna, meanwhile, didn’t even look up at the flashing neon screens of brands, musicals, and new releases. She was watching the concrete floor, walking in Times like it wasn’t worth the sightseeing at all. 

Ivan had thought that maybe throughout the day, she could lose the sulky face and return to her usual self. But it didn’t happen.

By the time they were on top of the Empire State Building, Ivan walked up to Hyuna, who watched the cityscape.

New York wasn’t bright or inspiring as it was portrayed in the media. It was cloudy, with monotone towers of blue and gray—though, Ivan still found liking in it. He liked the view of the Brooklyn Bridge and Central Park from the 86th Floor Observatory. Hell, they could see the Statue of Liberty, even.

As Mizi and Till were busy taking pictures, Ivan stood next to Hyuna, eyes on the sight of Manhattan.

“So, you’re going to let an ex ruin your trip to New York?” he asked directly.

Hyuna didn’t respond. 

“Come on,” he insisted, to which Hyuna shook her head only.

“I hate this city,” she grunted. “Not because of him, but because of what he caused.”

Ivan kept watching the dull towers, eyes sliding to the Upper Bay in the horizon. “But he doesn’t own the city,” he said. “Neither does this city own you. Whatever he did, I’m sure was terrible.” 

Hyuna’s clenched fists were proving Ivan’s point.

“But,” Ivan went on, “that doesn’t mean New York is all about him. We’ll find a corner he hasn’t touched, a place yet to be corrupted in your memory, a new spot you’re going to think of when someone mentions New York. And it’s going to be with us , not him.”

Hyuna was visibly considering those words. “You know what,” she mumbled after a while, with the ghost of a grin flickering on her face. “You can be very promising sometimes.”

Ivan was contended. He smiled back, shrugging. “I’ve been told that several times before.”

“Ivan! Hyuna!” Mizi called. “Let’s take a picture, come on!”

Hyuna gave a long sigh. “Alright, Mizi, stop jumping around.” She dug her hands into the pockets of her overcoat and began walking towards Mizi.

Following her, Ivan smiled. Despite everything, she was the same old Hyuna after all.

. . .

Of course, despite everything, Hyuna was still Hyuna. And that included making plans without letting anybody know until it was last minute. It turned out she’d booked them a private ferry to go around the Upper Bay and pay a close visit to the Statue of Liberty. However, Hyuna insisted they can’t get off the ferry because of the tourist attraction around the statue and they definitely didn’t need fans coming up to them for pictures or autographs.

As they were passing the statue, Till took a million selfies—some with Ivan, some with Mizi.

They collectively decided to eat hotdogs, so Sua found a place on Maps and took them to a place in Lower Manhattan, which was close to the Federal Hall so Ivan took the opportunity to go inside the building and observe the glimpses of history trailing on the white columns while Till was probably busy taking weird pictures with the statue of George Washington. 

They had a stop in Chinatown because Hyuna and Sua wanted to buy snacks, then sat in the Washington Square as Ivan finished reading Pedro Páramo , Till rested on the grass, and Mizi tried to choose which pictures to post on her Instagram.

And of course, they were spotted by fans there. Mizi and Till spent more than reserved time taking pictures with young teenage girls, and they even got caught by the paparazzi as they were leaving the park, until Hyuna led them to an alley in an attempt to get rid of the cameras.

By the time they’d walked their way up to the Broadway Theater, the sky was already giving way to nightshades. 

“Alright now, Mizi,” Till said as Sua was taking pictures of 53rd Street. “Will you finally tell us which show we’re watching tonight?”

Mizi gave a grin. “I think it’s pretty obvious,” she said. She stopped right in front of the theater gates, pointing at the show banner above their heads. “We’re going to see Falsettos !”

“ Falsettos ?” Till echoed, staring at the banner. “What’s that?”

Mizi sighed. “See, that’s why I chose it without asking any of you. You guys have no musical theater culture whatsoever.” As they were walking into the theater, she explained, “It’s a comedy, revolving around a man named Marvin who can’t really keep his family together because of…” She paused, thinking. “An amorous affair?”

A short silence.

Till raised a brow. “So he’s cheating.”

“He falls in love with someone else,” Mizi admitted. “A man named Whizzer.”

He falls in love with a man . Just to hear that tightened Ivan’s chest. It brought a curiosity that made him want to watch the play, but also a fear that made him want to run away. As they were walking into the saloon, that was all he was thinking. 

An employee checked their tickets before the gates. He smiled then, handing out playbills. “Enjoy the show,” he said to all of them.

Ivan took the playbill extended to him. Mizi led them to their seats, which were actually close to the stage, in the middle of the row. They could see the play perfectly.

Before the lights were turned off and the pre-show announcement came from the speakers, Ivan took one look at the playbill in his hands. His eyes were stuck on the pictures of Marvin and Whizzer,  with an arrow extended between the characters’ frames. Unlikely Lovers , it wrote.

For some reason, he looked up at Till sitting next to him. 

But before Till could notice, the lights in the theater turned off, and the saloon folded into silence for the show to start.

. . .

Ivan had never seen a live Broadway show in his life before. He had walked into the theater without much expectation, since he wasn’t big on musicals. Of course, he knew of their sensations, admired the effort put into one show and envied the genius of the script. 

But from the moment the show had started, he had been unable to separate his eyes from the stage. It was an entirely different experience, to witness art in its bare form: with the live orchestra and emotional acting. The music was present, ringing in his ears. Each word spoken by the actors was felt, rhyming so phonetically that it brought an immense satisfaction.

As Mizi had said, it was a comedy in its nature. There were scenes of Marvin arguing with his wife Trina, their son Jason bringing in absolute chaos, Jason’s psychiatrist Mendel falling helplessly in love with Trina. 

And of course, there were scenes of Marvin and Whizzer. A man in love with another. Despite the story’s humorous narrative, Ivan could see the reality of the characters. Marvin had a controlling nature, a denial of his feelings despite the way he sacrificed everything in his life to be with Whizzer. Whizzer, on the other hand, had been used and abused by every other man he had dated before.

During the second act, after a jazzy duet of Jason and Mendel, the lights on the stage changed. In the next scene, Marvin and Whizzer were in bed; Whizzer was asleep as a soft piano started playing. Marvin, meanwhile, took the time to push a strand of hair out of Whizzer’s face.

Ivan straightened in his seat with curiosity.

“ It’s been hot, also very sweet,” The actor of Marvin started singing, his voice crippling with yearning. “ And I’m not usually indiscreet .”

Whizzer curled into Marvin on the bed, the scene so intimate that Ivan had to try hard to not look away.

“ But when he sparkles, the earth begins to sway, ” Marvin kept singing. “ What more can I say? ”

It was a bare declaration of affection, an emotional interlude. It was like the composer knew every button to push for Ivan to feel the moment in his bones. With every key touched on the piano, his heart thumped against his ribs.

“ If I say I love him… ”

In his peripheral vision, Ivan caught Till’s eyes straying from the stage and landing on his face. He swallowed.

“… You might think my words come cheap… ”

He dared to turn to Till. Their eyes met in the dark theater. “What’s up?” Ivan said, imitating the way Till had done in the Los Angeles screening. “Is it so bad that you have to look away?”

Till blinked, turning back to the stage. “No,” he said. “I just zoned out for a second.”

“ Let’s just say I’m glad he’s mine ,” the lyrics continued. “ Awake, asleep… ”

The play went on, but Marvin and Whizzer’s happiness didn’t last.

In the end of second act, Whizzer died of illness, leaving Marvin to wonder whether he would do it again if he had the chance: whether he would fall in love with Whizzer in another life, and leave his family to be with him again. Another tragedy, Ivan found himself immersed in. Another love story ending in a sad, yet realistic way.

By the end of the song, Marvin admitted that he would. He admitted that he had loved Whizzer, and if he had the chance, he would love him again—despite what obstacles the world might bring forward. And that, Ivan realized, was a level of devotion he could undeniably relate to.

. . . 

On their way home back to the hotel, Mizi was singing The Thrill of First Love from the show. In the limo, Till had given a whole speech about how refreshing it was to see the play and how he wanted to be on that stage at every scene they watched. Sharing a common fondness for arts, everybody in the car agreed to that. Apparently Mizi wanted to star in a musical show, to which Till said she could easily do that by giving her dad a call and made everyone except Mizi laugh. Hyuna decided she wanted to direct a musical one day, and Ivan, as he watched Brooklyn’s reflection on the East River while they drove to the Upper East Side, considered that maybe he could try writing a musical.

The night was calm, blinking tower lights shining above the dark water. As the limousine drove on the FDR Drive, Ivan took a moment to close his eyes and think about the tragedy of Marvin and Whizzer for one more time, daydreaming of an alternate ending where things didn't end up the way they did.

They returned to the hotel in no time.

“Talk show tomorrow, people,” Hyuna said wearily in the elevator. “It will be terrible, but we’ll get over that shit and focus on our gala. Morning after tomorrow, we’re flying to Toronto.”

Everyone left for their rooms, and as Ivan was walking to his, he was thinking of what to wear the next morning. He figured they wouldn’t have much time to travel tomorrow. Television appearance in the morning, gala in the evening. The time between those two would merely be enough for Mizi and Till to get their hair and makeup done.

Ivan unlocked his door with the room card and stepped into the place. From the tall windows of the room, he could see the towers of New York. He changed into a shirt and sweatpants and laid backwards on the white sheets of the hotel bed, feeling the exhaustion only now. 

Just then, his phone vibrated on the bedside table. 

Rolling on the bed, Ivan reached for it and checked the pop up notification. Till had sent a photo.

Ivan raised a brow. He rolled back to lay comfortable and clicked on the message.

Till: Which one should I wear to the talk show tomorrow?

Ivan took a proper look at the picture, which was two suits laid side by side on Till’s hotel bed. Before Ivan could type an answer, Till sent another message.

Till: Mizi said she plans to wear white. Should I match the vibe or contrast it?

Contrast it , Ivan wrote. Wear the navy one .

Till: And my hair?

Ivan snorted at the message.

Ivan: I thought I was supposed to be your translator, rather than a stylist.

Till: Translator, bodyguard, stylist. Not my fault you can handle them all so well.

For a moment, Ivan smiled at the text. Till, not waiting for him to text a reply, sent another picture. It was a hairstyle that looked naturally messy but styled in a careful way.

Till: You think I could try this hairstyle?

Ivan didn’t have to imagine it on Till to know it would look good. Yes , he texted. Give it a shot .

. . .

Morning came so fast. Though Ivan would love to enjoy the view of his hotel room a lot more, he had to get out of bed and take a shower, style his hair and get dressed for the talk show.

They all met in the lobby in half an hour. Till had worn the suit Ivan had chosen over text the night before. 

“Morning,” Ivan told him.

Till answered a beat late. “Uh. Yeah, good morning.”

Ivan blinked. “Something wrong?” he asked. Now taking a closer look, Till looked like he was… sleepless. “Are you sure you slept well?” 

Till frowned. “Why would you ask?”

“Your eyes look a little red,” Ivan pointed out. “Do you think you can handle the talk show—”

“Yeah, I can,” Till cut off. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

As soon as the gates of the hotel were opened and Hyuna stepped out, cameras flashed.

“Mizi!” voices echoed. “Till!”

“Oh no,” Sua said. “Guess the fans discovered the hotel.”

“Ignore their presence,” Hyuna urged. Flashes blinded Ivan as he walked out, followed by Till. Without any trouble, thankfully, they all got into the limo and drove away, to the studio where they would be attending the talk show and meeting the ruler of every industry’s heart, Luka.

After about a ten minute drive, they arrived at a tall glass tower.

The studio was on the top of the building, which seemed like it belonged to Luka’s business entirely. As soon as they were in the lobby, they were greeted by employees, all of them shaking Hyuna’s hand despite the visible aggression on her face.

Mizi and Till were greeted very elaborately. They were given water, a fan, even a mirror in case they wanted to check how they looked; before even taking the elevator to the studio.

By hook or crook, they left the lobby with the company of an elegant woman whom Mizi knew: she was Luka’s manager, apparently, named Claire.

As the elevator moved up to the twentieth floor, Claire didn’t speak much. She didn’t even smile—though was it a result of her personality or the pressure she felt under Hyuna’s death glare, that was debatable.

In the end, the elevator dinged. The automatic doors opened to a well-lit hallway, with dressing rooms on both sides and a sign that led the way to the studio and the broadcasting room.

“Claire!” a sharp, velvety voice called in a French accent. 

Mizi pricked up when she heard the voice. Hyuna’s brows got furrowed.

From one of the dressing rooms, walked out a blond man. His light, wavy hair was falling on his face, a white robe covering his body. Ivan easily recognized his face from the billboards. Luka was standing right in front of them, in flesh. “Où sont mes maquilleurs? J’ai attendu pour—” He paused when he saw Hyuna.

But unlike the anger on her face, his expression melted into a smirk. “Ah. You have arrived.”

“Wish I hadn’t,” Hyuna grumbled.

Mizi briefly glanced between the two, before stepping forward. “Well, Luka!” she said, not letting the moment get awkward. “How have you been?”

She and Luka shared a short, bourgeois hug. “Parfait,” he said. “Et toi?”

Mizi smiled. “Moi aussi.”

Luka walked past her to shake hands with Till, followed by Ivan. “Till and Ivan, am I right? Let’s have a good work today.” He greeted Sua with the same gentlemanly attitude. And after them, he was standing before Hyuna. He smiled. “Hyuna,” he said.

Hyuna didn’t buy that at all. “Get off.” She walked past him, harshly bumping into his shoulder in the process.

Luka was unfazed by her reaction. “Well then,” he said calmly. “Allow me to lead you to your dressing rooms. The shooting starts in about an hour. My staff will handle your needs, do not have any worries.” He pushed one of the doors open, which was labeled with Mizi’s name. “Mizi, chérie, ça pour toi. ”

Mizi smiled. “I appreciate it, Luka.”

“And this, right across, is Till’s,” he said in Korean. From his accent, Ivan could figure out that he knew the language, but not as well as English or French. It was probably due to his extended family, Ivan assumed, considering Mizi.

Luka turned to the others, his gaze lingering a little longer on Hyuna. “Ivan, Hyuna; may I take you two to the general dressing room?”

Hyuna raised her chin. “No need. I will not be attending as a guest today.”

Luka raised a brow. “You’re not?” he asked. “I thought you were the director of this  upcoming movie. Do you not have things you want to say to the crowd?”

“Even if I do,” Hyuna said, taking a step towards Luka. “That’s not going to be on your show.”

Luka gave a smile that Ivan would consider sarcastic. He leaned in a little forward, as if he was going to whisper in Hyuna’s ear. “Good luck on finding a better place than my studio, then,” he said smoothly, leaving Hyuna as still as a statue.

“Luka, sir,” Claire called. 

Luka raised his head, stepping away from Hyuna.

“Tu dois prendre tes cœur médicaments,” Claire said.

Maybe French was not a language Ivan had studied or taken in school, but he didn’t need a translator to understand that sentence. You need to take your heart medications.

Luka gave a still nod. “D’accord,” he said.

He turned his back to leave for his dressing room, but paused to glance at Hyuna over his shoulder one last time.

“See you after the show,” he said with a smile.

“Fuck off,” Hyuna grumbled to herself, so low that even Ivan barely heard it.

 . . .

One hour had passed with Luka’s staff fixing Ivan’s makeup and Hyuna, taking it for granted that none of those Americans understood Korean, talking shit about him.

Ten minutes before the recording started, Luka led all of them to the set, which was designed to be like a cozy room with couches and rugs before a digital screen background of New York city.

Till looked better than he did in the morning. Maybe he’d used eye drops, maybe makeup, but the paleness had vanished from his face and he was back to his usual, energetic self.

The camera and lighting crew respectfully greeted Mizi and Till, the directors handling their mic packs, while Sua and Hyuna sat in the front rows of the live audience.

As the show was counting down seconds, Mizi, Till, and Ivan were already backstage, waiting for Luka to announce their names before making an appearance.

“ Action !” someone yelled in the room.

“Good evening New York City, welcome to the show,” Luka let out with a charming voice. Ivan watched him from the wings. He was sitting on a desk, wearing a black suit that brought out his pale skin and amber eyes. “I’m your host, Luka. And today, I’m here with particular guests. The actors and the screenwriter of a movie soon to be released. You heard it right. They’re on a global press tour, yet still have shown the kindness to be on my show tonight.”

The audience cheered, clapping enthusiastically.

Luka, nourished by their energy, wore a grin. He straightened in his seat. “Give it up,” he yelled, “For the stars of Seoul: Mizi and Till! And the screenwriter of the upcoming film Anakt Garden , Ivan!”

They walked up to the stage, met by blinding lights and a loud applause from the fans. Luka stood up from his seat to shake their hands one by one, first Mizi, then Till, and finally Ivan.

“Welcome to the show, three of you,” he said as they all sat in their seats.

Till tried to look at the audience shortly, but gave up when the strong spotlight hit him. “So bright,” he grumbled in a quiet Korean.

Mizi smiled. “Thanks for having us, Luka.”

“How has the tour been so far?” Luka asked. “I’ve been watching your Instagram stories lately. You seem to enjoy the trip.”

“Well, it is exhausting with the tight schedule,” she said. “We have a flight to Toronto tomorrow morning.”

Luka gave an insincere but a professional laugh. “No time to rest, am I right?”

“Clearly,” said Mizi with the same kind of practiced smile. “But I can say we all are having fun with the press tour.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Luka took a short look at his table as if checking notes and questions. “So, the movie, Anakt Garden , where you two are sharing the leads as… lovers .” The audience gave an excited cheer, which only made Luka’s grin widen. “Could you two tell us how it was like to get into the role? Rather, to share such intimacy with each other?”

“He’s asking how it was like to get into the role for the movie,” Ivan whispered to Till. “And to share the lead with Mizi.”

As he was translating, Mizi had already begun giving the answer. “The characters we play were going through a lot of emotional struggles, which weren’t always easy to understand. But in the general picture, I could find commonality with my character and learn to think and feel like her. You see, it’s a part of the job,” she explained. “Till is a great scene partner and a talented, professional actor on the set. This was our first job together but I would gladly work with him again in the future.

Luka gave an interested hum. “I see you enjoy his company,” he said slyly, as if it was supposed to mean something. “How about you, Till?”

Till must’ve known it was his turn to speak when Luka met his eyes. “My character is a man who has done some wrong things, yet has been oblivious to the damage he was causing.”

To hear it described like that made Ivan see the character from a new perspective for a moment. Till’s character was based on a person Ivan himself had villainized while writing. The words someone in the past had stabbed into Ivan’s chest like a knife, he’d pulled it out and poured it into his work: both the blade and his blood.

But truly, he had never asked how Till saw the character.

“I think he was specifically hard to play because I needed to find the motives behind his actions and internalize it,” Till went on. “Not that I can justify any of the things he did though—I’ll tell you that, he’s a terrible man.”

When Ivan translated his response into English, the audience gave a laugh.

“I see,” said Luka politely, before turning to the camera and mock-whispering, “No comments about Mizi, I see.”

The crowd laughed once again. Mizi frowned while still wearing an awkward smile. Till slightly turned to Ivan. “What did he say?” he whispered.

Ivan paid Luka a glare. “He’s making fun of the way you didn’t mention Mizi at all.”

“Anyway, Till.” Luka returned to them. “I have seen your pictures in the Los Angeles premiere, all of you were absolutely gorgeous. But I can’t help myself from noticing you seem a bit pale, a bit less excited than you seemed on the red carpet interviews. Has the exhaustion of the tour been, perhaps, getting to you?”

Ivan raised a brow at the odd question, yet still translated it for Till.

The confident look on Till’s face faltered. “What if I am exhausted?” he said, though still keeping a strained smile. He lowered his voice, turning to Ivan. “Why the hell would he ask such a cheap question?” 

Ivan cleared his throat. “Yes, I am exhausted,” he said, bending Till’s words. “We spent the night out.”

“A night out!” Luka exclaimed.

Till found Ivan’s eyes as the audience clapped. He might’ve been bad at English, but he wasn’t that bad to not put the words night and out together. “What? I didn’t say that.”

But Ivan knew what he was doing. His hand so carefully found Till’s on the couch, fingers pressing over his knuckles as if a gesture for him to shut up and leave it be.

“Was it all of you?” Luka asked, pointing at the three of them. “Or just… you and Mizi?”

Till pulled his hand from Ivan’s. “The fuck is he talking about Mizi?” he whispered.

Before Ivan could translate, “No, it was all of us!” Mizi interjected. “As the entire crew, we went to watch a musical show. Falsettos on Broadway!”

Luka hummed in consideration, his cat-like eyes sliding between the movie stars. “You two seem to be spending a lot of time together, recently. Is this photo from one of your dates?”

Suddenly, the screen behind them changed.

An image was put on, big enough to recognize it was Mizi and Till on the frame. Till’s arm was around Mizi’s, faces half turned towards the camera.

Something sank into Ivan’s heart.

It was the picture from Mexico City, the one taken by the paparazzi as they were just leaving the taco restaurant. But they had cut out Ivan and Sua from the picture, making it seem like Mizi and Till were alone, going out for lunch.

They all turned to the screen in confusion while Luka watched their reactions. As if the surprise on their faces was feeding him, he smirked. “Going out for lunch together,” he mused with that irritating perfect voice of his. “Does this have any meaning, perhaps?”

Suddenly, memories from the past were flooding into Ivan’s head. He tried to look away from the picture, but the spotlights were so bright. He closed his eyes, but when he did, the moment in L.A. premiere came back to his vision: the sight of Mizi and Till kissing on the screen, with her fingers in his hair and his hands on her body—

Ivan gathered himself. What was he even thinking, letting his heart loose? How could he even allow himself to care for somebody—care for Till? Remember what happened the last time , his mind told him. Remember how you were let down the last time you let your guard down .

By his side, Till shifted in his seat. “That photo has no fucking meaning, asshole,” he grunted.

“What did you just say, Till?” Luka asked, visibly amused by their frustration. “We want to hear it.”

“The photo has no meaning,” Ivan said in his stead, with a bit too much aggression for somebody who wasn’t even involved in the photo.

When Luka laughed at that response, the audience did as well. “Ah, the same old denial,” Luka said, scorning them with those sharp words. “Mizi, surely you have something to say about that picture.”

Mizi gave an awkward laugh. “Truly, no. We might be scene partners in the movie, but that’s it. There’s nothing more between us.”

“She clarified there’s nothing going on between you two,” Ivan whispered to Till.

Till nodded. “Obviously, there isn’t.”

Watching Till grumble to himself, Luka leaned a little forward. “Till?” he called. “You do seem a little irritated, but is it just me?”

Ivan translated the question with the fear of what Till’s answer to that might be.

Of course, Till didn’t even miss a beat. “Yeah it’s you, fucker,” he said.

It was hard for Ivan to keep on smiling. “No, it’s just the rumors,” he changed the response.

But that clearly wasn’t the answer to shut Luka out, because he beamed like someone just made a surprise by buying him ice cream. “Speaking of rumors, Till,” he began, “I have seen a lot of people talking about your family online.” His eyes focused on Till’s, the amber winking with a glimpse of danger under the spotlight. “Some say that your father uses drugs and alcohol. Coming from that lineage, do you think you’re free of that?”

There was a solid silence.

Ivan was so astounded by the question that he nearly forgot to translate it. He wasn’t sure where to start, wasn’t sure what words to use as he was being crushed under the prying gaze of Luka.

“What did he say?” Till asked.

From the table, Luka grinned like the devil.

Ivan swallowed. “He says that people online claim that your father is a drug addict,” he translated, speaking so quietly as if a part of him didn’t want Till to hear these words coming out of his mouth. “And he asks if you think you’re clean, since you come from a lineage like that.”

Till was silent as he seemed to digest the question. He wasn’t looking at Ivan, but at Luka as his anger grew alongside with disbelief on his face. 

Without a single word, Till stood up from his seat. 

“Till, wait—” Mizi called, but Till didn’t even slow down.

He stormed out of the set, stomping to the backstage.

“ Cut !” a director called. “We will edit the last part out,” another said. When the spotlights were turned off, Ivan had already stood up from the couch, following Till to the dressing rooms without a second thought.

“Till?” he called into the empty hallway, passing through dressing rooms until he found Till’s name hung on one. “Till—”

A crash came from inside. 

The door wasn’t closed. Hesitantly, Ivan pushed it open.

Inside, Till was standing in front of the vanity mirror, hands clenched into knuckles as he pressed them on the table.

Ivan looked down at his feet, where a vase lay broken into pieces. A chair was lying sideways on the floor, clothes and makeup tools all over the place. Ivan took a step inside. “Till, are you—”

Till punched the mirror, making it crack. The sound came so loud, so sharp that Ivan nearly jumped.

When he lowered his fist from the cracks with a noise of glass pieces scratching each other, there was blood on his knuckles.

“Why the hell did he find out?” he asked, voice hoar.

That was the moment, ever since they first met, that Ivan understood the reason. The reason why Till never talked about his parents, never invited Ivan to his place, never liked the idea of meeting Ivan’s father. The reason why he always slept over at Ivan’s apartment. The reason why he was so used to alcohol at eighteen, despite being underage. Why he was scared of dropping out of university. Why he was so happy to rent his own place at twenty one and finally be financially independent.

The realization was so heavy on Ivan’s shoulders, almost like a type of guilt for never noticing before.

“Why does it matter?” Till asked. His voice cracked. “Why the fuck does it have to matter?”

Ivan wished he knew the answer. He wished there was something he could do other than standing by the door and watching Till cry. Other than wetting a towel and treating his bleeding hand.

But there wasn’t. And he had never realized before, how much it hurt him to watch Till suffer before his very eyes.

Chapter Text

“You insufferable fucking son of a bitch,” Hyuna snarled the moment Luka walked into the lounge. 

Till was sitting on a couch with his fist covered with a wet, bloody towel. Next to him sat Ivan, with an arm over the head of the couch, watching Till attentively—though Till was unaware as he only stared down at his feet.

Mizi and Sua were before the vanities, both watching Luka from the mirror reflections.

Hyuna got up from the couch harshly, walking across the room. “Will you ever fucking get your head screwed on right?” She raised her hand and slapped him, so loudly that Ivan could only imagine how it must’ve hurt.

Sua clasped a hand over her mouth, Till raised his gaze ever so slightly. Luka’s manager, Claire, intended to step forward in an attempt to dismiss Hyuna, when Luka raised his hand in a gesture for her to not to, Claire retreated.

Blood had already rushed to his cheek, painting his pale skin red with the burning mark. Calmly, he looked at Hyuna. “I’m only asking the questions people want me to ask.”

“People?” Hyuna repeated in disbelief. She scoffed furiously. “You are so fucking blinded by the media, Luka. Accusing Mizi of dating Till, accusing Till of using drugs, what the hell is wrong with you? Do you realize these people have their own names to hold up? For fuck’s sake, Mizi is supposed to be your childhood friend!” She pointed at Mizi, anger flaring in her every action. “Do you ever fucking realize you’re hurting them? Don’t you have an ounce of respect for these people, Luka?”

Luka didn’t react. He only kept staring into Hyuna’s eyes with a strange glint of yearning, an inexplicable dullness. At last, “The media has no respect for anyone,” he said. “You know that.”

Those words seemed to have a deeper meaning for Hyuna, because she halted like a knife just cut through her. The rage in her eyes disappeared like a blown off candle, whatever she was about to say next dissolved at the tip of her tongue. She looked once at Luka, then away with a sigh. “You’re not releasing this episode.”

Now that brought a sense of confusion to Luka’s face. “I don’t get to decide that.”

Hyuna looked at him as if she was fed up with his lies. “Oh yeah?” she said mockingly. “You own this business,  Luka. You can get to decide on anything going on within these walls. Get over with it.”

“The directors wouldn’t let me—”

“You can always fire the directors. Not something you haven’t done before.”

Luka frowned. “There was a live audience—”

“Then bribe them,” Hyuna strictly said. “I don’t give a shit about what you do, but you are not releasing this episode.” She threateningly pressed a finger on his chest. “Now you get out of here, and make sure nobody outside of this studio will ever get to see that awful interview. Or else, I’m going to do everything in my power to make you pay for it.”

When Hyuna said that, Luka’s eyes widened slightly with understanding. Like there was a secret they shared, a power in Hyuna’s hand that could forever ruin his house of cards. 

He took one step back, away from Hyuna’s touch. “Fine,” he said quietly, with a note of settled acceptance. “Comme tu veux.”

Have it your way.

. . .

The rest of the day was slow and uncomfortable, making Ivan realize it truly was a mistake to go with the talk show. As soon as they left Luka’s place, Hyuna was on the phone with some people from the agency, explaining the situation. The car ride back to the hotel was hackingly quiet; Mizi crossing her arms as she stared out of the window, Sua going through social media to make sure there wasn’t any unwanted news going on, and Till sitting with his head low, like he had closed himself to the outer world.

Ivan took a look at his injured hand, now bandaged. He thought of saying many things in those slow paced seconds: maybe asking if he was feeling okay, or if his hand still hurt, or if he wanted to talk, or if he could handle the gala tonight.

But he didn’t ask any of them.

He couldn’t even get the word out of his mouth.

After a twenty minute ride that felt like forever, they had returned to the hotel. Thankfully, the paparazzi were gone by now. They walked past the glass gates, walked on the fancy red carpet of the somber hotel until they reached the elevators. 

Hyuna pressed the button and as they were waiting for the elevator to ding at the ground floor, there was a silence. Hyuna folded her arms. “Guys,” she began, “I know it was terrible, but if I had known it would be this terrible, I would’ve never let it happen.”

“It’s fine, Hyuna,” Mizi said. “You couldn’t have known. Even I wasn’t expecting this much from Luka. I guess he… really has changed since the time we were close.” 

Till gave a short, lifeless snort. “I told you Mizi,” he said. “Never trust your relatives.” A short pause. “Not even your dad.”

“Till,” Mizi said attentively, pity draping from her gaze. “Are you sure you’re—”

The elevator dinged, the doors opened. And Till walked in without even waiting for her to finish the question.

Ivan knew he probably wasn’t supposed to push Till and just leave him be. But doing that, he found, was impossibly hard. It was like an intrusive thought in his mind; growing bigger every time Ivan told himself he would stop thinking and caring about Till.

But by God, he couldn’t do that at all.

By the time he had returned to his hotel room, it was still two in the afternoon. The gala probably wasn’t going to start until the evening, and that meant he had countable hours of freedom. In an attempt to get the deliberate thoughts of the talk show disaster out of his mind, Ivan grabbed a random Japanese book he had bought from Jinbocho.

But no matter what he did, he couldn’t focus.

It had merely been five pages when he dropped the book to his chest with a sigh, tussling with the constant thought of Till crying in the dressing room once again. The face he made when Luka asked about his father. The moment he punched the mirror and let the cracks cut through his skin.

Ivan rubbed his face in frustration. He couldn’t bear the way this devoured him anymore.

Without letting himself think twice, he reached for his phone on the bedside table and found Till’s name on his messages. He clicked on the chat and typed the only thing that came to his mind at that very moment.

Ivan: If you want to talk, I’m always here.

The message was unread for a few minutes, but the anticipation was withholding Ivan from doing anything else other than staring vacantly at his phone screen and evaluating the text he sent.

At last, Till became online. Ivan held a breath. Till saw the text, yet didn’t type a response.

There was a short moment reserved for the terrible secondary thoughts, making Ivan wonder whether he should’ve deleted the text before Till even got to see.

But then, his phone started vibrating with a call, Till’s name appearing on the screen.

Ivan swallowed as he hesitantly pressed to pick up.

He brought the phone to his ear. “Till?”

“What am I supposed to do?” Till’s voice came muffled through the phone. A little weak like he had been crying. “He fucking knows now—everybody in that room—”

“That video isn’t going to be released,” Ivan told him. “Till, who your father is doesn’t define who you are.”

There was a short, static silence.

“But what if it does?” Till whispered. “What if I’m just as bad, Ivan? What then?”

“You’re not.”

No response.

Ivan tipped his head backwards, to the bed frame. “Do you want me to come to your room?” he asked.

“No,” Till answered, faster than Ivan had expected. “I’m just… I’m not—”

“I understand,” Ivan assured. It was almost like the sorrow in Till’s voice transcended through the line and hit Ivan in the chest so strongly that it was physically painful.

For whatever reason, 心疼 , he thought of the Chinese word. Xīnténg . That was near what he felt. Another word that lost depth in translation. Distressed , they translated it into English. The used characters, meanwhile, literally stood for heartache .

But what it really meant was a lot more empathetic to Ivan: it meant to share the pain of someone you loved. Or maybe, to care enough to feel someone’s pain.

“Do you want me to hang up?” Ivan asked.

There was a short silence. In the end, “No,” Till said.

Ivan closed his eyes. “Okay. I’m here.”

The silence stretched out until Till gave a sigh. “How the fuck did he find out about my family, anyway?”

When Ivan considered the same question, an easy answer came to his mind. “Money is a powerful thing,” he mumbled.

“It is,” Till said after a long consideration. “I want to keep its power,” he added quietly.

Sure. Money was what got Till out of his parents’ house. Money gave him the freedom to travel around the world as they did now. There was no way he would let it go.

“Then you will get to keep it,” Ivan said. His eyes slid to the hotel window, to the blue and gray towers. “And about your father—”

“Please, Ivan,” Till said in a small voice, like he was about to cry again. “Don’t bring that shit up.”

Ivan took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I won’t.”

Across the line, noises came like Till was moving. He sighed. “I’ll take a shower. I’m done with this fucked up day. We need to get ready for the carpet anyways.”

Something in Ivan broke at the realization that… Till had no time to rest. From one thing to another, he rushed. Without getting a chance to take a break from it all.

“Till,” Ivan said before he could hang up.

A brief hesitation. “Yes?” Till responded at last.

Ivan swallowed the last bits of doubt in him before he could change his mind and not say what he meant to. He looked down, at his lap as he tried to speak out the words. “I’m sorry for never noticing before.”

He could almost feel Till smile bitterly over the phone. “It’s not like you couldn’t have noticed,” Till muttered. “I just didn’t let you.”

“I’m sorry,” Ivan repeated for whatever reason.

“No. I’m glad you didn’t know,” Till responded calmly. In a quiet whisper, “I’m glad you don’t know,” he added.

And Ivan wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to hear that.

. . .

The world of fame was always glowing, whether one liked it or not. As Till stood on the red carpet with a broad smile, waving hands at fans and signing autographs on posters, nobody could’ve thought that he was crying just a few hours ago. Despite what happened in the morning, Till didn’t shy away from the interviews. He handled them with his usual charming, humorous notes, making the reporters laugh at every response. 

“Who has designed your outfit for tonight?” a reporter asked.

“She’s asking about your clothes,” Ivan whispered in translation.

Till took a look at his own clothes. A black, sleeveless turtleneck with a unique silver pattern, smooth fabric pants, and a pair of black silk gloves that extended to his elbow. They asked about the designer, without knowing about the injured hand underneath.

Ivan had no idea how Till could handle this.

In its usual fashion, the carpet interviews continued, almost in a way that made Ivan forget about the morning; about Luka and every insensitive question he asked. No matter what happened, the world went on. It never stopped.

They had another trailer screening, and responded to a dozen questions from producers, screenwriters, reporters. An American producer shook all of their hands in means to welcome them, and it was almost impossible to notice the clench of Till’s jaw as the man held his scarred hand tightly, oblivious to his pain.

But Ivan noticed it anyway.

If it was two days ago, duende , Till would’ve called it. But right now, Ivan knew, the reason he noticed wasn’t duende. It was xīnténg, though he wouldn’t say that to Till.

He couldn’t let him know how much he cared, so long as it meant vulnerability: a weapon to use against his feelings.

After the gala, they took their time drinking expensive wine and eating small creamy desserts they served. Of course, producers never left. Almost like they had taken Hyuna hostage, asking a billion questions as if trying to find a deficit in her work and knowledge.

But Hyuna always bit back a little harder. And though it was good for her, it only made the conversation stretch out to the point that Mizi left the table at the first chance she got (She recognized an actress friend of hers and went with the excuse of greeting her) alongside Sua. 

Till was visibly bored, but Hyuna was too immersed in a conversation about controversial shooting techniques to notice. Ivan assumed she’d drunk too much wine, because by God, she was acting like she hadn’t seen her ex just this morning.

Across the table, Till reached for his pocket. He took out his phone, keeping it underneath the table. 

Just as Ivan was drinking another sip from his drink. his phone vibrated. He put the glass down on the table and took out his phone.

A message. He suspiciously glanced at Till, but he wasn’t looking at Ivan. His eyes were on Hyuna, acting as if he was listening to the conversation, nodding to every word she said.

Curiously, Ivan clicked on the message.

Till: What do you say about getting out of here?

Ivan blinked as he read the text again. It was hard to not laugh.

Ivan: How?

Across the table, Till grabbed his phone. He took one look at his screen, then at Ivan. He typed a reply under the table.

Till: Like this.

As Ivan read the message, Till took the phone to his ear. “Oh,” he let out. “It has arrived! Alright, I’ll be there shortly.”

Understanding what he was doing, Ivan grinned.

“Hyuna,” Till said. “I’ve got a package waiting for me at the hotel. I’m going to need Ivan to help translate the signature stuff. We’re leaving early, alright?”

Hyuna didn’t even seem to care. “Yeah sure,” she evaded them, before returning to a random man whom she explained why coloring choices mattered on film.

Till got up from the table, gesturing for Ivan to follow him. They both easily found the way out of the venue, and the confidence on Till’s face helped that nobody approached them. Once they were out of the fancy saloon and at a quiet lobby, Ivan turned to Till. “What was the reason for this?” he asked.

Golden chandeliers lit the lobby, their footsteps echoing at every step in silence. 

Till shrugged. “I didn’t feel like being there.”

Ivan didn’t need to ask why. Instead, he looked away. “Then, where do we go now?”

“Anywhere in your mind?” Till asked.

There wasn’t, really. All the landmarks he wanted to see in New York City, they already had visited. There wasn’t a beach here to sit and talk to like there was in Los Angeles, either. “Not really,” he said as they walked out of the automatic doors of the venue. 

Till hummed. “Then let’s go back to the hotel,” he suggested. “Order a few drinks.”

Now, that sounded like a decent way to spend the night after today. Ivan tucked his hands in his pocket, following Till into the glowing night. “Your room or mine?”

“Yours,” Till answered instantly. “Mine is... a little messy, so—“

“That works,” Ivan said, not pushing him. “Let’s go.”

“Hold on—we’re walking?”

“Using vehicles ruins the New York experience,” Ivan quoted Mizi, making Till laugh as he fastened his steps to keep up with Ivan.

. . .

They returned to the hotel after a long walk in the city. By the hotel gates were the reporters from the morning, photographing them as soon as they saw Till. Though, Till calmly handled it all by smiling and waving for the cameras shortly before walking into the hotel after Ivan. He had texted in the group chat and let everyone know they’d arrived at the hotel, to which Mizi responded by texting they should’ve taken her too. As an answer, Till and Ivan sent a selfie, captioned with ‘Deal with it, silverspoon!’ by Till.

They took the elevator to Ivan’s room and as soon as Ivan unlocked the door, Till barged in and laid backwards on the bed. Ivan’s room was possibly smaller than Till’s in size (considering he was a worthy actor) but Till didn’t seem to care about that. He didn’t even seem to notice.

“I’m exhausted,” he was mumbling instead. “Did you order drinks?”

Ivan nodded as he took out his jacket. “I told the receptionist in the lobby. It will be here soon.”

For a moment, Ivan caught the sight of Till running a hand through his hair as he laid on the bed. He looked effortlessly photogenic, the led hotel lights falling on all the right features of his face. The gray of his hair contrasted his black gloves perfectly, the turtleneck was drawing an appealing silhouette of his body. Another simple moment where he looked like a scene straight out of a movie. Another mundane action that Ivan wished he could capture in a polaroid, look back at it anytime he wanted.

He managed to look away before getting carried away by thoughts.

In a few minutes, the door was knocked and a hotel staff had brought them two bottles of expensive whiskey, which Ivan casually asked the man to write to their tab, hoping Hyuna wouldn’t have a seizure when she saw the price. 

When Ivan returned to the room with the alcohol, Till was still laying on the bed, flipping through the Japanese book Ivan had started earlier today. He had taken his gloves off. When Ivan took a closer look, he could see the knuckles of Till’s injured hand still red with marks. He hadn’t treated it. Even the dried blood still rested on his skin.

Ivan tried to ignore it. “We got the drinks,” he said, putting the bottles on the bedside table as he went towards the cabinets to grab two glasses.

“Thank god,” said Till. He reached for the bottle itself without even waiting for the glass, and pulled out the cork. “I really needed this.” 

Watching him drink from the bottle, Ivan decided to put the glasses back in the cabinet. Instead, he headed towards the window and slid it open, bringing in the air. Just like Los Angeles, there were no stars to see at night in a city so bright, but the buildings did the work for the sky. The city lights were so bright, winking from each tower in sight. When he pushed the tulle curtains aside and exposed the picturesque view of New York to the room, Till smiled.

“It’s so pretty,” he said. “Almost reminds me of Seoul.” He slid down from the sheets and sat on the ground before the window, leaning on the bed.

Ivan grabbed the second whiskey bottle and sat down next to him. “You know, there’s a word in French for this.”

Unexpectedly, Till started laughing. “Wait, Ivan don’t tell me you know French too? Just how many languages can you speak?”

“It’s not like I know it well,” Ivan excused, shaking his head. “But I told you, once you know Latin—“

“It becomes easier. Yeah, I know.” He took another sip from his drink. “So, what is the word?”

Ivan’s gaze shifted to the endless city at the horizon. “Dépaysement,” he said with an accent. “It’s the feeling of not being home. Going through a change of scenery.”

Till hummed in interest. “That’s very suitable for what I feel now.”

There was a peaceful silence as they sat together side by side, drinking and staring out the open window. Ivan let the soft wind caress his skin as he breathed in the air. A part of him considered what he was thinking at the gala earlier this evening. The world never stopped, truly. But in a world of motion and sound, it was theirs to find the moments of quiet.

By his side, Till threw his head back, leaning on the bed frame. “Hey,” he said. “Are there any French swear words that I could use for Luka?”

Ivan was caught off guard by that question. He turned to Till, who looked at him with droopy eyes and pure curiosity. “French swear words?” he repeated with a scoff.

“I want to know!” Till insisted. “How can I call him a son of a bitch?”

Ivan gave another chuckle as he translated, “Fils de pute.”

“Fils de pute,” Till repeated with his poor accent. “And what is asshole?”

“Connard,” Ivan said with a smile. “Till, don’t tell me you actually plan to use these.”

“Oh just you wait until I comment connard on his latest post. Fucking bastard.”

When Ivan laughed at that again, Till wore a proud grin.

“Speaking of,” Till said again, eyes back on New York’s landscape, “I’ve read your interview.”

Ivan wasn’t expecting that. “You have?” he asked. “Is it uploaded already?”

Till nodded, grabbing his phone to show it. “And they used a good picture of you too.” He opened Google and typed in Ivan’s name, easily finding the article. “Look.” The picture was from the Mexico City red carpet, where Ivan was posing with an unintentional yet charming smile for the camera. Ivan shortly took a look under the headline to catch the reporter’s name. 

Rozalia Martinez.

“Reading it made me realize,” Till said slowly, “that you and I never talked properly about the movie.”

It was almost like he had read Ivan’s thoughts. “I know,” he said. “I’ve realized that too.”

Till translated the article page into Korean, then started scrolling down. “Somewhere here you say that the script has parts based on real experience,” he mumbled, giving Ivan a dubious, sideways glance. “How come I never got to know that?”

Ivan knew he probably should’ve shrugged the question off, or give an evasive answer that Till would forget by tomorrow. But for some reason, he hadn’t done that. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the serenity of the moment that put him in such ease about the truth, because he only tipped his head to the bed and turned to Till. “Do you remember the first time you’ve read the script of Anakt Garden?” he asked directly.

Till nodded without hesitation. “Yeah, I do.”

Ivan watched his side profile as he was looking down at his phone. His perfect nose, green eyes hidden under the long lashes, tousled hair curling at his nape. Ivan exhaled. “Back then, the characters were nameless,” he said.

“Now that you mentioned it,” Till mumbled in remembrance. “I do remember that. Why was it?” He turned to Ivan.

Only then did Ivan realize he had been staring. He took a deep breath and shifted in his seat, turning to the flowing curtains instead. “Because in the original draft, that wasn’t a story about a boy and a girl,” he drowsily said. The alcohol had set his tongue loose, making the words pour out with no control or concern. Maybe later, he would regret speaking these out loud. But right now, he would only regret not saying it. “It was a story about a boy and a boy.”

After that, came silence.

When Ivan dared to raise his head, he found Till looking at him. “And that was the real part?” he asked, so quietly Ivan nearly didn’t hear it. “The love between a boy and a boy?”

Ivan swallowed, shaking his head wearily. “I don’t… think it was love,” he whispered. “Though, I used to think it was. Back when I was with him…” He paused, thinking of his fourth year in university. “I used to think it was the kind of love that changes you forever.”

The look in Till's eyes was cautious, like he was trying to make connections with the movie script in his head. But also, there was a subtle glint of attentiveness in his eyes. Something between covetous and protective. “But the kind of love that changes you is a kind of love that doesn’t accept you the way you are,” he said. “It shouldn’t be like that.”

The sentence hit Ivan like a blow of realization. The kind of love that doesn’t accept you the way you are . It was true. The love he had wasn’t what changed him. He had changed himself.

Why hadn’t he thought of it like that before? How had he spent years overlooking what Till saw in seconds?

With somewhat of an hopefulness, “You think?” Ivan asked softly.

Till put his phone aside and raised his injured hand as if to reach for Ivan’s face. To cup his cheek or brush his hair, and Ivan was so ready to lean into the touch—but Till didn’t touch him. Instead, he lightly flicked Ivan’s forehead. “I know it, pochemuchka.”

Ivan frowned. “Ow,” he let out. “That was my line.”

“Then I recommend you to stop asking too many questions.”

Ivan rolled his eyes. “Again, my line.”

Till chuckled before taking another sip from his whiskey. As the silence settled, he grabbed his phone. Ivan resumed watching the view.

It had barely been five seconds when Till pricked up in his seat, holding the phone close to his face. “Shit,” he gasped.

Ivan turned to him. “What?”

If it wasn’t for the wide grin on Till’s face, he would’ve thought it was something terrible. But as it seemed, it was the complete opposite. “Hold up, when are we flying to Toronto? Tomorrow morning, right?”

Ivan straightened. “Yeah, I suppose. What happened?”

“Oh my god—guess who has a concert tomorrow night, in Toronto?” he loudly asked, standing up in excitement. “Fucking Red Hot Chili Peppers! Holy shit, Ivan, we have to go!”

“Tomorrow night?” Ivan repeated. “But we have the gala—“

“We’ll find a way!” He had already begun clicking some stuff on his phone. “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!”

“The tickets are probably sold out, Till,” Ivan said matter of factly.

But Till didn’t even raise his head from the screen, grinning as he bit his lip. “And I’m a known actor, Ivan,” he said confidently. “My name isn’t writing on billboards for nothing. I can get us tickets.”

“Till,” Ivan began as if to complain, but Till dropped to his knees, grabbing him from both shoulders.

“Please, Ivan, we have to go!” he begged. “It’s not like you don’t know them, we used to listen to Californication all the time! This is the chance of our lives! Plus, I want to go with you.”

I want to go with you. If it was some other time, Ivan might’ve said no. He had never been big on concerts, and would clearly prefer somewhere less crowded. But the way Till held him from the shoulders, his face so close to his during that brief moment had an undeniable effect. He was smiling with a joy so distant from the way he was crying just this morning. Ivan clenched his teeth at the thought of Luka.

Sure, after today, Till needed a distraction. Maybe a concert could do.

“Alright then,” he said. The moment he did, Till cheered with excitement, jumping on the bed. “Get us some good tickets!” Ivan told him.

Till curled to the side on the bed with his phone in one hand. “On it!”

Chapter Text

Ivan shouldn’t have confessed the truth about the script. He shouldn’t have drunk from the bottle, shouldn’t have unleashed his thoughts. Because now that it was morning and he was sober, he was recounting every step he took last night, with that terrible feeling of oversharing in his chest and the worry of having to see Till after what he told him.

Ivan didn’t remember much of the night, only blurry snippets of each and every conversation they had until they both were wasted and no longer thought of the world.

Despite being drunk, Till had returned to his room since they were supposed to leave for Toronto in the morning. And now, as Ivan packed his bag, he could only try to ignore the discomfort in his veins and the heaviness in his head. 

He downed another full glass of water before leaving the hotel room for good. His careless tongue aside, he really shouldn’t have drunk that much, considering he had a flight, a gala, and a concert to attend to in the next twelve hours.

He only prayed the headache would pass soon.

Dragging his luggage behind and his bag hanging from his arm, he managed to get to the lobby of the hotel, where the others had already arrived, sitting in the lounge.

Till and Hyuna were on the couch, their heads buried in their phones while Mizi leaned on her luggage by their side and Sua talked on the phone about some makeup artists and stylists.

As soon as Ivan walked up to them, Mizi noticed him. “Ivan!” she called. “Good morning!”

“Define good,” Ivan mumbled, sinking in an armchair. “Because my head is going to kill me.”

Hyuna shot one look at him. “Yeah, Till said the exact same thing five minutes ago. I didn’t know you two had left the event early only to get wasted. You could’ve tried something more productive.”

Till yawned sleepily. “Nothing in New York is productive.” With his phone in one hand, he turned to Ivan, the glimpse almost making Ivan’s heart skip. “Ignore her,” Till casually said. “Getting wasted was fun. Also, I bought us two VIP tickets for the concert.”

“A concert?” Mizi chimed in, frowning. “Goodness. You two disappeared for two hours last night and now you’re going to a concert together?”

“Right,” Hyuna said with a raised brow of suspicion. “Who did you get permission from to go to a concert?”

Till pouted offensively. “Well, last I checked, you weren’t my mother, Hyuna. Pull off.”

“Maybe, but it’s my job to make sure you show up at work, Till.”

“I will show up at work!” Till insisted. “The concert is after the gala!”

“Yeah, don’t have any worries about that, Hyuna,” Ivan said. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t slack off.” Though, he couldn’t trust the words he said himself.

Till’s jaw dropped. “Am I being babysat?”

“Such a gentleman you are, Ivan,” Hyuna said comically. “Make sure you bring Till back home before midnight, alright?”

Mizi and Ivan burst into laughter while Till yelled a frustrated “Hey!”, color rushing to his cheeks. In that short moment as Ivan watched him, Till showed no reaction regarding the night before. Had he been too drunk to remember? Or did he, by the smallest possibility, not care? Ivan wasn’t sure which one he was actually hoping for.

Just then, Hyuna got a text. She checked it quickly. “Oh. The limo is here. Let’s go, everyone.”

Hyuna got up and grabbed her bags, followed by the others. At their usual pace, they loaded their packs into the baggage and got into the car, about to drive to the airport for another flight to another country.

It was fun in some sense, to get to see a little bit of everywhere. But at each stop that came to an end, Ivan couldn’t help but wish there was just a day more to get more of it. As they took their seats in the limo—with Ivan next to Hyuna and across them, sitting Mizi, Sua, and Till—Ivan’s phone buzzed with a message.

He took it out and checked the notification from his lockscreen.

Till: You know it’s not going to be after the gala, right?

Ivan’s gaze shifted from the phone screen to the boy on the other edge of the car. Till’s expression was subtle, but devilish. Ivan turned back to his phone.

Ivan: Hyuna might actually kill us this time.

Till’s smile widened when he saw the text, quickly typing a response.

Till: I don’t care, so long as you’re with me as she chases me with a knife.

So long as you’re with me. Ivan’s thumb carefully touched on the message like it was a beloved treasure. He checked Till with the side of his eye: he wasn’t watching him. His eyes were out of the window instead. Surreptitiously, Ivan held his phone with both hands and took a screenshot of the text.

Maybe he didn’t have a camera to save every frame of time where Till seemed to his eyes like a greek god, but he could at least save his words, in his phone.

. . .

The flight from New York City to Toronto was going to last for nearly two hours, and Ivan truly wanted to spend it sleeping. As everyone settled in their unassigned seats, Ivan dared to go and sit next to Till.

Till took out one of his earphones. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Ivan responded as he dropped his bag on the seat. “Do you also have a terrible headache or is it just me?”

Till chuckled at that. “I’m fine by now. It was just one bottle.”

Just one bottle. Ivan remembered the way Till had punched the mirror at the talk show set. Remembered the call at the hotel. The university days when he would drag him home from bars.

A part of him wished he hadn’t asked that at all. 

But Till seemed unfazed. He pulled his legs to his chest, getting comfortable on the plane seat.

Ivan sat next to him. In hopes of changing the conversation, “What are you listening to?” he asked.

“Take a wild guess,” said Till.

Right. Why even ask? “It’s Red Hot Chili Peppers, isn’t it?”

Till grinned. “Bingo.” He grabbed one end of the earphone and extended it to Ivan. “I’m listening to the setlist, which you should too. That’s like the number one rule of attending a concert, Ivan.”

Ivan hesitantly reached for the earphone Till was holding out for him. Meanwhile, Till had already returned to his phone and clicked on a new song.

The first thing Ivan heard was a soft guitar and a matching bass, which was unexpectedly slow, knowing Red Hot Chili Peppers. The melody, added up with his exhaustion, led him to close his eyes for a second.

“And if I heard the angels sing,

I’d sing it back to you and bring,

Sound of heaven ringing just for you…”

Ivan opened his eyes and looked at Till. The boy was sitting oblivious, scrolling through social media.

“And if I saw the sun fall down,

I’d pick it up and make a crown,

One that was a perfect fit for you…”

A part of Ivan wanted to sing those words out loud. A fearful part of him wanted Till to not understand the lyrics. The other, daring part of him, meanwhile, wanted Till to hear every note of emotion in the song, to comprehend the depth and affection delivered through metaphors, so when he looked at Ivan, he would know every layer of his heart.

But he prevented the thoughts. It was better if Till didn’t know. If he never found out. 

“All eyes on you,

All I do…”

“Hey, you two,” Sua called.

Till and Ivan turned to her in unison. 

She was extending Japanese chocolate and candy bars at them. “Chocolate?” she asked. “Hyuna bought all these from Tokyo and couldn’t even finish eating them.”

From the front seats, “Rude,” Hyuna chanted. “Here I am, giving you the chance to eat as much candy as you like.”

With a laugh, “I’ll take one,” Mizi said.

“Me too,” Ivan said, turning to Till. “You want one?”

He watched Till hesitate. “No, not really,” he said. “I don’t really have the appetite.”

Ivan frowned in subtle concern. “You don’t have the appetite? But we haven’t eaten anything all morning.”

Till shrugged, already back to his phone. “I’m not hungry. I’ll eat when we’re in Toronto. Any traditional food you recommend?”

Ivan glanced at the chocolate bar in his hands, undoing the package as he considered. Another song started playing in the earphones. Ivan recognized the intro: Around The World .

“There’s tourtière, timbits, poutine —though I haven’t tried any of them.”

“Then we’ll try together,” said Till. “Maybe my French will come in handy too.”

From the front seat, Mizi rose. “Your French?” she asked, turning to them with her arms folded on the head of the seat. “Since when do you know French?”

“Well, I know a little about it. You know, fils de pute —“

Ivan instantly moved to cover his mouth. “Nope. No French. You don’t know anything.”

Till licked Ivan’s palm, but when he didn’t pull his hand back, he pushed it by force. “I also know connard!”

Ivan clasped his hand over his mouth again. “No. He doesn’t know French.”

Sua and Mizi started laughing, before Mizi started giving bad advice about every situation he could use these words, along with more curses. As the music in Till and Ivan’s shared earphones kept playing, Ivan’s eyes caught the sight of Till smiling as he made a joke, making Mizi burst into another loud, genuine laughter. It was amazing how he could always create a space where reality was ignored and the outer world was dismissed. To Ivan, that was always going to be a flair peculiar to Till, even if nobody else noticed it.

Even if Till himself didn’t notice it.

. . .

Ivan had slept for a good while in the plane and when he awoke, his headache was—thankfully—gone. Toronto was cold in a refreshing way. At this hour, it was a lot calmer than New York, quieter than Los Angeles. Ivan liked it, truthfully. After those fast and restless days of travel, this was like a good remedy.

On the car ride to the hotel, however, Hyuna got an unexpected call from the agency.

“Are you kidding me?” she was complaining as everybody watched her, waiting for an explanation. “But we have just arrived!” The person on the line said something, to which Hyuna sighed in irritation. “Fine, I get it. We’ll manage.”

As soon as she hung up, “What was it?” Sua asked.

Hyuna scrolled on her phone, going through texts of schedule. “Apparently they had to change our hotel last minute, because what the fuck?” She frowned. “An interview offer came from Vogue, so they are giving us another day in Paris where you two will be having a photoshoot,” she said, pointing at Mizi and Till.

“Holy shit,” Till exclaimed. “Vogue photoshoot? That’s fucking amazing!”

“But just because we are given another day in Paris, our entire schedule slid forward. And that includes rearranging our accommodations too. We were supposed to stay two nights in Toronto, which is now one, unfortunately. We’re flying to London tomorrow morning, so I expect we’ll land in the evening… Ah, come on! London was supposed to last four days in the original plan but it’s two now.” She checked some stuff on her phone skeptically. “Well, thankfully they didn’t cancel the cruise to Spain.”

“A cruise?” Mizi repeated in shock. “Just how much of this trip are you keeping to yourself, Hyuna?”

“Hold that, but four days in London?” Till asked. “And you gave me one in Los Angeles?”

“You’re still on about that?” Hyuna grumbled at Till. “I’m not arranging any of this shit! If I did, I wouldn’t put us in a situation to share hotel rooms.”

Ivan blinked, processing what she said. “What now?”

“Just as I said.” Hyuna showed the accommodation information on her phone and everybody leaned in to see. “Where we’re staying is more like a holiday camp than a hotel. They’ve reserved a chalet for us. It has two bedrooms, so I assume we’re sharing rooms tonight, people—that is, of course, unless you would prefer sleeping on the couch.”

Mizi hummed in consideration. “I mean, it can’t be that bad. It would be like a sleepover, even!”

“We can get popcorn and watch a movie!” Sua suggested.

Till leaned back, clasping his hands at the back of his head. “Yeah, you guys do that while Ivan and I enjoy our Red Hot Chili Peppers concert.”

Hyuna rolled her eyes. “Yeah, all these plans are fun but nobody’s slacking off from work, you hear me?”

At that, everyone resigned with a sigh. “Yes, Hyuna.”

. . .

They gave the new address to the driver and in about thirty minutes, they were at the chalet they were expected to spend the night at. As Hyuna and Ivan unloaded the luggages, Mizi was observing around. The house was far from the city center, but it made it more private. Surrounded by trees and set in a quiet location where they could see the entirety of Toronto, the chalet was truly one of the best houses in the holiday camp. It was painted white with a front porch, a path paved before it, surrounded by greens. Ivan was truly impressed by the serenity of the place, excited to spend a night here but also, feeling bittersweet because it was only for a night. 

“This is beautiful!” Mizi exclaimed, twirling around. “Come on, Sua, let’s get in!”

“Don’t forget your luggages, Mizi!” Sua called on after her.

Hyuna’s phone rang again, and she stopped unloading the baggage. “Yeah, we have arrived,” she said as soon as she picked up, walking subconsciously towards the house as she gave updates on their situation. 

Meanwhile, Till stayed behind, leaning on the car as he waited for Ivan to get all the remaining luggages. Though unlike others, he didn’t seem as enthusiastic about the chalet.

Ivan let his gaze linger on Till for a second as he took out the last bag out of the car. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Something bothering you?”

Till blinked back into the moment. “Huh? Oh, no. I’m good. Here, let me get that.” He grabbed two bags of Mizi and a luggage of his own to lighten Ivan’s weight.

Ivan started following him towards the house. “Did you not like the place?” he asked. 

“Not at all, it’s good.” He looked up at the white roof and modest columns of the well built house as if trying to convince himself. “It’s better to be away from the public eye, too.”

When they brought the luggages up the porch and into the house, the girls had already begun exploring the house. “The kitchen has a great view!” Sua was saying. “The bathroom is so fresh!” Mizi was musing. The living room was wide enough for all of them to spend time in, and the large windows set a good view of the nature and the cityscape of Toronto from between the trees, too far in reach but too close in sight. The two bedrooms, it turned out, were on either corner of the house, built identically like mirror images of each other.

As girls were going to share one, Ivan and Till were left to share the other room. Till opened the door and walked in first, followed by Ivan who brought in the bags. As his eyes were on the threshold to make sure the wheels of the luggage didn’t get stuck, he bumped into Till.

He raised his head in confusion. “Till?”

“We’re going to share the bed?”

When he said that, Ivan took a look at the only bed in the room. It seemed big enough for two people, but to consider those two people would be him and Till made blood rush to his cheeks. This wasn’t assuring. “Oh well,” he mumbled.

“This wasn’t a part of the deal, Hyuna!” Till yelled in frustration.

From the living room, “The couch is always here, Till!” Hyuna yelled back.

Ivan dropped his bags, watching Till with the side of his eye. “I can take the couch too, if you want—“

Till shook his head. “No,” he said immediately. “It’s fine, we can share the bed. Not like it bothers me.”

To that, Ivan didn’t respond. They unpacked their suitcases, though Till threw his bag to the corner and jumped on the bed, owning the left side. Both bedrooms had their own bathrooms, so Ivan decided to take a shower and wash the exhaustion of the flight off of him. “I’ll take a shower,” he told Till.

Till was on his phone. “Can you help me choose what to wear tonight after that?”

“For the gala or the concert?” Ivan asked as he took his shirt off.

For a second, Till’s eyes lingered on Ivan’s bare chest, before he turned back to his phone. “Both, actually.”

Ivan gave a shrug. “Sure,” he said. “But you really need to find a stylist.”

“I would, if you weren’t a great multitasker.”

“I’m flattered,” Ivan said mockingly as he walked into the bathroom. And in hindsight, he could see Till smiling by himself too.

. . .

Maybe they had an entire afternoon to travel around Toronto, but the restless schedule seemed to have exhausted everyone, because nobody wanted to leave the chalet. Mizi and Sua had ordered Beavertails for everyone—a Canadian dish recommended by the holiday camp, apparently. As Ivan was helping them set the table, Till walked into the living room. “I’ll go outside a little,” he said.

Ivan raised his head from the plates he was placing. “Alone?” he asked. “I could join you.”

“No need,” said Till with an easy smile. “I’ll just get some air. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He grabbed Ivan’s coat from the hanger as he walked towards the door. “Also, can I wear your coat, Ivan?”

"You're already wearing it," Ivan said, rolling his eyes.

"Thank you!" Without waiting for an answer, Till left the chalet.

Just then, Mizi walked into the room, bringing knives and forks from the kitchen. “Let him be,” she casually said. “He was the loner type in the set too. Always needing some alone time.”

Ivan stared after the closed door for a while, but didn’t let his reckless curiosity take over. Instead, he managed to return to setting the table and kept placing the plates for lunch.

. . .

Just as he claimed, Till had returned in nearly ten minutes, looking better than he did before. He sat right next to Ivan on the table and dug into the food as Hyuna was telling them to be ready at five so they could arrive at the venue at six.

After chaotic hours of getting ready (Mizi occupying the girls’ bathroom with her long makeup process, Hyuna putting on some loud music that rang through the entire house, Till trying to choose what to wear from countless suits) they all had left the house and got into the limo to head to the gala.

As they were driving to Lake Shore, “Oh well,” Sua muttered. She was staring at her phone, possibly on Twitter. “I have some news everyone.”

To hear that had brought a million possibilities to Ivan's head: maybe news about Luka, the talk show record leaking, anything that would put Till’s privacy in danger—

“People seem to be convinced that Mizi and Till are dating,” Sua said.

Ivan couldn’t help but give a relieved breath at that. It could’ve been so much worse.

“Really?” Till asked. “God, people should stop believing everything they see online.”

Mizi sighed, crossing her arms. “We’re going to be asked a lot of questions about this tonight, aren’t we?”

“Deal with it,” Hyuna told them both, reading right into Ivan's mind. “We can handle a few rumors. Just be glad Luka hasn’t opened his mouth yet.”

The way she said it was doubtful, a note of discomfort draping from those words. And watching her feel so uncertain, Ivan couldn’t help but get uneasy about it too.

They arrived at the venue, met by fans cheering behind the barricades. Toronto had arranged good security, it seemed, because men in suits were everywhere, making sure people with no pass could enter the event. Mizi and Till had walked into the carpet with their fancy clothes, looking like a diva and a rockstar.

As they were posing for a group photo, Till wrapped an arm around Ivan’s neck. “Let me tell you one thing, I rented a car.”

Ivan wasn’t sure whether he heard that correct amidst all the camera clicks and fans screaming. “You did what?”

“I rented a car,” he repeated into Ivan’s ear, his voice so close that it sent a shiver down Ivan’s spine. “It’s waiting for us at the backdoor of the venue. After the red carpet, let’s sneak out and drive to the concert!”

Ivan turned to Till for a second, staring at the mischievous thrill on his face as the flashes went off.

“You’re insane,” he told him, returning to the blinding cameras. “But I like that.”

Till hummed. “You like that I’m insane, or you like that I’m insane?”

Ivan tried to prevent a smile, though it was not possible. “Stop trying to fiddle with it, pochemuchka .”

Ivan wasn’t sure if it was the interviews or the questions that began to get dull each passing night, but the events were getting insufferably long and the duty of translation was putting him under the doubt of whether he had sufficiently delivered what Till meant to say.

Most of the time, the questions were superficial. They asked what Till felt about the movie, if he could give out any information about the scenes in the trailer, if he was dating Mizi (which was asked at least about ten times on Toronto's carpet) and any sort of magazine news they could use to get more hits on social media.

Rarely were there any good reporters who cared more about the artistry of the work they did, and though translating those responses were harder, they were also worth a lot more.

Those were the questions that made Ivan learn unspoken sides of Till: the questions that unveiled his personal techniques and emotions towards his passion, which Ivan would give his everything to keep on listening for as long as possible.

. . .

“I can’t believe you had the chance to rent any car and you went with a Lamborghini Revuelto?” Ivan asked, staring at the latest marque sports car that Till proudly held the keys of. “What happened to being undercover?”

“Maybe undercover was a good idea for privacy purposes,” Till said as he rounded the car to get into the driver’s seat. “But in case we’re seen by the paparazzi, I’d rather be photographed driving this hot baby. Now, hop on!”

Ivan sighed before opening the door of the passenger seat and getting into the expensive car. They had managed to sneak out of the dining area and changed their suits with comfortable clothes in the bathroom.  And now, Ivan was sitting in a rented Lamborghini next to Till, who was wearing his favorite RHCP shirt and a black cap, nails painted black and the gala makeup still on his face.

As soon as they were in the car, Till placed his hands on the wheel, feeling the leather. “Are you ready to go?” he asked in the dark.

Ivan gave him a grin. “I am,” he said without a doubt. “Hit the gas.”

With that, the engines roared, Till hit the gas, and the car began to move, thrumming faster than the speed of lightning as they headed towards Lake Shore Boulevard. Ivan connected his phone to the car and put on Can’t Stop by Red Hot Chili Peppers, to which Till instantly started singing along. He rolled the windows down and let the wind in, the cold night merging into the lyrics they sang out loud.

“The world I love, the tears I drop,” Till sang, his hands on the steering wheel and eyes on the road, with a broad smile and a pitch perfect voice. 

“To be part of the wave, can’t stop,” Ivan also sang the lyrics he knew from the heart. “Ever wonder if it’s all for you? ” His eyes trailed to Till.

Truly, Ivan felt, all he did these past few days was for Till. But in some fluttering, satisfying way, he was nourished by all of it too. At that moment, the Chinese were too pessimistic, Ivan thought. If there was a word for sharing a loved one’s pain, there had to be one for sharing their joy too. Because as he and Till drove to a concert in a car that would only be theirs for the night, passing by the glowing night of Toronto they would never get to see again in months, that was the only thing Ivan was feeling.

“The world I love, the trains I hop,

To be part of the wave, can’t stop,

Come and tell me when it’s time to…”

. . .

When they arrived at the venue, the concert had nearly started. The guys who checked tickets by the gates had instantly recognized Till and surprisingly had allowed them easy access from a back door to their seats before the stage. As they got in, the stadium was dark with the only light being the led bracelets around people’s wrists. “Holy fucking shit,” Till was mumbling, gripping Ivan’s arm. “I can’t believe we’re here!”

In a sense, Ivan was excited too. This band was all he and Till used to listen to as freshmen in school; a common ground the two had, since it was the only type of rock music Ivan found bearable and Till only listened to rock bands. 

Who could’ve thought that one day, they would be standing side by side at a front row in their concert, ready to scream the lyrics at the top of their lungs?

Just then, the spotlight began to shine on the stage and members of the band started to walk in. The stadium cheered out loud, including Till and Ivan as the members got before their instruments, starting an intro jam.

Concerts, Ivan found, could be as magical as musical theater or cinema. Maybe he preferred it less than the other two, due to the loud and jammed crowd, but the performance on stage was an irreplaceable piece of art regardless, and to witness music come together alive was incredible. 

There was a sense of rhythm traveling between the band members, years of knowledge and practice they each put into their instruments. Maybe what led them to music in their early lives was different for all of them, but what kept them here at the same stage was common. And all of these people in the crowd, Ivan thought, were here to experience the fragment of music with their bare ears.

The stage lights went feral as guitars and drums entered the opening song in unison. Till yelled out loud when he recognized the song, which, Ivan did too. A track from their mutually favorite album, Californication .

The vocalist, Anthony Kiedis, grabbed the mic and started singing, “Dusting off your savior…”

By Ivan’s side, Till started singing as well. “You were always my favorite.” Along those words, Ivan felt Till looking at him, instead of the stage. “Always my man.”

Something in his chest tightened his heart. He swallowed every bit of his pride to look back at him. When he slowly did, their eyes met.

“All in a hand,” Till went on, not separating his eyes from Ivan with a smile that got visible as the moving spotlights struck his face momentarily. “To celebrate you is greater, now that I can.”

Only during the next line could Ivan dare to sing with him. “Always my man.”

As the secondary guitar and the bass got into the song with the next line, the lights changed. Till looked back at the stage, and the moment was over. Just like that. One second of exchanging glances, of singing words like promises—and then it was gone.

Not like Ivan could complain. That one second was enough. When he knew he couldn’t ask for more, when he knew he shouldn’t bring it up again, and when he knew whatever he felt was meant to stay there in his chest, that one second was enough.

He, as well, forced his eyes to focus back on the stage, well knowing that for the rest of the night, he would be thinking of that sole, little moment that probably didn’t mean a thing to Till, but the world to Ivan.

. . .

After the concert, both of their voices had gotten hoarse from singing, both dripping sweat from all the energy they spent.

But by God, Ivan really felt like he needed this.

“This was the best experience of my life,” Till was saying as they walked to the car. “Look at all the videos I took! Fucking hell, I’ll never forget tonight!”

“Me too,” said Ivan, staring up at the night sky. “The way we were so close to the stage—not to even mention John Frusciante’s performance.”

“I know right!” Till said, hopping. “My highschool self would’ve never believed I got to see him perform live. It was insane!”

They got to the Lamborghini and Till took the keys from his back pocket to unlock the doors, but as soon as the headlights flashed, Ivan grabbed the keys from Till’s hand.

“Hey!” Till called.

“If we have this car only for a night, I’m not letting you hand it back before I drive it,” Ivan said confidently. “Hop onto the passenger seat.”

For a second, Till blinked at him. Then, a smile grew on his face as he resigned for letting Ivan drive. “The way you said that just now,” he said playfully, “had an incredible duende to it.”

“Till!”

“I said what I said!”

. . .

Before driving back to the chalet, they had a stop at In-N-Out and ordered a packet dinner for two. To not make a mess in the rental Lamborghini, they waited until they were back in the chalet, but instead of going in, they strayed from the path into the greens and found a place with a good view of the city.

Till sank onto the dirt with the burger packet in his hand, opening the mouth of the paper bag and throwing a fry in his mouth.

Beside him, sat Ivan.

Toronto was a pool of twinkling lights under their feet, the CN Tower gleaming blue into the skyline. The breeze was subtle, rustling the trees and caressing their skins, in a way that made Ivan think they probably shouldn’t sit under it for long or else they would catch cold. 

But for a while, he thought, glancing at Till with the side of his eye, it was fine. For a little while, they could enjoy the night here.

“Ivan,” Till said. “Thank you for tonight.”

Ivan smiled to himself. “I enjoyed it as much as you,” he said. “It was fun.”

There was a short silence. 

At last, “Thank you for yesterday, too,” Till said. He hesitated before adding, “For being there at every second I needed, I mean.”

Ivan had almost forgotten about the talk show and the drinks they shared after the New York gala. The irritating thought of Luka came again, getting on Ivan’s nerves. 

“I’m here,” he said quietly. “And I will be here, at every second you need. Both in the present and future.”

Maybe it could be wishful thinking, or just Ivan’s imagination, but for a few seconds after he said that, it was almost like Till’s eyes were on his lips, until he turned away, to the sight of the CN Tower again.

In the end, “It means a lot,” he said. “Even to hear that means a lot.”

Ivan turned to the city view, too. After a little while of comfortable silence, “We can see a few stars from here,” he remarked.

“Yeah,” Till said, raising his chin. “Guess we don’t have to imagine them tonight.”

“I guess.”

Chapter Text

The night before, Ivan and Till had spent too much time outside, alongside too much energy, that when they returned to the chalet quietly to not wake the girls, neither of them could care about sharing the bed. They had been heavily exhausted, just laying onto the sheets like dead mass and barely managing to say goodnight before falling into a deep sleep of resting their bones and muscles

But Ivan hadn’t considered the morning after.

He was awakened by the sunlight leaking into the room through the curtains, the sound of birds chirping audible in the sweet silence. He blinked a few times to perceive where he was. The chalet in Toronto , it came to him. He inhaled, rubbing his eyes open.

Until by his side, someone touched him.

Ivan turned his head on the pillow, only to come across a sight he wanted to memorize and carve into his head.

Till, sleeping with his arms around his pillow, hugging it as he breathed in slowly, regularly. 

Right . They were not only sharing the room, but the bed as well.

Till’s arm was pressing on Ivan’s, a subconscious skin on skin contact. He was close enough for Ivan to hear his soft breathing, smell the scent of his expensive cologne, feel his pattern of muscles as he was leaning into Ivan.

“Till,” Ivan whispered softly.

But instead of waking up, Till rolled in his sleep, getting closer to him. His back was pressing to Ivan’s side now, head falling onto his shoulder. The touch of his hair tickled Ivan.

He recalled the movie premiere, where he’d watched Mizi touch his hair with desire. He wondered how it would feel like. A part of him wanted to turn to the side and approach Till a little more intimately, just to get a scent of his hair, just to touch his skin.

Ivan swallowed. As Till kept sleeping peacefully, He dared to raise a hand and lightly, gently run it through Till’s hair. It was soft under his touch, not a single strand tackling despite the way it always looked so messy.

Ivan’s hand carefully trailed down, to the hair at his nape, fingertips grazing his bare skin. 

His heart was thumping against his ribs, blood boiling as he attempted to slowly shift and lean forward just a little bit, and cautiously brought his lips to Till’s nape.

He didn’t breathe so Till wouldn’t feel it, didn’t kiss him properly so Till wouldn’t hear it. It was only a short, momentary touch of his lips on Till’s skin—a moment where all he felt was pure satisfaction.

The door knocked just then. “I really hope both of you sleepyheads are up and that I won’t have to drag you out of that room,” Hyuna called from the other side of the door.

Only then did Till stir, shifting in the bed with the voice he heard.

Ivan pulled his hand back. “We’re awake,” he mumbled in assurance. “No worries!”

By his side, Till yawned, rubbing his face on the pillow. “What time is it?” he mumbled as he blinked his eyes open.

Ivan pretended like nothing happened just a few seconds before. Trying to contain his heart rate with a deep breath, he reached for his phone on the bedside table. 

“Half past eight,” he told him. “I assume Hyuna wants us to be ready at nine.”

Till laid sideways on the bed, staring at Ivan. “I still feel sleepy.”

“Then you can sleep on the plane,” Ivan said. “We’re flying to London today, remember?”

Till nodded, his eyes closing with sleep in process. “I remember,” he said. 

It was vulnerable to Ivan, to see a famous actor like Till, laying on a bed, with an oversize shirt, smudged trails of makeup from the night before, and an awful bed hair. To know it was a sight reserved for him right now, with nobody else outside this room getting to see it.

Ivan managed to look away and straighten on the bed. “Come on, Till,” he told him. “We have bags to pack and half an hour to do so.” 

Till gave an unintelligible mumble as he shifted under the covers.

“Also,” Ivan said, just before standing up. “You have a terrible bed hair.”

When he heard that, Till bolted up from where he laid. All the sleep had vanished from his face. “ What ?” he asked, hands on his hair. “I don’t have bed hair!”

Ivan chuckled. “Yes, you do.”

“You pendejo !”

“It’s the truth, desvelado .”

. . .

Ivan was pretty sure he wouldn’t take the plane for a long time after this tour was over. Although the private jet was as comfortable as it could be, continuous flights made it exhausting and unbearable to the point he just wanted to get over with it and go to the next hotel.

But right now, when a flight from Toronto to London was expected to last seven hours, he was almost sure that time wouldn’t be here soon.

In the morning, as girls cleaned up the remainders of the movie night they had last night (the kitchen and living room to clean up, popcorn bowls to wash, blankets to put away), Ivan and Till drove downtown for the last time with their rental Lamborghini to hand it back to the owner.

By the time it was ten in the morning, they were already on the plane, about to fly to another continent. Ivan sat in his usual seat by the window with a new book at hand to start reading and headphones hanging from his neck as he scrolled down on his phone, trying to find a good song.

“Till,” Sua said as she was holding out a mirror for Mizi to do her makeup. “Did you see the pictures? You and Ivan were photographed last night at the concert.”

Ivan raised his head when he heard his name. Sua was extending her phone for Till, who stood in the hallway, pushing his bags on the overhead storage. “Really?” he asked, watching the footage Sua was showing.

Ivan stood up from his seat and leaned forward, crossing his arms on the top of the front seat. “Let me see,” he said.

Till took the phone from Sua and showed him. There were pictures of them enjoying the concert together, and also a video. The quality wasn’t that good, and the footage was dark, but the flashy spotlights made it obvious that it was Till in the video. By his side, Ivan was occasionally looking at Till, though one couldn’t have noticed if they didn’t watch it carefully.

Till clicked out of the tweet and scrolled a little down, coming across another picture of them. “Hah,” he said with a growing smile. “They got a photo of us getting into the Lamborghini! I told you it was the right decision to rent that !”

Ivan rolled his eyes. “And now people think you own that,” he said, sitting back into his seat. 

Till shrugged. “A little lie doesn’t hurt anybody.” He handed the phone back to Sua and closed the overhead storage before going to sit next to Ivan. His gaze trailed to the book on Ivan’s lap. “A new book?” he asked, settling onto the seat comfortably. “What is it this time?”

Ivan took a look at the paperback in his hands. “ Maurice by E. M. Forster,” he said.

The look on Till’s face proved that he had never heard of it before. He reached for the book in Ivan’s hands and started flipping through. “What is it about?”

“Well, it’s a love story,” he said, resting his palm on his cheek. He had to gather all the courage in him to say the next sentence. “Initially between two boys named Maurice and Clive.”

Till gave him a sideways glance of interest. “What happens to them?” he asked.

“They meet in school,” Ivan began. “Clive teaches Maurice about love and devotion. They spend their school years together, in a relationship.” He looked down at the book which Till still held. “Until Clive ends it up and declares he is marrying a woman.”

“Oh,” said Till. He stopped flipping through the pages. “Is that how it ends?”

“Not really,” Ivan said. “After Clive, Maurice meets another boy.” When he looked up at Till, their eyes met. “A boy named Alec, who falls in love with Maurice nearly immediately.”

Till gave a hum as he handed the book back to Ivan. “Go on. What happens then?”

Ivan took the book. “Well, it starts a bit complicated. Maurice and Alec spend a night together as a result of a misunderstanding, Maurice tries to deny the attraction he feels for Alec, and Alec hates that he can’t get Maurice’s attention. In the end, though, Maurice agrees to meet up with Alec in London. That’s when they clear up the misunderstandings in between and Maurice realizes his feelings for Alec are real.”

Till tipped his head to the seat, a small move that seemed undeniably sweet to Ivan’s eyes. “I like that,” Till said. “Let me guess though, does this one end badly too?”

“Come on,” Ivan said, making Till laugh. He as well couldn’t help but smile. “If I’m being honest, though, that was what I was expecting when I first read it,” Ivan admitted. He turned the book and opened the last few pages. “But it doesn’t end badly. It ends with Maurice saying goodbye to Clive forever, and moving on to be with Alec.”

Till leaned in a little to read the English pages, despite being quite bad at the language. In the end, “It’s strange to see you read something that ends happily,” he said.

Ivan knew that. Tragedy had always been more of his cup of tea than stories that ended without a heartbreak.

But it gives me hope , he thought, though he wouldn’t say it out loud. It gives me hope that maybe… it doesn’t have to end badly .

. . .

The seven hour flight was bearable, considering Till was too sleepy to stay awake and disturb anybody. Ivan had spent several good hours in the company of his book and soft classical music in his headphones. Some time before they landed, Mizi had brought sandwiches from the refrigerator for everyone and they had a late lunch session, discussing the London schedule.

“Alright now,” said Hyuna, biting into her sandwich. “We don’t have anything scheduled tonight, you guys are free to either rest in the hotel or stroll around the city. Don’t stay up late though, we have an interview the next morning. It will be released online afterwards. The rest of that day, I thought we could spend traveling. The British Museum, Big Ben, Tower Bridge, wherever you want.”

“I want to see the West End theater!” Mizi said, clapping.

“And Camden Market,” Sua added.

“I really need to visit Westminster Abbey,” Ivan said.

“And I want to go to Bond Street!” Till chimed in.

Mizi gave him a glare. “For what, buying designer clothes?”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t understand the thrill of being able to afford it, silverspoon. Your baby clothes ranged from Louis Vuitton to Chanel.”

“Till, I told you to stop calling me that!”

. . .

When they landed in London, it was raining. In that short moment between getting off of the plane and walking to the limo, Ivan had gotten the scent of soil, felt the pouring rain with his hand extended out of the umbrella, and seen the gray clouds covering the evening sky.

As they drove to the hotel, they saw a lot of sights despite the blurry and wet window view. They passed Buckingham Palace, lit by a thousand lights as the sky gave way to the night. Ivan got to see Westminster Abbey from afar, and after that, they drove by Big Ben, right when it was chiming. Till, Mizi and Sua dogpiled by the car window with amazement in their eyes, watching the glowing clock tower.

At the end, they had arrived at the hotel—a fancy building with the trace of historic architecture that fit into the ambiance of London. The receptionist, having recognized the actors, gave them access to private elevators in case they didn’t want to come across people, which Mizi and Till kindly accepted. Their bags were meticulously taken care of by the staff, and so they took the elevators to the respective floors as they were discussing what to do tonight.

They decided on having dinner outside, in a restaurant Mizi was recommended by a British friend of hers (who was, as expected, another famous actress Mizi had in her contacts like it wasn’t a big deal, but just an acquaintance). They spent almost an hour getting ready in the hotel and then met up at the lobby, with umbrellas and rather thick clothes, thanks to the unbalanced weather of London.

In the restaurant, they sat somewhere far from the windows to not be preyed upon by possible paparazzi or fans, and even though the waitress who took their order visibly recognized Mizi, she didn’t say much about it and respected their privacy.

They ordered everything they hadn’t tasted before: fish and chips, toad in the hole, shepherd’s pie—to the point they would press down the hunger. With Hyuna’s permission, they ordered gimlets, as well.

“A toast,” Mizi said, raising her glass, “To London!”

They all brought their drinks together, clinking at the center of the table. “To London,” everyone said in unison.

Till and Hyuna sloshed down their drinks while Ivan told them to slow down to not get drunk, though neither of them seemed to be listening.

After finishing their plates and having long conversations about what to do tomorrow, buying tickets for museums online, taking pictures of Mizi because she wanted a few for her social media, and discussing the upcoming gala, they had managed to pay the tab and leave the restaurant.

Before returning to the hotel, Mizi and Sua had insisted on walking around the streets a little, so Hyuna had joined them with the excuse of finding a market and buying supplies.

And that had left Ivan and Till to walk back to the hotel by themselves. It was late now, and the streets were less crowded. Was it the somber night or Till’s usual black cap disguise that prevented people or cameras from approaching them, Ivan wasn’t sure. But whatever it was, he was grateful.

“Do you remember the way back?” Till asked.

“I’m finding the hotel on Maps now,” Ivan responded, eyes on his phone. They were in a pretty street—though every street in London was pretty, Ivan considered. With old fashioned buildings, street lights flickering, and once in a while a double decker red bus passing by. The streets smelled earthy after the rain, poodles here or there reflecting the city lights.

Just then, Ivan’s phone buzzed with a notification.

Till raised his head almost immediately. “Who’s that?” he asked, leaning over Ivan’s shoulder. “Oh no, Ivan, do you have a lover you’re hiding from me?”

Ivan felt hot all of a sudden. “What? No—it’s literally a message from my dad, Till. I’m not hiding anything from you.”

Till hummed. “Your dad?” he asked. “What does he say?”

Ivan checked the notification shortly. “Nothing,” he said truthfully, showing the message to Till. “He’s asking how I’ve been, how the tour is going.”

“Thinking of it,” mumbled Till, watching the cars passing by, “I don’t think I ever got to meet your dad.”

That was true. Till’s timidity of father figures aside, Ivan’s dad had always lived in Russia and only visited Korea a few times a year to keep up with Ivan. And as a son to divorced parents, Ivan was used to this convention. There was never much time for his dad to meet his friends or even those he dated.

“You haven’t,” Ivan said. “But Moscow is a part of this press tour, and my dad invited us to stay at his place when we get there. You might meet him there, if you want.”

The offer seemed to make Till a little uncomfortable, but he tried to hide it behind the mask of an easy smile. “Sure, why not,” he said. “But that makes me wonder, how many things about you I might not know.”

That made Ivan’s heart skip a beat. He focused on the road ahead. “Let’s see,” he said, thinking. “Maybe you don’t know about the time I failed my etymology class in third year and had to spend the entire summer working part-time in the campus library while attending summer school to make up for it.”

Till laughed at that. “The entire summer?” he asked. “That sounds so bad. I’m so glad I dropped out right now.”

Ivan smiled. “Now you tell me,” he said.

“Tell you what?”

“Something I don’t know about you.”

Till gave it a short thought. “Oh, I have one. One time, I had to kiss a girl for a scene we were shooting for a TV series, and her boyfriend got so mad. We watched them break up in the middle of the set, all because I kissed her once.”

“Sounds like her boyfriend was the problem,” Ivan said.

“Of course! I didn’t even like her, just so you know.”

Ivan frowned. “Why would I need to know?”

Till ignored that. “Your turn,” he said.

By the pavement, a man was playing a soft guitar, singing to a microphone. “ Yesterday’s paper, telling yesterday’s news… ”

Ivan recognized the song. Streets of London by Ralph McTell.

“Well, I’ve tried to write poems before,” Ivan admitted.

“ Poems ?” Till echoed. “You’re going to read me one of those sometime.”

Ivan rolled his eyes with a smile. “Your turn, Till.”

“Okay, okay,” he mused, eyes up at the sky as he thought of something. “Oh! I took guitar lessons when I was a child.”

Now that had impressed Ivan. “Can you still play it?”

“I’m not sure, I must be rusty,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “My mom used to like it but my dad hated it so—he didn’t really let me continue the lessons. I can still read sheet music, though!”

When Till mentioned his dad, a part of Ivan wished he hadn’t brought it up. He looked down in a slight regret.

Till noticed it. “Your turn,” he reminded, not letting the spirit down.

Ivan blinked. “Yeah, let me think…”

The man playing guitar in the street kept singing the lyrics into the night. “ So how can you tell me you’re lonely? And say for you that the sun don’t shine? ”

“I used to hate my birthday,” Ivan said. “Because on Valentine's Day, everybody celebrated their relationships and forgot about me. During my school years, I rarely got any gifts on my birthdays.”

A slight rain had started grazing again, flowing with a pleasant noise. 

“ Let me take you by the hand,

And lead you through the streets of London,

Show you something to make you change your mind… ”

Till took a brief look at Ivan. “I’ll remember your birthday,” he promised. “Just you wait. Next year, I’ll put on a huge party for you.”

Small raindrops started to fall on Ivan’s head one by one, though it didn’t bother him. “No need for a huge party,” he said. “I’m fine with a small guest list.”

“Then, just you and me?” Till suggested.

Ivan wasn’t expecting that. He looked up at the boy by his side, whose green eyes watched him intently. He couldn’t help a smile. 

The frequenting rain didn’t affect the man on the pavement. He kept playing his guitar, kept singing the lyrics. “ So how can you tell me you’re lonely? ”

And as they were walking past the rainy streets of London, Ivan smiled at Till. “Just you and me works out fine.”

. . .

The next day, Mizi and Till had a video interview for an online channel, so the crew had woken up early. Ivan took a warm shower, dried his hair, and wore his favorite turtleneck with brown fabric pants and a trench-coat, an outfit perfect for the day. They drove to the studio, and kindly greeted the staff taking care of the set. 

The boy who was set to make the interview was a social media influencer, who was, apparently, a close follower of the Korean media and as his questions showed, knew a lot about the actors.

Unlike those cheap carpet reporters whose only intention was to learn whether Mizi and Till were dating, this boy had directed his questions to their artistry and upcoming projects.

During the recording, Ivan stood behind the camera, yet still translated the questions to Till—which, those scenes would be cut out later on during editing.

He asked them good quality questions about the specific scenes they struggled to shoot, funny memories they could recall from the set, their personal thoughts about the movie, and whether their roles had fulfilled their hopes.

It could be the only interview where Ivan saw Till laugh so much, ever since the tour started. This boy, who had introduced himself as Ravi, had a good humor and an easy attitude that made the actors feel comfortable.

After about an hour of recording, Ravi had called it an episode and respectfully thanked all of them by serving tea before they left.

“Thank you for being here today,” he told Till and Mizi. “It was truly an honor to meet you!”

“Same goes for you!” Mizi said with a genuine smile. “Thank you for the questions. It was refreshing to do something like this after the continuous gala interviews.”

“I know right,” said Till, grabbing a tea from the serving tray. “The dating rumors are exhausting.”

Ravi gave a knowing nod. “People always talk online,” he said. “They’re often too blinded by their romantic fantasies to see the reality. When something doesn’t go the way they want, the first thing they do is to stone the public figures.” He took a seat across the couch Mizi and Till were sitting on. “But you shouldn’t forget that there’s always people who know the truth and respect it. After all, public figures are not our toys. You all are your individual beings, with the freedom to choose what to do.”

Even though he was nowhere near the situation of Mizi or Till, to hear those words from Ravi had made Ivan feel better. If he looked close enough, he could see it had calmed all of their nerves.

Maybe after Luka, they all needed to hear this.

Even though nothing had gone down just yet, they needed it.

. . .

When they left the studio, it was already afternoon. They got out of the building and met the cold gray London air, before getting into the limousine to head to their next destination.

“Now that the work is over,” Till said, getting comfortable in the car seat. “Where to?”

Hyuna grinned. “To travel around the city, of course,” she said. “I prepared the perfect tour for you people.”

“Do we have West End in the list?” Mizi asked.

Sua interlocked her fingers before her chest. “And Camden Market!”

“Don’t forget Westminster Abbey,” Ivan noted.

“Bond Street too!” Till reminded.

Hyuna smiled. “Calm down, all of you. I got it all covered,” she said. “Trust me. By midnight tonight, you’re going to have seen every single sight of London.”

Chapter Text

“It’s weird that four days ago, we were trying to find a shade to sit under in Mexico City and now I wish there was sun in London,” Till was grumbling as Mizi was taking pictures before the Globe.

Ivan had spent a good time in the Shakespeare Globe Theater Bookshop, and had joined the crew with new bags of books hanging from his arms. Similarly, as Mizi observed the theater, Hyuna had gone to Swan to fill her stomach with whatever the British offered.

“Come here, all of you,” Sua said, holding her phone for a group selfie once everyone was there. Without a complaint, they all posed for the picture, Till wrapping an arm around Ivan in the process.

They had already seen Tower Bridge, Tower of London, and St. Paul’s Cathedral on the way.

As it was visible, Till wasn’t so big on historical grounds. Sights that Ivan traveled and observed with ultimate care, he didn’t seem to care as much. Several photos was all it took for him to be bored and ask Hyuna when they would go to the next stop. But despite his lack of interest, he always strayed to Ivan’s side. 

As Ivan was watching the Tower Bridge by the railings, Till joined him. As he was reading a historical progress of the Big Ben, Till read it with him (though Ivan doubted he understood any of it). As they walked around St. Paul’s Cathedral, he let him talk about Queen Anne, and they even took pictures with her statue.

And right now, they were in Westminster Abbey.

Mizi and Sua were in the gift shop, Hyuna was taking photos of every cool statue she saw, and Ivan—from the first moment they had stepped into the place—had decisively gone to the Poets’ Corner.

Being a writer meant feeling an inexplicable attraction to other writers in history. See himself in their words, seek affinity in their minds and lives. From Jane Austen to Oscar Wilde, John Milton to Emily Brontë, every single name was held preciously under the memorials.

As Ivan observed each statue, monument, marble wall tablet, and floor stone, Till trailed behind him, looking up at dead poets and writers in silence.

Their steps echoed in the abbey, sunlight leaking from colorful mosaic glasses. 

In the center of the corner was a statue of William Shakespeare. Ivan stood a little longer before it, enough for Till to catch up to him.

Till stared at the statue with him, along with the other poet busts around it. “What are you thinking of?” he asked.

Ivan took some time to consider the question. “I guess,” he mumbled, “I’m thinking that we share a fate.”

“How come?” Till asked.

“You know, they were creators. Fueled with an urge to write, build worlds so far from what they know, but also so within it you can’t separate reality from fiction.” He looked up at the posing Shakespeare, with a scroll draping from his hands. “But even after they’re dead, their legacy remains. Centuries later, we still read their works. Their words and minds. Whatever they thought in a world order so different from today, we still read it. Their legacy is ours to consume.”

“At that part, don’t you think we share a fate, too?” Till asked, turning to Ivan.

Ivan met his eyes. “You and I?”

Till nodded. “A writer creates,” he said. “An actor brings it to life. What you write, I tell. Doesn’t that connect us in artistry? Putting our skills and souls together, we touch other people’s hearts.”

That moment, that speech uttered in the Poets’ Corner of Westminster Abbey was something Ivan was never going to forget, and was going to come back to from time to time in his head. What he felt was a strange nostalgia for poets he’d never met before. An unspoken connection towards Till, a bond united by a mutual understanding of creation and a sentimental similarity of souls.

“You’re right,” Ivan managed to say, now thinking of what Till said in a new light. “That does make us share a fate.”

As Till moved on from Shakespeare’s statue to other poets’ memorials, Ivan was stuck on the word Till had used for fate.

인연 . In yeon. To translate it as destiny would be reducing its meaning, because it had more depth to it. It was the acknowledgment that whoever you meet in life was for a reason, even strangers you brush shoulders in the street. It was the tie between two people, like a string that never broke for the course of lifetimes.

But in yeon had another meaning, as well: a match made in heaven. Often used in the context of… romantic love.

“Come on, Ivan,” Till called, with a voice that echoed through the abbey. “We still have to see Elizabeth the First’s tomb!”

Ivan gathered himself. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m coming.”

. . .

After Westminster Abbey, girls had several bags of souvenirs and Till now had a mere idea about Oscar Wilde’s imprisonment (which Ivan had to explain to him without explicit details—though it was impossible).

Their next stop was the British Museum, however as they made their way to the landmark, they had a long stop at Bond Street upon Till’s request, so as Ivan and Hyuna walked around designer brands with him, Mizi and Sua had the chance to get lost in streets of West End, getting to see every single theater London had to offer.

Time was already nearing evening when Till was done walking around super expensive shops (he’d even gotten recognized by a French fashion designer in Louis Vuitton), and Mizi was done taking pictures with Wicked posters. So finally, they moved on to the British Museum.

Apparently the museum was open until late hours and the general tourist crowd was gone by now, leaving both movie stars to walk around in freedom.

Ivan had always been invested in history, but after his time in university, that interest had grown much more, with his expanding knowledge of languages around the world.

Now, as they walked around the British Museum, he was finding himself trying to read ancient stone slabs, trying to make some sense of hieroglyphs. Mizi was more interested in exquisite statues, while Sua spent time around handmade bowls and vases with art carved upon them. She specifically pointed out the Sophilos Vase, which Ivan explained was about the wedding of mythological Greek characters, Peleus and Thetis. Till was stopping before every painting and staring at it until he understood the message it delivered. And Hyuna, who trailed behind all of them, was tutting in annoyance every time she saw a broken statue, saying the British should’ve left these where they were.

They stopped at the Great Court Shop for more souvenirs that Mizi wanted to buy for her friends and family, which was a shop worthy of its name because it had everything . Hyuna bought a load of snacks to try out as always, and Till got some useless mini knight figures for absolutely no reason.

By the time they left the museum, the sky was in the shade of blue before nightfall. Streetlights had begun turning on. Hyuna got two large pizzas from The Pizzeria right by the museum, and they sat on the grasses in the Bedford Square Garden, digging in.

“Man, today was fun,” Till said before taking a big bite from his pizza slice. “I’m going to miss London.”

“We’re here for tomorrow too,” Hyuna reminded. “Since the gala is tomorrow night, I figured we could go to Camden Market in the morning and maybe even go see a tennis match.”

“And after the gala?” Ivan asked.

“We’re packing our bags and getting on our yacht to sail to Spain. From Plymouth to Santander, it’s supposed to take twenty hours, so consider that night spent on board.”

Mizi looked up at the darkening sky. “Ah, the scent of the sea and some privacy will be good. I really needed that.”

“I know right,” Till said. “After this tight schedule, it will be like a reward.”

“The schedule doesn’t seem to be tight enough to prevent you from going to concerts, though,” Hyuna chimed in.

Ivan and Till exchanged a guilty glance. 

“Let them be, Hyuna,” Sua said with a smile. “They deserve a break from all this. You too.”

“Then we should get champagne for the cruise!” Mizi clapped in excitement. “And after Spain we fly to France, right? I’ll get us a night on Moulin Rouge—or Opéra Bastille… Oh, maybe a fancy dinner? I can arrange something if I call my father’s acquaintances—”

“Don’t even bother, Mizi, because I’d rather go eat McDonalds,” Till said, making Hyuna burst into laughter.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t recommend taking Till to a fancy place when the only French words he knows are son of a bitch and asshole,” Ivan said, grabbing another pizza slice.

“Hey!” Till said. “I would learn if you taught me!”

Mizi rolled her eyes. “You most certainly wouldn’t.”

“Eat shit, Mizi!” Till turned to Ivan. “How do I say that in French?”

“ Mange merde ,” Ivan and Mizi said in unison.

Caught off guard by the hard pronunciation, Till blinked at them vacantly. At last, “Yeah, that,” he said in surrender, making them laugh again.

. . .

“I told you that by tonight, you were going to have seen every sight of London,” Hyuna told them in the limo as they were riding somewhere else. “And I stand by my word.”

“Come on, Hyuna, tell us where we’re going before I start biting someone,” Till said.

Ivan raised a brow. “ What ?”

That was ignored. Hyuna went on, “I think I don’t need to tell, because we seem to be already there.” She took one glance out of the car window.

When everyone turned to look out the window in interest, they were passing by the Big Ben to the Westminster Bridge. And when Ivan leaned forward to see beyond the Thames…

“London Eye!” Mizi exclaimed. “How did I not think about this?”

“Are we getting on it?” Till asked excitedly.

Hyuna gave a cool smile. “We are. The glass pods are usually public but with the help of Sua, I managed to contact them and reserve private ones for us.”

Mizi turned to Sua. “You never told me!”

Sua was laughing at that. “It was so hard to keep it a secret, but I wanted you to get the best experience of everything.”

“Sua,” Mizi mumbled, eyes glinting like she could cry. “I love you so much!” She hugged the other girl so tight Sua squealed.

The car dropped them in front of the London Eye, where Mizi and Till temporarily got in disguise to pass the queue of tourists without trouble.

Hyuna and Sua talked to the employees shortly while Ivan stood by Till and Mizi like a bodyguard, and soon enough, they had access to the glass pods.

Mizi jumped in as soon as the doors opened, followed by Hyuna and Sua. Just as Ivan was following them into the carriage, Till held his wrist.

“Let them go on that one,” Till said. “We’ll get on the next one.”

Watching them stand still, “You two are not coming?” Mizi asked from inside the pod.

“No,” Till confidently said. “We will get on the next one, so I can spend thirty minutes without your loud voice.”

Mizi rolled her eyes instantly. “You’re an awful person.”

Till gave her a sarcastic smile. “Love you too, silverspoon.”

The employees closed the doors of the glass pod and moved the mechanism to get the next one. The previous customers left the pod, and so Till walked in, gesturing for Ivan to follow.

“We could go with them,” Ivan told Till as the employees were closing the door. 

Till stretched his arms. “Not really. This ride takes half an hour, Ivan. Being closed in the same pod with Mizi would be so exhausting. I mean, I love her but I genuinely don’t understand how Sua does it.”

The mechanism started to move and the glass pod began to rise. “Well,” Ivan said, sitting on the wooden seat in the center of the pod. “She does care a lot about Mizi.”

“She surely does,” Till said. As the pod slowly moved upwards, going one fragment at a time, he sat on the other side of the wooden seat, leaning on Ivan’s back. “You think that’s enough to tolerate someone no matter what?”

Ivan’s thoughts easily went to his fourth year of university. “No,” he said quietly. “It’s not enough. There also has to be admiration. And respect.”

Ivan put a hand on the seat. When he accidentally touched Till’s hand, he tried to pull back but Till moved his hand so slightly to touch it again. “What else?” he asked.

Ivan looked outside the glass pod, watching London rise beneath their feet. “Compersion,” he said. “That’s another thing.”

Till paused for a while, before asking, “You know, I really don’t want to be that person but… what does that word mean?”

Ivan smiled. “It means to share someone’s happiness purely, with no evil thoughts.” As memories flooded to his head, his smile took a bittersweet form. “And of course, there is affection. Interest, as well.”

Till tipped his head backwards, laying it on Ivan’s shoulder without a word.

Ivan looked down at his lap, overwhelmed by the dull remainders of a past love. “It sounds like I’m describing infatuation instead.”

The pod was now high enough to see the Westminster Bridge lit in warm lights, alongside the glowing Big Ben and the Westminster Palace which was a part of it.

“Tell me what that word means?” Till said, his request coming off more like a question.

“Infatuation?” Ivan asked. “It’s stupid, really.”

“I want to know.”

There was a moment reserved for hesitation, for remembering the man he had foolishly loved in his youth, thinking he was loved back the same. He swallowed. “It means an obsessive, unreasonable attachment you have for someone. It’s romantic, but not love. Instead, it’s short-lived. Unsustainable. The type you think is love but in reality… it’s all in your head.”

A long silence. The London Eye kept rounding itself, revealing more of London’s cityscape to the pod.

“Something in your voice tells me,” Till said softly, “that you’ve been through that.”

Ivan gave a scoff despite himself. “Is it that obvious?”

“Maybe,” said Till. “Or maybe I’m just an actor who has been through a lot of improv.” 

Beside their bodies, Till’s pinky finger surreptitiously curled around Ivan’s.

Right now, in a glass pod many feet up in the sky, it was like there was nothing holding Ivan from speaking the words he had buried so deep in his chest for years that he had forgotten their weight.

“I just hated it,” he said. “I hated that I was such a fool.” The rest of his thoughts streamed out of his mouth weaved in with his heaviest emotions. “I hated that he would’ve rathered to die than to be seen with me. I hated that he looked at me like he was in love but in reality, all he wanted was somebody to tell him he was hot. All he wanted was someone to—to touch for the night and pretend I didn’t exist the next day. I hated that he made me feel small, and fuck it, I hate that I agreed . I hated that he made me think I was wrong. That nobody could love me, that I was just not enough— never could be enough—”

Ivan wasn’t sure what happened next. One second, Till was leaning on his back with his head on his shoulder; the next, he straightened. He turned on the seat, one hand grabbing Ivan’s cheek and inclining it towards himself.

They were on top of the London Eye, with countless lights winking from the horizon. Countless hearts beating in this city, countless lives intertwining under the same moon.

But the moment Till’s lips touched Ivan’s, all of it disappeared. It was so soft, so hesitant—a touch that knocked his feet off the ground, made him forget how to breathe. 

Without a thought he closed his eyes. He leaned into it. All his mind perceived was the sensation. Almost like if the world ended now, he wouldn’t care. Like everything that came before this and would come after this had no meaning, but just this one kiss was enough.

After a long, careful press of his lips, Till pulled back. Ivan opened his eyes at the sight of Till staring unsurely. His eyes were asking for confirmation, for an excuse to lean in once more.

So this time, Ivan took the chance. The next time their lips met, it was with desire. A desire so different from the forged kiss he’d watched in Los Angeles, now that he was the person getting to touch Till.

The hand on Ivan’s cheek slid to his nape, to his hair in order to pull him closer.

Ivan had kissed other people before. In school parties he’d been dragged to, at nights he’d been invited to watch a movie, in beds of people who cared not about his feelings but how they felt, instead. 

But this could be the first one that meant something… different.

Till’s touch was sensitive, each kiss slow and deliberate like he wanted to savor how it felt like. Not letting go of Ivan like he wanted to memorize the skin under his fingertips.

He didn’t kiss Ivan like he kissed Mizi on screen. This was messier, unbalanced, out of control.

And Ivan liked it. He liked the way it gave a flutter to his heart, a short circuit to his mind, a freedom to his hands. He liked that he could hear Till’s breathing, taste his lips—and if he dared, feel his hair between his fingers.

He did. He dug his hand into Till’s hair, meanwhile Till’s hands curled into fists at Ivan’s collar, pulling him in as much as possible.

For a moment, as they had pulled away to breathe properly, words spilled from Ivan’s mouth before he could register it. 

“ Я так долго этого хотел, ” he whispered.

Till met his eyes. “What does that mean?” he asked quietly.

“I hadn’t meant to say it in Russian,” Ivan said, scoffing. He lifted a hand to brush a strand of hair out of Till’s face. “I said that I’ve been wanting this for so long.”

That response seemed to amuse Till. He gave a wicked grin. “You weren’t showing it, though,” he said teasingly.

Ivan blinked. “I—I wasn’t sure of you so I didn’t want to make it obvious—”

“You weren’t sure of me ?” Till echoed. “Even after that night in New York? Hell, even after that night in Toronto?”

“Till, people gave me a lot of mixed signals at the time. I’ve seen enough to know it’s better to not take the hint than to be hopeful,” he said soundly.

The look in Till’s eyes changed. His hands slid from Ivan’s collar to his neck, rubbing his thumb along his jaw. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Whoever made you feel that way, fuck them.”

There, one sentence that ruined the severity of the moment.

“Those fucking assholes didn’t deserve you. In fact, I could ruin their lives single-handedly.”

“I know,” Ivan assured. “I know you can, but I’d rather you not.”

“No fucking shit,” Till said. “I could sleep with their moms.”

Ivan rolled his eyes while Till was busy laughing at his own joke. “ Till .” 

“What? I could!” he insisted. “I mean, not that I would. Who wants to sleep with them when I could sleep with you?”

Blood rushed to Ivan’s cheeks. “ What ?”

But Till, impetuous as always, had already moved on as if what he said was just an unnecessary detail, and turned to look out of the glass pod. “Shit, is that Buckingham Palace? We can see that much from here?”

As Ivan watched him stand up with excitement, pressing both hands on the glass to see it more clearly, all Ivan wanted to do was to laugh: with satisfactory joy of having what he wanted, contentedness of being here right now, on top of London, with someone he wouldn’t trade to the world—and knowing that what he felt wasn’t in vain.

The night was glowing, dotting lights surrounding the Thames and bringing life to the darkness. And in Ivan’s mind, this scene would forever be engraved as an entrenched memory. 

. . .

The next morning, Ivan woke up to his phone vibrating with a notification. Still in a sleepy state of mind, he turned on the hotel bed and grabbed his phone. Hugging the pillow under his chest, he clicked the lock screen open and blinked a few times at the message.

Till: I hope you’re awake because I need to choose an outfit for the gala tonight.

Ivan stared at the message shortly, before scoffing into his pillow. 

Ivan: I thought the kiss would change some things between us.

Till : Well, it’s not going to change the fact that I trust your fashion selections.

A second later, Till sent another text.

Till : It could change the situation between us and give it a name, though.

Ivan’s heart beated against his ribs, fingers hovering above the keyboard with a fluster.

Ivan : Can I come to your room?

There was a moment where three dots in the corner disappeared and Till left Ivan’s message on read. Ivan tried to not put much reading into it, but as he stared at the constant screen, a part of him couldn’t help but feel off.

But then, after nearly a minute, he texted again.

Till : Sure. It’s room 450.

. . .

In about five minutes, Ivan was standing in front of room 450. He hesitantly raised a fist and knocked thrice.

The door opened so quickly.

Inside, Till was standing with a shirt and shorts, smiling as soon as he saw Ivan. “Morning,” he said.

“Morning,” Ivan mumbled. “You don’t look as sleepless today.”

“Maybe it has to do with last night,” Till suggested as he turned around and walked into the hotel suite.

“Sure,” Ivan said, following him in. About that , he meant to ask, but before he could even form the question in his head, Till pointed at the two suits sprawled on his bed.

“Now, which one do I wear?”

Ivan didn’t have to think much. “The green one, obviously,” he said. “It would bring out the color of your eyes.”

Till halted. “I’ve been trying to think of which one to wear since yesterday and you do it in five seconds? Life is not fair.”

As he took the other suit off the bed and put it on hangers, Ivan sat on his bed. Till’s hotel room was grand, since they tended to reserve expensive suites for him and Mizi. It was quite messy, though. Charger draping from the vanity table, clothes piled up on his open suitcase, his black cap on his bedside table, and a pressed can of beer in the bin.

Ivan looked back at Till, who was placing the hung up suit into the hotel wardrobe. He pulled his legs to himself and leaned on the bed frame. “Till, about last night,” he found himself saying.

Till’s head instantly turned to him. “Yeah. Do you need a formal declaration of my feelings or was that kiss enough? You know, I can give you another.”

“No—I mean, yeah sure, I would love that—but that’s not the point,” Ivan jabbered. “What I wanted to mean was whether we would… you know, tell the others or keep this between you and me.”

He hated that he was asking this, because the dilemma in Till’s eyes was readable. Of course, he didn’t want to tell them—his tendency to keep a private dating life aside, Ivan was a boy. Till was an idol to the eyes of the media. Everything he did was doomed to be a headline when people like Luka were ruling the industry.

But at the same time, there was an understanding on his face, as if he was recalling the words Ivan told him in the ferris wheel last night. All he wanted was someone to touch for the night and pretend I didn’t exist the next day . He understood the weight of keeping this a secret, as much as he knew all the reasons to keep it so.

Just then, the door knocked.

Till didn’t answer the question. Instead, he headed for the door and opened it.

“Good morning, Till.” Mizi’s voice. “We’re going to Camden so I thought somebody had to wake you up because you weren’t picking up the phone.”

Ivan looked at the bedside table then. Till’s phone stood face down, possibly on mute.

“Oh,” Till said. “Right. I forgot about it.”

When Mizi peeked at the room from over Till’s shoulder, she saw Ivan. “Oh, Ivan? What are you doing here at this hour?”

The boys glanced at each other without an answer.

Though, Mizi didn’t seem to take the hint—didn’t even get suspicious. She just casually walked into the room. “Good thing I got you because I was just about to come to your room to wake you up, too. Just like you heard, we’re going to Camden so you two better get ready.”

Ivan stood up from the bed noddingly. “Of course. I was just leaving now, anyway,” he said.

Before he left the room, Till looked his way, but didn’t say a thing. Not a word.

. . .

Their trip to Camden Market was like another souvenir hunt. Sua spent so much time looking at clothes, home decorations, accessories, basically anything. Till got himself a new pair of shoes, Mizi got unique handwoven clothes, Ivan found a historical booklet about Britain, and Hyuna got a vintage radio just because she thought it looked cool. Still, truth to be told, their time there didn’t last long because Mizi got recognized quickly in a place as crowded. After being surrounded by fans, Hyuna had to call the limo to get them.

Through the day, Till acted normal around Ivan, though small glances in between sometimes gave it away.

But nobody would’ve caught it because Till was an actor. He found the most surreptitious moments to touch Ivan’s hand, to put a hand on his shoulder, to lean in to whisper.

And every time they got close in contact, Ivan wished he would speak up and settle the question from the morning.

But Till never mentioned it.

By the afternoon, they were at a tennis match Hyuna had insisted on going to, and nobody saw a point in complaining against a Wimbledon fan about that, so they complied. It turned out, Till was interested in tennis when someone explained it to him. Fifteen minutes into the match, he was already rooting for Andy Murray. Each time the player made a score, he raised a high five to Ivan, wrapping an arm around him as an action of excitement.

Ivan took pleasure in those small moments, occasionally daring to hold longer onto Till’s hand after those high fives or slide a hand to his waist during those arm wraps.

But it only stayed at that and never went further.

By the time the match was over, Andy Murray had lost by a hair’s breadth, making Till upset while Hyuna thanked herself for not betting on the match. Afterwards, they had returned to the hotel to get prepared for the night, change into sparkly fashionable clothes, wear suitable makeup for flashing cameras, and shape their hair into styles of elegance.

London night was set to be almost as grand as Los Angeles. A big venue, with spectacular chandeliers and marble floors. There were reporters at the gates, people dressed for the event.

One by one they got out of the limo, still in a location under shadows, behind the set carpet. As Sua was helping Mizi with her dress (which was so long, but designed just for tonight—suited her body perfectly), Ivan stole a glance from Till.

He was wearing the green suit Ivan had suggested for him to, and by God, he looked flawless. He stood with his hands in his pockets, expectant eyes watching the ground, listening to the noise of the crowd beyond the shadows.

He looked like a statue, with cross earrings hanging from his ears, and a similarly silver necklace from his neck. 

After the kiss, it was like a wall of limits had broken down in Ivan’s head, to the point where he had no shame in walking up to Till.

“Hey,” he said.

Till looked up from the ground as if his voice had brought him back to the present. “Hey,” he said with a smile. Between their bodies, his hand grazed Ivan’s fingers. “What do you think of the green suit?” he asked.

“I like it,” Ivan mumbled. “You look hot,” he added without a second thought.

At that, Till raised a brow. “Hot?” he echoed, mimicking the way he did in Los Angeles. “You could’ve gone with beautiful, you know.”

Ivan couldn’t help a scoff. “Both,” he whispered. “You’re both.”

“Boys!” As soon as Hyuna called, Till pulled his hand back.

Of course, he would pull his hand back. Ivan pressed down the bad feeling in him.

“We’re going on the carpet,” Hyuna said. “Come on, Till. You need to make your first appearance with Mizi.”

Till nodded. “Of course,” he said. Without looking at Ivan, he walked past him and held a hand out to Mizi like she was his chaperone.

Jealousy, Ivan found, was untamable. It was a strange combination of desire and greed, one your mind and thoughts couldn’t validate unlike most of the emotions.

And it stung. It stung so bad that all Ivan wanted was to go back to that moment on top of the London Eye, to the morning at the chalet, to the Red Hot Chili Peppers concert, to the night they drank in New York, to the beach at Los Angeles, to the flight Till had fallen asleep on Ivan’s shoulder and there was nobody to make him pull back from it.

Despite the reality, a part of him just wished he could.

Chapter Text

“Did something happen between you and Till?” 

When Sua asked that question in the after party, Ivan almost spit out the champagne he was drinking.

Managing to swallow the drink without choking on it, “No,” he cautiously mumbled. “Why would you ask?”

“Because despite being around Hyuna all evening, he keeps staring at you,” Sua said.

As he always did around her, Ivan thought of the untranslatable Korean phrase again. 눈치가 빠르다 . To read the room, be aware of the situation.

Somehow, she always knew.

“I’m not sure why,” Ivan evaded.

Ever since the gala had started, Till wasn’t speaking much. He had given a lesser amount of interviews, deliberately skipping through reporters that called his name, merely stopping on the carpet for pictures.

And during the after party where only selected names of the industry got to join, neither of the boys had caught the chance to talk to each other alone.

There was always somebody trying to shake Till’s hand, nag him or Ivan about the movie, express their admiration. And all they could do was to smile at every single man and woman in those fancy soirée clothes, and hold up a polite conversation. 

And right now, Hyuna seemed to be so deep into a conversation with Till that she and him were at the beverage corner for about twenty minutes.

“Does it, by any chance, have to do with what you asked me in Mexico?” Sua said. “You know, about what I would do if Mizi was upset.”

Ivan folded his arms thoughtfully. “I just have an off feeling about his actions sometimes. It’s almost like…” He paused. Blinking in realization, he turned to Sua. “Hold on. I never said that it was about Till.”

At that, Sua started laughing. “Well, that part wasn’t so hard to catch up to. Till truly did seem to be upset that day, with the paparazzi and stuff. Really, what you think is subtle only requires a little observation.”

That last sentence was probably supposed to ease Ivan’s nerves. Yet given the circumstances between him and Till, it only made him more tense.

“So, you think something is off about him?” Sua went on.

Ivan tried to play it casual. “Kind of,” he said. “But I’m not sure how to… approach him about this.”

Sua gave a considering hum. “Well, I’d say wait for him to come up to you with it, instead.”

“Do you think he would?” Ivan asked, genuinely curious.

“I’m not as close with Till, but I can see he cares about your opinions. I’m pretty sure if he needed guidance from any of us, you’d be the one he would choose to go to.”

To hear it phrased like that was satisfactory.

“I hope that’s true,” Ivan said, eyes on Till who was telling something to Hyuna with a distressed face, frowning in concern.  He shortly glanced away and met Ivan’s gaze. His expression didn’t give away any emotion, but to Ivan, it was almost like a million words laid underneath the surface of it. When Hyuna said something, Till returned to her.

So, Ivan looked away too.

. . .

After the event, they returned to the hotel to pack and take a short flight to Plymouth. From there, as Hyuna said, they were going to get on the yacht and sail to Santander, which they would arrive at the next night.

It meant they had almost a day in the sea.

The flight could be short, but Till still sat next to Ivan. He took out one of his earphones and tucked it into Ivan’s ear, brushing his hair away with his fingertips in the process.

Ivan let him. “What are we listening to?” he asked softly.

Till shrugged. “Whatever you want.” He extended his phone to Ivan. “Put on something good.”

Ivan took the phone and started scrolling through a long playlist of Till’s where he put… basically everything he listened to, regardless of the genre. He kept scrolling until a familiar song caught his eye. Hand in Glove by The Smiths.

As soon as he clicked on it, drums and guitar started playing through the earphones.

Till recognized the song. “Is this The Smiths?” he asked before Morrissey even started singing.

“It is,” Ivan said, handing the phone back. “I didn’t know you listened to them.”

“Oh, everyone listens to them,” Till said. “They are like a gift from heaven to the history of music.”

Ivan chuckled. “That I agree.”

“ We can go wherever we please,

And everything depends upon,

How near you stand to me… ”

As the song kept playing, Till turned his phone off. Between their seats, his hand found Ivan’s. When Ivan took his hand in his and rubbed a finger over his knuckles, he could feel the healing scar, left from New York.

“ And if the people stare, then the people stare,

Oh, I really don’t know and I really don’t care… ”

In the warmth of that tiny moment, Ivan dared to let his head fall on Till’s shoulder. He was exhausted to the point that what he did this morning felt like it was yesterday, and to lay on the crook of Till’s neck could be the only thing to help him rest now.

Much to his surprise, Till didn’t push him off of his shoulder because they weren’t alone and the girls could see them like that.

Instead, he let a hand go up to Ivan’s cheek, to his hair—a small gesture that was like a dream Ivan never wanted to wake up from.

“ So hand in glove I stake my claim, I’ll fight,

To the last breath,

If they dare touch a hair on your head, I’ll fight,

To the last breath… ”

. . .

They landed on Plymouth an hour before midnight, and drove to the shore where their yacht awaited.

It was a small, private harbor. As soon as Mizi saw the white cruiser that was to take them to Santander, she cheered in excitement. They met the crew members, who were only two people—the captain and his right hand man. As they only spoke English, Ivan and Mizi took the lead in communication. The captain was named Dean, and his mate was Finley. Finley took their luggages and loaded them into the yacht as Dean toured them around the vessel.

When they got inside, both Ivan and Till’s jaws dropped. The yacht was as good as the private jet, even better than it. There was a broad lounge filled with couches and pillows where they could hang out, with a kitchen in the corner and windows all around. When they walked out of the lounge to the deck, there was a pool, surrounded by sunbeds put for tanning and a table for dining. Up the stairs was where the captains operated and a rooftop deck to sit and watch the sea. And when they went downstairs from the lounge, they met a long hall with cabins on both sides. 

Finley had put their bags there in the hall and told them to take whichever room they wanted, and so they had. Mizi and Sua took rooms next to each other, and Ivan proceeded with the one next to Hyuna’s. Watching him do so, Till took the room on Ivan’s other side.

They exchanged a short glance, one others wouldn’t have caught.

As everyone grabbed their bags to settle for their rooms, “Lounge in fifteen minutes, then?” Mizi asked.

“Lounge?” Till repeated. “God, Mizi, let me fucking sleep. It’s midnight.”

“You can sleep all day tomorrow,” Mizi insisted. “Dean is going to serve us champagne. Plus, after the events, we always need a recharge.”

“Yeah, those I drank in the event weren’t enough,” Hyuna said, walking into her room. “I need more to get a good sleep tonight.”

“You’re an alcoholic,” Sua called.

“I proudly am one!” Hyuna responded before closing the door.

And so, the next fifteen minutes were spent with the girls taking off their glamorous makeups and undoing their hairs. Ivan didn’t have much to do: he had already changed into comfortable clothes before the flight to Plymouth and so, he just put his bags down and found himself before Till’s room.

He knocked on the door.

There was a short while before Till opened the door. But when he did, Ivan nearly lost his cool.

In front of him, Till was standing shirtless, with his messy hair falling on his forehead and silver accessories still draping from his ears and neck. He looked so…

No. Nope . Ivan took his eyes off of his bare chest, and focused on his face. 

“Hey,” Till said. “I was just about to take a shower. Honestly, I’m thinking of skipping the champagne session Mizi wants. I’m way too exhausted for that, I just want to sleep.”

As Till walked back into the room and started rummaging through the cabinet for a towel, Ivan leaned on the doorframe. “I understand,” he said. “You deserve to rest.”

Till pulled out a towel and put it on his shoulder. Before walking into the bathroom, he came up to Ivan again. 

For a long moment, he stared into his eyes. Framed in light, he looked beautiful. Despite the visible fatigue in his eyes, he still looked irresistibly beautiful.

Ivan raised a hand and slightly let his fingers graze Till’s cheek. Till immediately leaned into it, raising his chin.

“Can I…” Ivan intended to whisper, but Till knew better.

“Yes,” he responded without a doubt.

Ivan swallowed in expectation. He carefully leaned in and so delicately, brought his lips upon Till’s. It was like breathing again, his touch seethed with desire and yearning and a thread of jealousy he couldn’t seem to shake off of his limbs. 

But Till understood it. And so, in return, he gave Ivan more. He rose on his tiptoes, slid his hands to the sides of Ivan’s heated neck, kissed him deeper.

When Ivan brought his hands to Till’s bare waist, he stifled a sigh by pressing his mouth harder on the other boy’s. The hands at Ivan’s neck trailed to the wide collar of his shirt, pulling it down as Till slid his hand inside, tracing Ivan’s collarbone. His touch was engulfing, making Ivan’s mind hazy in the best way possible. If he could, he would never let go. If he could—

A door rattled in the hallway just then.

That was all it took for their kiss to be broken, for Till to step back and Ivan to still in the panic of getting caught.

“Hey, Ivan!” It was Mizi. “Oh, and Till. Are you two coming upstairs?”

Ivan gathered himself. He turned his back on the threshold. “In a few minutes,” he told her, trying to sound casual.

“I’m not!” called Till. “I’d rather sleep than party.”

Mizi pouted in offense. “Killjoy.”

“Sorry, silverspoon, I’m not built to party all night like you and your bourgeoisie friends.”

With a roll of eyes, Mizi threw her hair back and started walking away, up the stairs to the lounge.

As soon as she was gone, Ivan and Till looked at each other. A glance that confided their secret.

Till’s lips curled into a smile as he reached to brush Ivan’s hair out of his face. “You better go, before she gets suspicious,” he said.

Ivan didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay here, to kiss Till for longer, to be here as he took a shower and slept.

But that was wishful thinking, one Ivan couldn’t afford in this reality.

He gave a sigh at last. “Alright,” he said. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Till said. “How do you say that in Spanish?”

“Buenas noches,” Ivan translated. 

Till gave him a smile. “Buenas noches.”

. . .

In about ten minutes, the yacht had left the harbor and Dean had served everyone champagne and fruit plates. Finley put on some soft music on the speakers and everyone dissolved into a nice conversation, sprawled across the couches.

Mizi and Sua seemed to be having the time of their lives as they got to know Dean and Finley, listening to their stories from the high sea. It turned out Finley recognized Mizi from several movies she starred in, but Captain Dean was quite old and disconnected from the media to know her at all. Which, truthfully, seemed to put Mizi at more ease, to be around people that didn’t know who she was.

In return for all the stories the sailors shared, Mizi shared their own. 

“And so now, we are going to Madrid for our next event,” Mizi was saying. “It’s the beginning of the Europe leg of this press tour: followed by France, Italy, Germany.”

“Oh, that does sound fun to travel around the world,” Finley said. “Captain and I usually stick to the specific routes, so even though we travel, it’s limited to places. See, I’ve never been to America.”

By Ivan’s side sat Hyuna. She grabbed a handful of cherries from the mini table where they put the fruit plates.

“So, you guys are on a tour to promote this movie,” Captain Dean said, ankle resting on his knee. He pointed at all of them one by one. “You wrote it, you directed it, you play the lead, and you’re her manager. That’s impressive, all of you. There was this one other boy with you, though, wasn’t there?”

“That’s Till. He’s asleep now,” Ivan said in English. “He was too exhausted.”

Dean chuckled. “That’s understandable. All that travel gets one weary and drowsy. I’ve been there.”

From the fruit plate, Hyuna grabbed a slice of green apple and bit on it. “Speaking of Till,” she said, though with a low voice only Ivan could hear.

Ivan turned to her curiously.

Hyuna shifted a little closer to him on the couch, surreptitiously looking around at the lounge to make sure Mizi and Sua were drifted into a long conversation with Dean and Finley, and the slow music was loud enough for her to speak lower than it.

At last, she looked Ivan straight in the eyes. “Tell me one thing,” she said directly. “Are you going to let an ex ruin what love means to you?”

Ivan forgot how to breathe. He froze, eyes wide as he stared at Hyuna, trying to make a sense of the words he just heard. His pulse was at his temples. “What?” he said.

Hyuna threw an arm over the head of the couch, pulling a leg to herself. “Just what I said.” She shrugged. “Till told me.”

Ivan’s heart was about to sink into his boots. “Told you what?”

“Everything,” Hyuna said. “I mean, your romantic preferences were blindingly obvious ever since we met, but I wasn’t really expecting Till to come out as bisexual. That was a surprise. Not only that but he told me about this miscommunication you two have going on, and since he’s too timid to confront the issues, I’m telling you to go out there, and do it for him—”

“Hold on,” Ivan cut her off, faltering. “He told you what ?”

Hyuna stared at him blandly. “Are you not listening to me, Ivan?”

“No I—I heard what you said but I’m just…” He sighed. “I’m confused. I just wasn’t expecting this.”

He told Hyuna. The realization was strange, uncalled for. But in an inexplicable way… nice to acknowledge.

“I wasn’t expecting it either,” Hyuna said. “Till, who always keeps his lovers a secret, coming up to me and saying he’s starting to feel something for you? Believe me I almost spit out my drink.”

“When did he tell you all this?”

“Tonight,” Hyuna said. “At the gala. He just seemed so distressed and didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything going on around him. So I figured he could use someone to talk to, but good lord, I wasn’t expecting this .” She shook her head. “I think he overshares when he’s nervous. Half the time he was talking about how pretty your eyes are, and the other half he was telling me how he’s afraid that you might end up seeing him as a cruel person like your ex, who I remember you mentioned to me months ago.”

Ivan remembered that too. The night Hyuna had told him about Luka, Ivan had also couldn’t help but peek into his own history of affairs, recounting memories in retrospect.

But now, that didn’t matter, because Ivan was more stuck on the other sentence. He’s afraid that you might end up seeing him as a cruel person like your ex .

Not in a million lifetimes, Ivan could never put Till and that man in the same equation. But to know that Till didn’t want that either made him feel… a little relieved.

“Let me ask my question again,” Hyuna said, drawing Ivan’s attention once more. “Are you going to let an ex ruin what love means for you?”

“I don’t want to,” Ivan said. “I’m—I really don’t but… I’m afraid.” It had left his mouth impulsively. One word that was a key to his buried emotions, bringing them up to the surface. “I’m so afraid to mess this up with my unnecessary insecurities.”

Hyuna didn’t miss a beat. “No insecurity is unnecessary, Ivan,” she strictly said. “But they are temporary. Tell me one thing, do you trust Till?”

Ivan didn’t need to think to give an answer. “I do.”

“And have you ever doubted the trust he has for you?” Hyuna asked.

“No,” Ivan responded, thinking of Till. “I haven’t.”

“Then what more is there to say? All you need is to stand beside him as you both break down the walls of obstacles that lay in front of you. Love is not only about an ex who treated you wrong.” She looked down for a second, a ghostly smile growing on her lips. “Just like how New York wasn’t about one,” she said with a knowing wink.

At that, Ivan couldn’t help but smile back.

. . .

Creation didn’t listen to time or circumstance. Ideas flowed into the mind of a storyteller everytime they had the chance to be left alone with their thoughts.

And for Ivan, that seemed to be tonight.

He was tired for sure, but inspiration was a delicate thing. A thread he had to hold onto before it could slip through his fingers like water. As soon as he was back to his room that night, he opened his suitcase and grabbed his journal. Inside was a tucked in pen. He grabbed it as he sat on the bed, twirling it between his fingers as countless ideas and emotions swam in his pool of mind, waiting to be woven together into some form of a story.

The first thing Ivan wrote was the phrase he couldn’t stop thinking of ever since that night in Los Angeles. Imagining Stars, he scribbled on paper.

Maybe this would lead to a new script. Maybe a poem. He wasn’t sure yet, but he didn’t really care, anyway.

As long as he could transcend his feelings onto paper, he didn’t care.

So, he got comfortable on the bed, with his journal in one hand and a pen in the other, writing down everything he wanted to; with the notion of Till at the corner of his mind, which every word he wrote could find a home in.

Once he was done with a mere draft of ideas, his hand went to his phone. He clicked open the lock screen. It was two in the morning. Despite the hour, he still put the journal aside and held the phone with both hands, curling to the side on the bed. He clicked on Till’s name on messages.

Ivan : You’re probably asleep by now, but text me when you wake up?

He shortly hesitated before typing in another message.

Ivan : I want to talk to you .

. . .

It was only natural that everybody slept in the next morning. When Ivan woke up, the clock was nearing noon, though the yacht seemed to be quiet and calm. 

He straightened and took a look out of the cabin window, where the endless sea extended to the horizon. The weather was clear—unlike the way it was in London—and for a moment, it really felt like they were on a vacation rather than a press tour.

After washing his face and waking up properly, Ivan left the cabin and walked upstairs, to the lounge.

Somebody seemed to have put all the plates and empty champagne glasses into the sink, though nobody was around. Ivan assumed everyone was still asleep, save for Captain Dean and Finley, who were probably at the rooftop, by the navigation room.

When Ivan walked towards the deck to get some fresh air, he saw someone already up and out there, leaning on the railings and watching the sea.

Till.

Ivan slid the glass door open and stepped on the deck.

Till turned to see who it was, the morning breeze blowing his hair perfectly. He smiled at Ivan. “ Buenos días, ” he said.

“Is it just me or are you getting better at Spanish?” Ivan walked up to him and settled by his side on the railings.

Till laughed. “Yeah, I may need you to teach me more words before we arrive at Santander.”

“I will, if you want,” he said, watching Till intently. “Did you see my message?”

At that, Till frowned in confusion. “Your message? Oh—you texted me?”

“I did,” Ivan said. “I think you should stop leaving your phone on mute all the time, Till. Literally nobody can reach you.”

Till averted his eyes for a second, smile faltering. “My bad,” he said with a scoff. “I just… keep forgetting it, I guess. Sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

Even if there was something shrouded behind those words, Ivan didn’t press.

Instead, he let his gaze stray away, towards the rippling waves. “I just wanted to talk to you about…” He paused, not knowing how to continue. He shook his head. Tried again. “Look, I don’t want you to feel pressured to open yourself up to people, Till. And I can’t—I don’t want to mess up what we have because of my past. I’ve been just so cautious of people for so long that it’s…” He sighed. He didn’t want to bring up his jealousy. That would be unfair to Till. So, instead, “I think I like you too much to backpedal from this,” he said. “I just wanted to apologize for asking what I did yesterday morning, at the hotel in London. It was thoughtless and selfish—but it was a reflection of my inner fears and I couldn’t help it. I just want you to know that I’m willing to try my best to keep this—what we have going, regardless of our careers before the eyes of the media.”

There was a long moment as Till stared at Ivan, in the silence of the sea and the wind. In the end, “Did anyone ever tell you that you speak like a poem sometimes?” he muttered.

Ivan met his eyes. “Till,” he said. “I’ve been thinking of how to make this speech since last night and this is all you have to say?”

Till started laughing at his frustration. “I’m sorry,” he said between chuckles. “Your words feel like a movie script sometimes. No wonder you’re the one who writes the best ones.”

Ivan tried to roll his eyes, but he was sure his cheeks were red. “Why, thank you.”

“But seriously,” Till said, finally managing to cease his laughter. “I don’t think anybody has ever said something as thoughtful to me before. You caught me off guard, in a good way.” He folded his arms on the railings, tilting his head as he watched Ivan. “After becoming an actor, dating got harder, believe it or not. It was a whole new league I was in; from a university filled with nerds—no offense—”

“None taken.”

“To a world of dazzling stars. Suddenly it was rich actresses I was talking to—super hot runway models, famous singers; all of them so deep into this hall of fame that they’d lost authenticity. There wasn’t an enjoyable conversation without…” He shrugged, looking away. “Forget about it. They don’t even matter.”

Ivan let the conversation die without a word. 

After a quiet moment, “I want to tell people,” Till said.

Ivan turned to him.

“I’m not sure when I could—not sure how I could do that, but one day, I want to tell people that you’re my…” A brief hesitation before he spoke the next word. “My boyfriend.”

Ivan’s heart skipped a beat. Lips curling into a mischievous smile, “Say that word again,” he said.

“Nope,” Till immediately said, letting out half a scoff. “No. You heard it once.”

“I want to hear it again,” Ivan insisted with a laugh.

Till decisively shook his head. “Not happening!”

“Hey, boys!”

At the voice of Sua, both of them turned to the open lounge door.  

“It’s time for breakfast,” Sua said. “Dean and Finley said we could cook anything we wanted that they have in the refrigerator. Would you two mind setting the table?”

Till clasped his hands at the back of his head. “On it, Sua!” he called. “Come on. Let’s go,” he told Ivan.

Ivan smiled. “You’re lucky to avoid me now.”

“I’ll call you that word,” Till assured as he was walking in. “Next time we’re alone. Wait for it.”

“I’m on cloud nine,” Ivan mocked as he followed Till inside the yacht.

. . .

The rest of the cruise journey was so much fun, Ivan had to admit. They cooked the breakfast all together, and even served it for Captain Dean and Finley.

As Mizi and Sua were on the deck, spending time under the sun and tanning, Ivan and Till were rummaging around the kitchen area to make cocktails for everybody (It was risky probably, but every time Till was sure nobody was around, he reached up on his toes and planted a kiss on Ivan’s cheek, which Ivan came to savor more than anything). 

After a while, Hyuna and Finley had come from quarters with a board game, suggesting they all sat and played to kill some time.

The game was fun—it lasted for hours, round after round as Till and Hyuna got into a competition of who could win more rounds than the other.

After hours, cocktails were drunk, snacks were eaten, pieces of the board game were all over the floor, and Ivan didn’t remember a day he laughed more than this. 

Now, he was lying on the couch, watching the ceiling as he absently listened to Mizi and Hyuna discuss the marine animals Finley had explained to them earlier on the journey. A part of him wished they could stay in the yacht forever, in the middle of the sea with nobody else around but only the five of them, spending their days resting from the chaos of the land.

On the ground, leaning on the couch sat Till. He was making a bubble out of the gum he was chewing, scrolling through whatever on his phone. If Ivan let his hand drape down from where he laid, he could touch his face.

But he didn’t. Instead, he closed his eyes and let himself think about their next stop: Madrid.

It was a one hour flight from Santander, which meant they would check into the hotel and sleep the night away, probably. The next day? Maybe they could go to a museum. Ivan had always wanted to see Museo del Prado. Mizi would probably beg them to see a flamenco show, and Hyuna would stop at every street food stand to try out new stuff.

That could be fun.

If he didn’t think about the media, the cameras, and the people who kept talking over the truth, this entire tour could be fun.

He recalled the lyrics of Hand in Glove.

And if the people stare, then the people stare .

Fear had no place in an industry as messed up as this, and Ivan knew that too well by now.

Chapter Text

Saying goodbye to Captain Dean and Finley had been hard after spending a whole day with them in the sea—having long conversations, sharing meals, and playing board games. But soon after sunset, they had arrived in Santander and left the yacht to fly to their next destination, Madrid.

Resting all day had been good for all of them: Ivan felt completely recharged and he could see the same energy reflect on others too.

They had a short drive to the airport and loaded their bags onto the plane. All this travel was making Ivan read less, he realized, now with a free hour in the plane to start something new. Since most of his books were in the suitcase, though, he just grabbed a thin Japanese book that could be finished by the end of the flight.

“Hey,” Till said, dropping his backpack on the ground before sitting next to Ivan.

Ivan raised his head from the book he hadn’t even properly started. “Hey,” he responded.

Before he could say anything else, Till turned sideways on the seat and laid down, his head coming to rest on Ivan’s lap. 

The contact made Ivan’s heart skip a beat. He lifted his book to see Till’s face. “Tired?” he asked, one hand coming down to brush Till’s hair. 

His eyes closed under Ivan’s touch. “No,” he said. “I just wanted to lay down.”

Ivan cautiously looked up, scanning through the plane. “The girls are here though,” he whispered.

Till shrugged, grabbing the hand in his hair and bringing it to his lips instead. “We’re at the very back seat. Mizi already wore her headphones, Sua is reading a magazine, and Hyuna? She already knows.” He kissed Ivan’s palm before intertwining their fingers. “We’re fine.”

To think it was fine helped Ivan breathe better. Helped his anxious mind to relax, just a little.

For a while.

The flight was quiet, engines rumbling at Ivan’s ear as he read his book, with Till laying on his lap, who sometimes checked his phone and sometimes slept. It was peaceful, Ivan considered as he came to the end of a chapter. His gaze trailed out of the window. The sky was blurring into darker shades each passing hour, forms of clouds peeking underneath the jet from time to time. And in that ambiance of quiet, an hour slipped through his fingers.

By the time they had nearly ten minutes left before landing, Ivan rubbed a thumb over Till’s cheek to wake him up.

“We’re here,” he whispered.

There was a soft expression on Till’s face between the state of sleep and being awake. How could someone look as flawless, Ivan kept wondering to himself. What had he done in his life to deserve to be loved back by someone like Till? How had it even happened? How come Till had given him a chance? He couldn’t help but think of these inevitable questions every time he looked at the boy on his lap.

With a yawn, Till opened his eyes. “I fell asleep?” he asked.

“About six times,” Ivan clarified. “It’s fine. You looked cute while sleeping.”

When he heard that, Till turned sideways as if to avoid facing Ivan. “No. Don’t say that.”

“Say what? That you looked cute ?”

“ Ivan !”

“Alright everyone,” Hyuna called from the front seats, making Till straighten from Ivan’s lap instantly. “Now, it seems we don’t have a carpet in Madrid, which is good for us because that means more time to travel,” Hyuna explained. “Though, towards the evening, we have an interview on the national channel.” She took a look at her phone as if controlling the schedule. “It’s broadcasted live if I’m not wrong, so try to not mess it up.”

“Leave that to us, Hyuna,” Mizi called assuringly from the middle row, painting her nails with one ear in her headphones.

“We seem to have only one night reserved for the hotel in Madrid, so I assume we’re flying to France literally tomorrow night,” Hyuna went on.

Till groaned in boredom. “We’re having a shitty sleep then.”

“Don’t worry, it’s only a two hour flight,” Hyuna said. “We would be there at midnight. You can sleep for as long as you want after that. Now, pack up people. We have a city to see, and an interview to do.”

. . .

That night passed quickly, with everyone withdrawing to their rooms. Ivan spent several hours working on his new piece of writing, though—it was still some sort of a draft, one he couldn’t make sure what it could turn into.

Eventually, he had fallen asleep with the journal on his  chest, the last lines he wrote so blurry he couldn’t read them himself.

But it was like pouring his mind onto creation, which was refreshing. And it helped him return to his peace of mind once in a while, even on a busy trip like this.

. . .

“I have one question, Hyuna,” Till was asking in the limo the next morning. “Do you know anything about Spain?”

Hyuna shrugged. “Nope,” she said truthfully. “That’s why I had to text Ivan at seven in the morning, so he would help me prepare a tour.”

“You’re welcome,” Ivan said, paying a short glance at Till. “I’ve got everything covered. Temple of Debod, Palacio Real de Madrid, and of course, my personal favorite, Museo del Prado.”

Till leaned backwards, folding his arms. “A museum? Well, I’m not usually big on exhibitions but I will give this one a shot, I guess.”

Ivan couldn’t help a smile.

By his side, Hyuna whistled. “Wise words from Till.”

Till rolled his eyes. “Yeah, shut up,” he grumbled. “I’m just getting cultured.”

In about fifteen minutes, they were at the Temple of Debod. 

It was a beautiful sight, with the clear water underneath the arches reflecting on the ancient landmark, making it seem like it was built on the sky. The hour was still early for a crowd to be around, so they spent some quiet, peaceful time along the chirping birds and silent nature. As Ivan was walking around the place, he heard a camera sound behind him.

For a second, he had expected to face some paparazzi.

But when he turned, it was only Till, holding his phone up high. As soon as Ivan turned, Till shot another photo.

“What are you doing?” Ivan asked with a smile.

Till lowered the phone, exposing his own smile. “You looked too good to not take a picture.”

Ivan took a few steps towards him. “If I were to take a picture every time you looked good, I’m afraid my phone storage wouldn’t last a single day.”

If the girls weren’t so close to them, if this wasn’t a public space, if it could be only the two of them in the serenity of the Egyptian temple, Ivan could’ve kissed Till. He could’ve wrapped his arms around his waist, tipped his forehead against his, buried his head to the crook of his neck. 

But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t, if it was to protect Till’s name.

He intended to step back, to which Till responded by grabbing his hand slightly. “No,” he said almost immediately. “I’m not letting you go after saying that line like it’s nothing.”

“Yeah, but we’re in public,” Ivan whispered. 

It happened so quickly: Till checked left and right, raised on his tiptoes, planted a small peck on Ivan’s lips before pulling back and turning away, acting like it never happened.

Caught off guard, Ivan froze. “ Till ,” he said warningly.

But Till only laughed as he kept walking around the temple. “Come on, Ivan, let’s go under the arch!”

“You’re evil.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

After sparing enough time for pictures in Debod, they drove to their next destination. Palacio Real de Madrid, where Sua’s jaw dropped at the architecture, and Ivan’s at all the art embroidered inside the building. Mizi took a dozen pictures as always, whereas Till trailed behind Ivan, asking him questions about anything and everything he saw in the place.

Their tour continued with Teatro Real, where, as always, Ivan let himself be lost in traces of history while others rested under the shades and ate calamari sandwiches as they waited for him. Mizi had suggested going to Plaza Mayor after that, but Hyuna had strictly rejected by saying it would be too crowded at these hours of the afternoon and if they didn’t want to deal with fans, they should just skip it.

So instead, Ivan had suggested going to a flamenco show. Now that had made Mizi smile. 

They drove to Tablao Cardamomo for a show to see, yet the entire ride was filled with Mizi’s memories of previous flamenco shows she’d seen with her family in summer trips to Barcelona, until Till shut her up by mocking her generational wealth again.

They arrived at the place and thankfully got in by just dropping Mizi’s name and got a seat in front of the stage. The place reeked of Spanish traditions in every single corner, walls made of bricks and lit with soft lanterns. The spotlights were in shades of blue and red, and as soon as the dancers and musicians got out of the backstage with applause and chanting, the lights turned off.

Dance, Ivan realized, could be incredibly communicative. What acting did with words, dance did with body. It delivered the passion and the melancholy with one lift of hand, one step of feet. It was powerful in every move. And flamenco could be an amazing example of that. The guitar player was skilled: his fingers strummed the strings so smoothly, fingers moving across frets so fast that it got Ivan mesmerized. The dancer was a whole other level of talent: he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her dress— traje de flamenca flowed just in her favor, adding to her performance. And as soon as the cantaora started singing, Ivan had forgotten he was sitting at a venue in Madrid and gotten lost in the music, the story in the performance.

That was what art did to him every single time. It kept him on the edge of his seat, pulled him into its own world.

During the middle of the performance, Till put an elbow on the table and turned to Ivan.

Ivan managed to blink away from the stage shortly. “What?” he whispered at Till, who was just smiling at Ivan.

“Nothing,” he whispered back. “I just realized you always watch shows like this. Starry-eyed. You were like this in New York too.”

Ivan recalled the night they watched Falsettos . He gave a half smile, turning back to the stage. “What can I say?” he mumbled. “I can’t help it when performance can convey such intense emotions, and I get easily affected.”

“You’re a romantic,” Till quietly said.

“Quite,” Ivan responded. “I’m a writer.”

After the flamenco show was over, they—finally—drove to Museo del Prado, which Ivan had been craving to see since his university years. A niche interest in languages came with cultural research. And being a writer meant consuming every type of art provided to humankind, by humankind. 

That was all he was thinking of before walking through the doors of the museum. No matter how many times he had been to art exhibitions, it never failed to fascinate him—never failed to touch his heart. There was an Italian word that fulfilled this feeling: commuovere .

It meant to move. To touch one’s heart, to stir emotions. Ivan wasn’t so big on romance languages, but he had to admit they had good words that reciprocated specific feelings.

Inside Museo del Prado, there were many religious paintings. From The Last Supper to Agnus Dei; bringing back memories of all the Latin texts Ivan used to read in school. He had taken a close look at all of them, felt the stories on the canvas in his bones.

And through the promenade in the sections of the museum, Till strolled by his side.

As they were walking through the exhibit of items and decorations, “Who are they?” Till asked. He was in his usual disguise: black cap and sunglasses. And relatively, in a museum full of tourists, that really didn’t draw attention.

Ivan looked at the statue he was pointing at. The San Ildefonso Group , he recognized. “A statue of Orestes and Pylades from Greek mythology,” he said. “Euripides has plays about them.”

“Care to tell me about it?” Till asked with a hint of curiosity.

“It’s quite complicated,” Ivan said as if it was an excuse.

But Till only shrugged. “Tell me anyway.”

Ivan looked up at the statue of two boys, one’s arm wrapped around the other’s. “Well, Orestes and Pylades are childhood friends,” he started. “Clytemnestra, who is Orestes’s mother, kills her husband, Agamemnon—Orestes’s father. When he hears of his father’s death, Orestes gets furious and decides to kill his mother and her secret lover, in the pursuit of avenging his father. And Pylades helps him through that.”

“So, they are partners in crime?” Till asked. “I like that.”

“They are. Pylades is the reason Orestes can maintain his morals and commit to his revenge plan. Whenever he comes to the brink of faltering, Pylades is there, helping him to move forward.” His eyes slightly slid to Till. “Even after committing the crime, Pylades doesn’t let go of Orestes. Instead, the two boys try to avoid getting executed by attempting to kill Helen, wife of Menelaus.”

Till gave a laugh. “Really? What happens then?”

“Well.” Ivan shrugged. “They fail.”

That made Till laugh, a soft chuckle that made Ivan smile back.

“But they manage to take Helen’s daughter Hermione hostage, until Apollo makes an appearance to settle things.” Ivan pointed at the statue with his eyes. “I assume this statue is from another one of Euripides’s plays, though. Iphigeneia in Tauris . See that statue of Artemis beside Orestes?” He pointed at the figure of the goddess, to which Till nodded. “Apollo orders Orestes to go to Tauris, carry off the fallen statue of Artemis, and bring it to Athens. So, of course, Pylades joins Orestes in that journey. Every time Orestes is seized by fear, Pylades is there to comfort him. He never ceases to tend to Orestes, always standing by his side. He is the branch that Orestes keeps holding onto to keep on living.” He kind of liked that metaphor. Noting it at the back of his head, he continued, “However, in Tauris, they face a hard decision. A priestess—Iphigeneia tells Orestes that he has to return to Greece to deliver a letter, while Pylades is forced to stay behind and die.”

“ What ?” Till asked. “Another tragedy, really? Does Orestes die?”

“No,” said Ivan, laughing. “Instead, Orestes wants to sacrifice himself for Pylades, and insists that Pylades should be the one to deliver the letter and survive. Even though Pylades doesn’t want to, he eventually agrees, and takes the letter.”

“No,” Till groaned. 

“Wait for the end,” Ivan mused. He went on, “Because before Pylades can leave and Orestes can be killed, Orestes gets a chance to read the letter. When he reads it, he realizes that Iphigeneia was his sister all along. Once the truth is revealed, Iphigeneia changes her mind on condemning her brother to death. So, the three of them escape Tauris together, and bring Artemis’s statue to Athens. I assume this piece is from when they return, considering the posture of victory,” he said, pointing at the statue once again.

Till hummed in interest. “I was scared for them for a second,” he admitted. “But both Orestes and Pylades were ready to sacrifice themselves for one another, huh?”

“They were,” Ivan agreed with a nod.

There was a short silence before Till asked, “And you’re telling me that they were just friends?”

Ivan nearly ruined the quiescence of the museum with a laugh. “I mean, that’s what historians think. But we can never know the truth. Whatever the truth of their story was, it is buried under centuries of history.”

What he said had made Till’s smile falter, so subtly that nobody other than Ivan could’ve noticed. In the end, “Isn’t it a shame?” he asked, eyes on the marble statue. “We will never get to know how Euripides intended to portray them—we’re left to the interpretations of historians who read what they want. We’ll never get to know if they were really… in love.”

Ivan turned to the statue as well. “But maybe,” he mumbled, “that’s what Euripides would’ve wanted.”

With that, Till didn’t argue.

Instead, he slightly held Ivan’s hand—enough to lead him to follow along and dropped it again. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go to the next room.”

. . .

They spent considerable hours in the museum, traveling from one room to another while Mizi and Sua shopped for souvenirs in gift stores and Hyuna sat outside, under the statue of Diego Velázquez.

Till could be a man who got easily bored in every situation, yet somehow, when he had somebody to talk to, he seemed to be more interested in paintings and statues. In every room, he found something to point at. When he showed David With the Head of Goliath , Ivan said it was interpreted to be a portrayal of improbable victory and the natural quarrel between the good and evil. As soon as he got philosophical, Till rolled his eyes and grabbed his hand to move along. In the next room, he pointed at the portrait of Endymion Porter and Anthony van Dyck . Ivan explained that Endymion was richer and therefore in a higher status than Anthony, which was why he was painted taller than the other man, in fancy white clothes—yet still, the way he posed with someone of a lower status exposed the strong bond between two men. Till looked up at the framed portrait once, and claimed they were probably in love with each other. As he moved onto the next painting, Ivan giggled to himself, realizing he agreed with that statement.

After the museum, they had driven back to the hotel to get ready for the interview, which was about to start in three hours. The limo pulled over before the hotel and they got out of the car. Ivan started leisurely walking up the marble, red carpeted stoop of the hotel while the others waited for Hyuna to make the arrangements with their driver. Till, who seemed to have noticed Ivan walking before them, followed him and caught up to his steps almost immediately. “Want to meet before leaving for the studio?”

“In your room?” Ivan said, pushing the glass door of the hotel for Till. 

“How about yours?” Till suggested way too fast.

Ivan didn’t read much into it. “Sure,” he said. “In one condition.”

Till blinked. “I’m listening.”

“Turn on your damn phone,” Ivan directly said. “Literally, I can never reach you unless you text first.”

To that, Till gave an easy scoff. “Sorry,” he said, reaching for the phone in his back pocket. “I’m turning it on now. Just for you. Wouldn’t do this for anyone else.”

As Ivan watched Till turn the sound on, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes with a smile. “I’m so honored.”

Till smirked. “You should be.” He approached one step, as if to give him a kiss—though, he wouldn’t do that when there was a receptionist two feet ahead of them, guests sitting in the hotel lounge, and employees running here or there. He just stood before Ivan. One glance, a million emotions delivered. No words, no touch; but the distance between them was so delicate that it felt as treacherous as a kiss. 

Just then, Mizi walked past them into the hotel. “Come on, you two. We have an interview to dress up for.”

Ivan managed to swallow, taking a single step back. “Sure,” he said.

By his side, Till took a deep breath. “Of course. Let’s go.”

. . .

Ivan took a proper shower and got himself clothes that weren’t as fancy as those he wore in the galas, but not so casual, either. Something in between, suitable for a TV interview. He let his hair air dry, wore one of his favorite colognes and attired in minimalistic yet fashionable accessories. When he checked the time, they still had a considerable hour of freedom. A part of Ivan wondered if he had gotten ready quickly with the idea of seeing Till as soon as possible, or if he just happened to take a short shower. Not that he cared much. 

He took his phone and sent a message to Till.

Ivan : Are you ready yet?

It didn’t even take a minute for Till to be online. 

Till : Should I wear sneakers and be casual or brogues and look formal?

Ivan knew Till hated brogues. That was one thing he learned in the first year of university, when their school held a dinner by the end of each semester and expected the students to dress up correspondingly. For the two years he studied there, Till had absolutely hated the dinner nights. He would rather die than wear those leather shoes, but each time he didn’t, he ended up with a worse detention. Though, when he dropped out by the end of their sophomore year, Ivan was sure the first thing he thought of was not having to wear those god awful shoes to those boring dinner parties anymore.

So, as he typed an answer to that question, he didn’t even hesitate.

Ivan : Sneakers. Just calm down, it’s a normal interview, anyway. Nothing you haven’t done before. Plus, they’re going to be recording your face, not your clothes.

There was a brief moment between his message being seen and three dots appearing in the corner.

Till : You have no idea how much this helped.

Ivan sat on the spinning chair before the vanity table, slowly moving it with his feet as he typed another message.

Ivan : Seriously, Till. The globe adores you and you’re still anxious about the shoes you wear.

Till : I need to make a good impression .

Ivan hesitated a little as he stared at that message. In the end, he let his intrusive thoughts win and texted the first response that came to his head.

Ivan : You make an amazing impression even if you don’t try.

Till : It sounds to me like you’re head over heels for me.

Ivan grinned at his phone.

Ivan : Quit playing. Just come to my room.

Till : Wow, you’re commanding too. The duende you have is immaculate, darling.

Ivan : Will you ever let go of that word?

Till : Not really.  

In five seconds, he sent another message.

Till : Also, open the door .

Ivan put his phone aside, not neglecting to check his reflection on the mirror shortly to make sure his hair looked good, before moving to open the door.

As soon as he saw Till, an uncontainable smile painted his face. Till was wearing a white tank top, a brown leather jacket, a chain necklace alongside silver earrings in shapes of swords, and fabric pants; it fit into his public image perfectly, Ivan thought. And also, made him effortlessly attractive, too.

“The sneakers seem to be a great choice for this fit,” Ivan said.

Till took a step inside the room. “Do I look good?”

“Are you seriously asking that, pochemuchka ?”

Till closed the door behind him and leaned on it with a sigh. “I don’t know. It happens before stepping in front of cameras.”

Ivan frowned in concern. “Till,” he said, reaching to cup Till’s cheeks. “You’re one of the greatest stars of our generation. You’re aware of that, right? You have the looks, the talent, the confidence—”

“It was easier in the beginning,” Till said. “When I had just started. I was just doing what I wanted, but now it’s—now there’s expectation. Pressure to do it right, and fear that I might let people down—”

“What happens if you let people down?” Ivan asked. There are people like me , he wanted to say. People who won’t care if you fail .

Till took a short second to think before he brought his own hands over Ivan’s on his face and pulled them down. “I lose my name,” he said. “I lose my privileges. I don’t want that, Ivan.”

Ivan held Till’s hands. “I told you this before, and I will tell you again,” he said. “I’m here for you. In the present and in the future, I always will be. I don’t care about your name or privileges.”

There was a look in Till’s eyes for a long moment as if he was bracing himself to say something he didn’t want to. But then he gazed away, that subtle distress perishing from sight as soon as he did. 

Instead, he gave a scoff. “I really wonder how long you’ve been swooning over me to say those words.”

Ivan blinked. It was almost like Till’s worries were gone in a second, replaced with some flirty state of mind. “Till,” he said in a manner that didn’t want to let the initial topic slip away.

But Till had already forgotten it. He interlocked his fingers with Ivan’s. “No, I really want to know,” he said. “When did you realize you liked me? Like, romantically?”

“There really wasn’t a specific time,” Ivan responded in the end. “You’ve always seemed beautiful to my eyes.”

Till hummed playfully. “Ever since we first met?”

“Ever since we first met,” Ivan agreed. “Why? What about you?”

“Me?” Till echoed. “Well, I don’t know when either. “Why I kissed you in London—it was just… I hated to see you like that. I didn’t like to think that there was someone else in your head when you thought about love.”

Ivan raised a brow. “So you were jealous ?”

“No,” Till immediately said. “Not at all. No. Never said that.”

“You were jealous,” Ivan pressed, wrapping his arms around Till’s waist.

Till didn’t pull back. “Cut it off,” he grumbled, cheeks pink in the dimly lit hotel room.

When Ivan started laughing, Till grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into a deep kiss that stifled his chuckles. Ivan didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. He couldn’t resist it, anyway.

. . .

When they were heading to the studio, Till seemed to be in a better mood. He had spent nearly an hour in Ivan’s room, talking about everything and nothing until he was smiling, stumbling upon laughter in every word he spoke. At the interview, Ivan helped the staff communicate with the actors and get ready for the live stream as they arranged the mic packs, cameras, and the lighting.

Apparently their host had questions for Ivan and Hyuna too, so they all had settled to make an appearance while Sua did the last additions to Mizi’s makeup.  

The camera crew had a countdown, the broadcast began, and the lights of the set focused on them. Their host introduced himself to those watching the program from TV, and turned back to the stars sitting on the couch next to him.

“Now, Mizi; the dazzling star of Korea, face of many fashion brands, and the lead actress of the upcoming movie, Anakt Garden ! The movie is expected to be out in about two weeks, what are your thoughts?” the man asked in Spanish.

Beside the camera was a monitor where the English translation of the questions ran. Once she read it, Mizi responded in English—which, the staff said, would be spontaneously translated to Spanish by their audio crew before airing.

“I have to say I’m truly excited,” Mizi said. “We have been working on this movie for so long, and I really believe we’ve made it into something good. I hope you people will also enjoy it!”

“We appreciate that,” the host said in Spanish. “How did you decide to join this project, Mizi? What was the purpose? Has this had an impact on your career? Because we all know you—the whole world does. I used to listen to your mother’s music when I was young.”

When he shot a sideways glance at the camera humorously, the crew laughed.

As soon as Mizi read the translation through the monitor, a smile appeared on her lips, too. “I bet my mom would be so happy to hear that,” she said politely. “The thing is, this character was a new experience for me. I’ve never gotten to play this many emotions on screen, involving the same character before. The script was amazing, that was the key.” She glanced at Ivan. “Ivan is a talented writer I would definitely want to work with again in the future.”

Ivan gave her a smile. “ Me siento honrado ,” he said, making the Spanish crew laugh again.

“How about you, Till?” the host asked.

At the mention of his name, Till stopped staring at his hands and turned to the man with half a smile.

“You’re a new star, at the peak of your rise. How did it feel to share this role with someone as well-known as Mizi?”

Ivan leaned into Till. “He’s asking how it was like to work with Mizi, since she’s so famous.”

Till shrugged. “Well, I can’t say it affects me much,” he casually said. “I didn’t even know her well before we got this job. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a nice girl but she talks a lot sometimes.”

Mizi turned to him in disbelief. “Acting as if I’m not here?” she said in Korean. “Alright then, Till.” She turned back to the host. “Yeah, Till is not that bad but he’s terrible at kissing. Like, I can’t explain how much I wanted to be done with that scene.”

The host laughed at the joke, but Ivan couldn’t seem to get himself to agree. Till wasn’t a terrible kisser—he was so good at it he knocked Ivan’s feet off the ground, every single time. His heart fastened at that thought, wishing he could say that out loud.

“What did she say?” Till whispered to Ivan.

Until that, Ivan had almost forgotten his translation duties. “Oh.” He blinked. “She says you’re a bad kisser.” So quietly, he added, “Which I don’t agree with. Just so you know.”

Till grinned subtly at that. Then, “ Mange merde , Mizi,” he whispered, this time at the girl sitting on his other side.

Mizi’s smile didn’t even falter. “Love you too, killjoy.”

“So, Till,” the host went on. “Has being famous always been the plan for you? We don’t know much about your family but rumor has it that you don’t come from wealth. Was it always your plan to throw yourself into the hall of fame and break that cycle?”

Ivan leaned in once again to translate. “Have you always wanted to be famous?” he whispered the question. It had almost sounded like he was the one asking it. Ivan hadn’t realized until that moment that he was genuinely curious about this. “He says your family isn’t rich, so was being an actor a way to get yourself a better life?”

Maybe it was because the question was a little deep, or maybe it was just because Till had heard those words from Ivan’s voice. But for whatever reason, he looked down. At last, “I think it was,” he said. “When I started this, I wasn’t sure what I would get. But I had nothing to lose, so I took all the chances I could. I always loved to act, to get into a character, to play it. And I think it has always been my goal.” It seemed like there was more he had to say. Like he was biting onto his lip just to keep it in. “Well,” he said. A soft smile adorned his face—one Ivan recognized. The mask of an actor. “If I’m sitting here today, it’s all because of the people who brought me here, isn’t it?”

The host gave a whistling reaction and the crew laughed, continuing the interview like nothing had happened.

But Ivan couldn’t. He kept staring at Till with the side of his eye for the entire interview, unaware of what he could be hiding underneath, but afraid to bring it out to the surface.

. . .

As soon as Ivan had come to Till’s dressing room after the shooting, Till had pulled him inside the room and sealed his mouth with a kiss.

The door closed behind him and twisted with a click.

Caught aghast, Ivan pulled back, only enough to breathe. “What was this for?” he whispered, hands on Till’s nape.

Till, as well, took deep breaths as his lips hovered before Ivan’s. “Does it need a reason?” he asked. “I just wanted to kiss you.”

And so, he kissed him again. Lips crashing onto each other, bodies onto the wall, fingers entwined. Ivan slid his hands down to Till’s waist. In a single move, they turned and now Ivan was pressing Till on the wall. 

He pressed his knee between Till’s legs, hands on his waist sliding inside his tank top.

At the contact of Ivan’s hands on his bare skin, Till almost made a sound. He wrapped his arms tighter around Ivan’s neck, pulling the taller man closer to himself.

Whatever heaven was, Ivan thought as Till pressed his lips onto his once again, it couldn’t be better than this.

Until a phone ring ruined the moment.

Ivan insisted on ignoring it, tried to keep kissing Till, but Till had already pulled back. “Let me get it,” he said, panting.

Ivan buried his head to Till’s neck, now planting small kisses on his throat.

“Ivan,” Till whispered, his fingers scratching Ivan’s nape. “Come on, let me go.” He managed to pull out of Ivan’s grip at last.

“Just ignore it,” Ivan groaned in between heavy breaths, holding onto Till’s fingers as he walked away, to the vanity to grab his phone.

Till shook his head, hair already tousled. “You made me put the notifications on, you bear the consequences,” he mused humorously. He sat on the couch to see who it was calling.

Ivan sat next to him as he waited for Till to pick up.

But Till didn’t move. He didn’t pick up, neither did he hang up. He just… stared at the screen as his phone buzzed in his hand.

Ivan raised a brow. He curiously leaned over Till’s shoulder to see who it was.

A single word was written on the contact’s name.

Dad .

Ivan halted. He took a look at Till’s face. The boy’s eyes were wide, lips slightly parted at a loss of words. Ivan couldn’t quite read the emotion on his face. Fear, concern, anger, disbelief—it had all blurred into his expression, to the frown of his brows and the green of his eyes.

“Till,” Ivan said quietly. “Will you—”

“It’s fine,” Till said with a strained smile, forcing out a laugh. “He does this sometimes. It’s fine.”

Ivan put a hand on the couch, leaning onto it. “It doesn’t sound fine,” he said, not knowing what to make of Till’s reaction. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind Till’s ear. “Why don’t you block him?”

Till bit his lip as he kept staring at the screen. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. Another forced out scoff. Another smile barely holding on his face. “I can’t. Just—nevermind it.” He put his phone on mute and turned it backwards, throwing it on the couch. 

Of course . Ivan couldn’t believe how it had never dawned on him before. Till put his phone on mute to avoid this .

Till stood up and went towards the vanity to check his hair. Just as Ivan was about to follow him, he got a message.

He impulsively checked it through the lock screen.

Hyuna : We’re leaving in five minutes, everyone. We need to check out of the hotel and take the flight to our next destination .

Mizi became online.

Mizi : Let’s go, Paris!!!

Ivan sighed. “Hyuna texted,” he said.

“Yeah?” Till responded, meeting Ivan’s glance from the mirror reflection. “What does she say?”

“That we’re leaving in five.”

“In five ?” Till turned. “But I wasn’t done with you,” he added with a note of seduction hidden underneath that sentence.

Ivan smirked as he stood up from the couch. He walked up to Till and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I will make it up to you in Paris,” he whispered. “Trust me.”

“Oh, I have no doubts about that,” Till said, his voice effortlessly appealing when he spoke like that.

Ivan couldn’t help but smile like an idiot at those words. But deep down, there was an uneasiness in his chest. Deep down, he had a feeling even he couldn’t yet figure out the difference when Till was being himself or… acting.

And as much as he was afraid to pressure him about whatever he hid, he also couldn’t help but bear a deep, untamable desire to be the only one to know about it all.

Chapter Text

They arrived in Paris at one in the morning.

Ivan was tired, in a half drowsy state as they unloaded their bags and took the limo to the hotel. Their accommodations were arranged by Mizi’s father apparently, who was a well-known man in the entirety of France and had the network to give them three nights at the best hotel in the city.

Their rooms—for once since the beginning of the tour—were on the same floor, the top of the building, each with balconies that saw the Eiffel Tower clearly. 

“We don’t have any events tomorrow,” Hyuna was explaining as the porters brought their belongings in luggage carts. “Which means we can spend the day around the city.”

Mizi beamed. “Oh! We should see the Château de Versailles! Cathédrale Notre-Dame too. We probably won’t have time for the Louvre, but we can see Sacré-Cœur—”

“Yes, of course, anything you want, Mizi,” Till cut her off as he grabbed his bags from porters. “It’s past midnight, let me sleep.”

“Rude as always,” Mizi chanted after him.

Ivan smiled. “He’s probably just exhausted,” he said. “I can’t wait to see all of Paris tomorrow, though.”

Mizi smiled back. “Oh, surely, someone who understands art and history as much as you wouldn’t be disappointed with the wonders of this city.”

“Of that, I’m sure,” Ivan said.

He got his bags and wished everyone a good night before unlocking his room. Inside, the lights were off. As soon as Ivan tucked the room card into its place, though, it turned on. Warm led lights filled the hotel room, exposing the wide space.

Ivan walked in and dropped his suitcases. The bed was wide, the vanity extended through the wall, several magazines and a record player laid on a coffee table, and there was a red velvet armchair beside it, one that matched the bed frame. Ivan walked to the tall Parisian windows. When he pushed them open, he could see the glowing Eiffel Tower, twinkling from afar.

He had to admit that this was the best hotel they were staying at so far, though that probably had to do with Mizi’s father.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, so Ivan leaned on the window frame and took it out.

A message from Till.

Till : Bonne nuit, mon amour .

He couldn’t help a chuckle. His thumb pressed on the message and he starred it, before typing an answer.

Ivan : Where did you learn that from?

Till : Well, I guess Mizi comes in handy sometimes.

Ivan closed the windows and started walking into the room. He settled on the bed.

Ivan : You’re telling me you asked Mizi to translate “my love” into French?

Till : No!!! I already knew what mon amour meant. I don’t live under a rock, Ivan.

Ivan : You didn’t know what buen día meant until a week ago, though.

Till : That’s different!

Ivan laughed again. He laid on the bed as he texted another message.

Ivan : Sure, whatever you say. Bonne nuit, mon amour. Dors bien. Je t’aime.

A moment of nothingness as the message got seen, and then Till started typing.

Till : Woah. That’s a lot of French for the beginning level, cut me some slack.

Ivan : Talk to me again when you know what all that means.

He paused for a second, before adding another message.

Ivan : And no, you can’t ask Mizi.

Till : Rude .

Ivan sent two heart emojis before clicking the phone closed and bringing it to his chest as he stared at the ceiling. There was an uncontrollable smile on his face, a flutter in his stomach, and heat on his cheeks that he couldn’t get rid of. 

He felt alive.

That was what love did to him. 

He felt too lazy to find his journal in the suitcase. So, instead, he opened the notes app on his phone and started typing down ideas, words, emotions. Everything in his mind and heart, he verbalized. With the idea of Till at the back of his head and the resplendent thrill in his bones to fulfill. To feed his soul.

. . .

Apparently Mizi was so excited to be able to tour them around a city she knew like the back of her hand, because the next day, she had woken up even before Hyuna and texted them to be ready before nine. As a part of the service, they had breakfast brought to each of their rooms. It was pain au chocolate and coffee, alongside fruits.

As Ivan ate his, he was scrolling through social media. Without a reason. Without an expectation.

And maybe that was why he had halted when he saw pictures of Till and Mizi on a magazine page.

He stopped chewing the bread in his mouth and clicked on the post. There were pictures of them at the restaurant in Mexico City, as they were walking out of the hotel in New York, at Camden Market in London.

He made the mistake of clicking onto the comments. 

They look so good together , some wrote. This is the love story of the century , others wrote. Comments had thousands of likes. There were fan pages, hashtags, so many posts that talked about Till and Mizi, about their scenes from the trailer of the movie.

They don’t know , Ivan remembered. None of them knew that Till belonged to him. None of them knew of the way Till kissed him. The messages he sent. The way he held his hand, or how he fell asleep on his lap.

They didn’t know anything. And even though a part of Ivan wanted to get onto rooftops and scream the truth, he knew all he could do was to click his phone closed and ignore the media.

He and Till had talked about this. Ivan wasn’t going to make his jealousy turn into a problem on Till’s shoulders when he already had enough to deal with. 

Besides, didn’t the two of them know the truth? Wasn’t that enough?

It is , Ivan thought. Under these circumstances, it was enough.

. . .

“Pose for a picture everyone,” Sua said as they were on the Trocadéro Square, at a location where they could see the Eiffel perfectly. Of course, almost everywhere in Paris was a tourist attraction. Mizi and Till had to get under disguise in a city so crowded, but that seemed to bother neither of them.

As Hyuna was buying hotdogs before they moved to see Notre-Dame, Ivan spent time trying to read the inscription on top of the entrance of Palais de Chaillot.

Every man creates without knowing, like they breathe. But an artist feels himself creating: his act engages his whole being, his beloved pain strengthens him .

The quote belonged to Paul Valéry. And as he read it, Ivan couldn’t think of a better place for it than an exhibition center like this.

After taking pictures and eating their hotdogs, they drove to Notre-Dame. Inside the cathedral was glowing with countless chandeliers. The architecture was mesmerizing, so much that Ivan struggled looking back down once he raised his head. Each column was a piece of art. Each carved shape was a remnant of past lives. Each detail on the mosaic glass was captivating. His head went to Notre-Dame de Paris by Victor Hugo.

It was a strange feeling. A connection; in his chest with the book, in his mind with the author. One single moment of quiescence, of echoing footsteps inside the dim cathedral that he wouldn’t change to anything.

When he walked out, the others were already waiting for him under the statue of Charlemagne et ses Leudes . 

They drove to every other landmark they wanted to see. Musée de Louvre—where they didn’t get in because then they wouldn’t have the time to travel anywhere else, yet they still took so many pictures with Pyramide du Louvre—followed by Château de Versailles.

Gaining a liking in French history was inevitable for Ivan, who had had too many Latin readings in school to avoid the language and likewise, too many mandatory history classes to avoid the period when France ruled over the continent.

The French Revolution was one of the topics he always found himself reading about. Maybe it was just the romantic image of France, but Ivan always thought there was something… poetic about it. Something heroic, yet tragic at the same time.

As he was standing in front of Versailles, looking up at the golden palace, all he felt was that unspeakable literacy.

“What are you thinking of?”

Till appeared next to him. He looked magnifying under the sun. Ivan wished he wasn’t wearing the sunglasses so he could see his green eyes.

“I’m thinking of Marie Antoinette,” he said.

“Marie Antoinette?” Till echoed. “The queen who was executed?”

Ivan hummed in interest. “Somebody listened to his history lessons.”

Till rolled his eyes with a smile. “What about her?” he asked.

Ivan returned to watching the palace. “I’m thinking of how scenically fearless she was,” he said. “During the French Revolution, Versailles was mobbed. The guards were massacred, and the folk demanded to see the queen. They wanted to get their hands on her throat, to kill her for not giving them what they wanted—and they could. Marie Antoinette knew that. Yet still, she was brave enough to walk out of that balcony.” His eyes were stuck on the central balcony of the palace. “Rumor has it that she stood there, defenseless in her nightgown for ten minutes, staring at the villagers who had burning torches and sharp rakes in their hands. They wanted to see her, and she showed up. Knowing it could’ve been her death.”

“Now that you say it like that, it really does sound like she was ready to die with her pride,” Till mumbled. “What happened then, though? Did they capture her?”

“No,” Ivan said. “She just bowed her head to the crowd and walked back into the palace.”

. . .

They couldn’t get to spend too much time inside Versailles, yet every second of it was astounding, like a reminder of a story Ivan knew too well. Like reliving a memory. A place he would never dare forget, and certainly visit again in the future.

After that, they went to Sacré-Cœur, climbing up all those stairs to Montmartre. Around the church were many gift shops, where Sua bought pretty decorations while Hyuna got ridiculously terrible tourist shirts. Mizi got herself a handmade crochet bag, and the shop owner recognized her, kindly wishing her good luck in her future projects and a good time here in Paris. In another shop, Till found a leather bracelet with a silver Eiffel charm on it.

“Let’s get these,” he said, with two of them in his hands. “You wear one, I wear the other.”

“You want to get matching bracelets?” Ivan asked, smiling. “That’s so cute, Till.”

Till immediately frowned. “Quit using that word,” he grumbled. “Fine, I’m not getting them.”

“Hold on, I want to get them,” Ivan said. “Come on!”

“No.” Till began walking away.

“Just so you know, I’m getting them anyway!” Ivan said, grabbing two of the bracelets and walking up to the cashier.

Till stopped. “You’re an asshole!” he called.

Ivan only chuckled at that before switching to French and paying for the bracelets.

In the end, they got the accessories. As soon as Ivan extended one of them to Till, the boy tore the price tag off of it and slid it through his wrist without a word.

Ivan wouldn’t say it again because it would probably annoy him, but that was cute.

After painfully climbing to Montmartre, going down those stairs was like a gift. The limo was waiting for them down the road, so they got in and drove to their next destination: Arc de Triomphe.

It was crowded around the arch, obviously. But people seemed to be caring more about the historical landmarks than they did care about the disguised celebrities walking by them.

“Want to go on top of it?” Mizi asked. “We might’ve missed the chance to climb on Tour Eiffel, but we still have Arc de Triomphe.”

Ivan noticed the more they spent time here, the more her French accent came to surface.

“Yes,” Till said. “Come on, let’s get on top of it!”

As they were walking under the arch, Ivan’s eyes got stuck on the inscriptions. He had read about this before. These were the battle names of French Revolutionary Wars and Napoleonic Wars, where French armies won. There were also many, many officer names: of generals who led those armies, those who died in the battle underlined meticulously in the construction.

In the end, Till had to drag Ivan away from the inscriptions so they could climb the arch and take a look at the sight before he would start reciting every war veteran’s name.

The view from the top was nice: it captured Paris elegantly. They could see the Eiffel Tower, Montmartre Hill with Sacré-Cœur on top of it, and Place de la Concorde by the end of Champs-Élysées, which they were looking at now.

“Let’s shop at Champs-Élysées after this,” Sua said, reading into Ivan’s mind. “There are some makeup supplies I want to buy.”

“Oh, same. I’ve been wanting to drop by Dior,” Mizi said.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Hyuna asked with a grin. She pushed her sunglasses over her head. “Let’s go shopping.”

. . .

The girls went wherever they wanted, and left Ivan and Till alone in the long, busy Champs-Élysées. 

“Well,” Till said as they were walking. “Anywhere you want to go?”

Even in disguise, Till pulled some looks from passers-by. Ivan wasn’t sure if he noticed it himself, but he did. It was a glance more than just a millisecond—a glint of recognition on people’s faces before they kept on walking again, moving on with their lives. In most cases, they didn’t have the courage to come up to a random person, let alone a celebrity, in the streets. And Ivan was glad they didn’t.

“Not really,” he said to answer Till’s question. “Do you have somewhere in mind?”

Till shrugged. “Nope. Maybe we could eat? That hotdog wasn’t enough. But other than that, no ideas.”

Ivan’s eyes trailed at the cars that drove down the street. “You know, there’s a word for that in French.”

Till gave a mocking sigh. “Of course, there is,” he said, though he was smiling. “Tell me, what is it?”

“ Flâneur ,” he said. “It kind of loses meaning in translation, but it means to stroll around without a destination. Observing the city and its people while just walking… to nowhere in particular.”

Till chuckled. “Kind of fits us, then,” he said. “Two flâneurs .”

“ Deux flâneurs ,” Ivan fixed. 

Till nodded in agreement. “Yes that,” he admitted. “Let’s just flâner around, then.”

That was exactly what they did: wandering with no goal. They found a McDonalds to eat in, and then moved on with all the shops that seemed interesting to their eyes. Ivan found a bookstore around Concorde, where he spent a good thirty minutes. Till wanted to check out Galeries Lafayette, where he bought a new expensive cologne with the help of Ivan’s French skills. After some time, they strayed from the grand street Champs-Élysées and found themselves in calmer, more desolate alleys of Paris. Till took many pictures of the famous Haussmann architecture (and even slid a few pictures of Ivan in between) while Ivan found a coffee shop and got drinks for both of them. 

By the time the sun was setting, they were sitting in the Place de la Concorde, in front of Fontaine des Mers.

They had bags of new stuff at their feet, a half drunk soda can by Till’s side, and the same bracelets around both their wrists like a promise to hold.

As Ivan was flipping through a new book he bought, Till snapped a selfie of them, doing nothing but just sitting together.

Ivan smiled to himself without raising his head from the book. 

“This turned out so good,” Till said, now looking at the picture. “I wish I could post it.”

That made Ivan’s smile falter, yet he tried to not think about it. “You and I get to see it,” he just said. “And that’s enough.”

Only a moment later, Till laid his head on Ivan’s shoulder.

This time, Ivan dropped the book. “Till,” he muttered. “We’re in public.”

“I don’t like to hear you upset,” Till whispered.

It made Ivan’s heart melt. He let his gaze trail down. “I’m not upset,” he lied.

“There you are, doing that voice again.” Till straightened from his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “Just because people don’t know yet doesn’t mean my feelings for you aren’t true,” he said quietly. 

Yet . That stirred something in Ivan’s chest.

He leaned in, just enough for their shoulders to brush. “I would give everything to kiss you right now.”

Till chuckled. Just then, the setting sun got perfectly visible, golden light falling right on Till’s face. He was ethereal, so much that Ivan wanted to save this moment: this look on Till’s face and the colors of sunset reflecting on him.

“Wait until we return to the hotel,” Till said. “Remember what you promised in Madrid.”

Ivan grinned. “How could I forget?”

“Ah, here they are!”

When they heard Hyuna’s voice, they both pulled away, just a little. Hyuna was waving, gesturing for them to come along. After her, from beyond the fountain came Mizi and Sua, both holding at least four bags in either hand.

“This shopping session was so fun!” Mizi was saying. “I got so many new clothes, and bags, and perfumes.”

“Right!” Sua agreed. “I will wear this Chanel dress I bought to the gala.”

“Please do, Sua,” Mizi said. “It looked so good on you, you were like a goddess!”

Ivan put the book back into the bags and grabbed them before standing up. “Come on,” he said, extending a hand to Till. “Let’s join them.”

Till smiled. He grabbed his own bags, took Ivan’s hand, and until they were close to the girls, didn’t drop it.

“Hey boys,” Hyuna said, eyes on her phone. “I just called the limo. The driver will be here in five. What did you two buy?”

Till looked into his bag. “Well, you know, clothes, cologne, accessories.” He pointed at Ivan with his head. “ He , on the other hand, only bought new books.”

As the girls started laughing, “Hey!” Ivan protested. “There’s nothing wrong with that!”

“At this point, you might need a new suitcase to take back all the new books you bought on this tour,” Mizi said in between chuckles.

Ivan would’ve denied that, but it dawned on him then. Maybe he really did need an extra suitcase. He was running out of space in this one, and they were still in the middle of the tour.

He ended up giving a sigh and saying he agreed, which only made the girls laugh harder.

. . .

Once they were in the hotel elevators, going up to their floor, Mizi’s phone buzzed with a notification.

She took it out of her pocket, taking a look. After a short second, “Ah,” she said in excitement. “Good news everyone. We’re going to see a show tonight at Moulin Rouge! I just got our tickets in the mail.” 

“That’s amazing,” Sua said. “I’ve always wanted to see the Moulin Rouge here in Paris.”

Till suddenly yawned. “I really don’t want to go,” he said.

When Ivan shot him a glance in confusion, he noticed Till was already looking back at him. There was a message hidden in his gaze. A glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Ah, here it comes.” Mizi rolled her eyes. “Till being a killjoy again.”

“You guys go, I’m just exhausted,” Till said. “We were outside the whole day.”

Ivan didn’t need a single word to understand what he meant.

“Actually,” Ivan said, turning to Mizi, “allow me to skip this one, as well. I’ve been really wanting to spend a quiet night after all the travel rush.”

When Mizi pouted, Till added, “Yeah. Plus, we still have tomorrow night, Miz. Quit being upset.”

The elevator dinged at their floor and the doors opened.

“Fine then. Doesn’t seem like I can change your minds anyway,” Mizi said as she walked out. “You boys can rest. But I assume you two are coming?” she asked, eyes on Sua and Hyuna. They exchanged a nod.

“Of course, we are,” Sua assured. 

That made Mizi smile. “Thank you! Then let’s start dressing up! I want to spare some time for my makeup. And we should leave before nightfall so we will have time for pictures too. You hear that Hyuna?”

“Yes, I do!” Hyuna responded. “I’ll meet you two at the lobby.”

As soon as Sua and Mizi got into their rooms, Hyuna turned to Till and Ivan with a smirk. “Don’t forget to use protection, you two!” she mocked.

“Hey!” Till grumbled after her, but Hyuna had already waved them a sarcastic goodbye and closed her room door shut.

And so, Ivan and Till were left alone in the hallway.

“Look at you, blushing like that wasn’t what you wanted,” Ivan teased quietly.

Till rolled his eyes. “Who’s blushing? Not me.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Just open the door, Ivan.”

Ivan tried to hide his grin. He showed his room card on the sensor and unlocked the door. Inside, as he put the card in its place to turn the lights and the electricity on, Till walked into the room. 

Ivan took his time to take his coat off and hang it in the wardrobe rack, just by the room entrance.

“Holy shit, your room has a record player?” Till called from the inside.

Ivan closed the wardrobe. “I guess,” he said, walking to the bedroom area. “I don’t think there are any records to play, though.”

Till had already put both of their shopping bags by the table, his own coat draping from the armchair. It almost seemed to Ivan like they could be… sharing the room. Recalling the night in Toronto, he smiled to himself.

“There has to be!” Till said. He hastily moved towards the vanity, starting to pull every drawer and open every cabinet.

Meanwhile, Ivan pushed the tulle curtains to the side and opened the windows, letting the cool night breeze in. The sky hadn’t fallen pitch black yet, but the Eiffel was already lit in gold. He raised his phone to take a picture of the scene.

“Found one!”

When Till exclaimed, Ivan turned over his shoulder.

He was holding a vinyl in his hands, staring at the tracklist on the back. Ivan walked up to him and took a look at the old record. It was of Édith Piaf.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked. “Put it on.”

Till pulled the vinyl out of its case and held it delicately. He turned the record player on, gently raised the tonearm and tucked the record into the platter.

As soon as he dropped the headshell back onto the record, a static noise filled the room, before Édith Piaf’s voice frizzled, slowly morphing from distortion to music.

The song started with violin and trumpets, in a slow, rhythmic melody. Ivan could recognize the piece playing. Le Droit d’aimer .

The Right to Love.

He stole a glance from Till as the music kept on playing.

“I hope you know how to dance,” he said.

Till was caught off guard for a second. “ Dance ?”

Ivan only held out a hand. “Come on,” he said.

On the record player, the song went on, “ Jamais rien ni personne, m'empêchera d'aimer… ”

As the first verse came to an end and a new portion of lyrics were about to start, Till let out a scoff. He took Ivan’s hand, and as soon as their palms touched, Ivan pulled Till to himself.

The boy stumbled for a second, but got caught up to the rhythm in no time. Ivan’s hand found its place on Till’s waist as Till held onto his shoulder, and the two of them started swaying to the melody, with matching steps in the hotel room.

“ J’en ai le droit d’aimer, j’en ai le droit… ”

“ J’en ai le droit ,” Ivan repeated the lyric in a whisper.

Till looked up at him with a smile. Face so close. Hand on his shoulder igniting Ivan without even realizing. “What do the lyrics say?” he whispered.

Ivan kissed Till’s temple, inhaling his scent. He still smelled of a mixture of all the colognes he tried on in Galeries Lafayette today. “I have the right to love. Nothing or nobody will ever prevent me from loving,” Ivan translated the lyrics in a similar melody.

Till’s hand slid from his shoulder to his chest. “That’s true,” he said. “You and I have the right to love.”

When the piano entered the song, their steps slowed down relatively. Till laid his head on the crook of Ivan’s neck as they kept on dancing. Ivan let his hand caress the other boy’s lower back.

After a quiet moment filled with Édith Piaf’s voice, “Isn’t it so strange?” Till whispered.

Ivan looked down at him. “What is?”

“All these centuries, all these languages, all these different lives in different places of different times,” he mumbled, tracing a circle on Ivan’s chest with his finger. “Yet we all sing, act, and write about the same thing. Love.”

Ivan squeezed Till’s hand, just a little. “I think I have an idea why that happens,” he whispered.

He could almost imagine Till closing his eyes as he leaned on his chest. “Tell me.”

“Well, there are so many words across languages that get lost in translation,” he explained. “But there is one that no matter where in the world, in what language or what decade it might be spoken, never loses that depth and meaning.”

At that, Till straightened from Ivan’s chest and looked at him. His green eyes were blinking like starlight under the hotel lights. “And what is that?”

Ivan’s hand pulled from Till’s waist and reached up to his face instead. His fingertips brushed the strands of hair falling on Till’s face, carefully pushing them away. “I love you,” he whispered. Swallowing, he repeated, “Till, I love you.”

All it took was one look. One look on Till’s face, reserved for that moment only. One look that carried so many emotions, that could outspeak any word known by mankind.

And then Ivan was kissing him. 

It was like time had stopped: the song had ended, the night breeze was quiet, as if only they were left on this earth.

Till kissed him back almost immediately. His touches weren’t gentle, not like the tender, careful kisses they had given each other before in Madrid or London.

This one was brimming with desire. With yearning. With need.

Till pushed Ivan towards the bed, which he welcomingly allowed. He laid backwards onto the sheets and pulled Till upon himself. The boy fell on his elbows as he kept on pressing his lips on Ivan’s hungrily.

Sliding his hands under Till’s shirt, Ivan ran his fingers on his waist and stomach, making his breath hitch. 

“Take it off,” Till whispered into his mouth.

Ivan didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled the shirt off of Till’s head, revealing his bare chest as Till scrambled to take Ivan’s off. Ivan raised himself just a little to allow the other boy to pull the shirt out of his head.

As soon as both of their shirts piled up on the ground, Ivan grabbed Till from the waist and twisted on the bed, getting himself on top of him. 

Till’s tousled gray hair spread on the covers, parted lips gasping for a breath as he stared at Ivan with an indescribable love in his eyes.

Ivan realized he must’ve been staring when Till slightly tilted his head on the bed and reached up with both hands to cup Ivan’s cheeks. He pulled him closer. 

“You are beautiful, it’s insufferable,” Till whispered, before catching his lips for another kiss.  

It was like filling his lungs with air, to hear those words. So, Ivan savored every single bit of it. His hand found Till’s on the bed, fingers intertwining as soon as they touched. You are beautiful . He couldn’t get enough of it.

He couldn’t get enough of him .

Ivan parted the kiss and buried his head on Till’s neck instead, pressing his lips. 

As soon as their lips had parted, Till let out a sigh, almost like a whimper. “Ivan,” he whispered. “If you leave a mark—”

“I don’t care,” Ivan exhaled, sucking on his skin shortly before pulling to breathe again. “I love you,” he said. His lips moved to Till’s collarbone. “ Je t’aime ,” he then whispered. With one hand, he found the zipper of Till’s pants, making him swallow hard. 

“Ivan—”

The sound of his voice so desperate for more was making Ivan lose his mind. As he unzipped the pants, he kissed his stomach. “ Te amo ,” he whispered this once. “No matter what language it might be in, I love you, Till.” 

There was a short moment as Ivan looked up to see Till’s face.

The boy was flushed, hair a mess as he was raising himself on elbows, watching Ivan with a soft smile—one Ivan had never seen on his face before. He gave a deep, dazed breath before reaching to tenderly run his fingers through Ivan’s hair. “I love you too,” he whispered.

Those words could be all Ivan ever needed to keep going on.

. . .

Soft morning breeze in his ears. Sunlight leaking in through the windows. Warmth of a body on his skin. It was a state between a dreamland and a reality, where it stood uncertain. But it was so nice. Almost too good to be true.

Ivan opened his eyes against the sun that disturbed him. 

He wasn’t alone on the bed. Somebody had their arms around his stomach, hugging him from behind. Somebody so warm and comfortable…

Till .

Slowly, trying to not wake Till, Ivan turned on the bed. Till shifted just a little, yet remained asleep.

Ivan couldn’t even remember when they had fallen asleep like this. Yet still, even while sleeping, Till looked irresistible.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss on Till’s lips. A kiss so short, yet smooth. 

The boy’s eyes opened ever so slightly, but he closed them back and snuggled into Ivan.

“Good morning,” Ivan whispered.

Till’s hands sprawled on Ivan’s back as he pulled him closer. “How do you say that in French?” he asked quietly.

“ Bonjour ,” Ivan said. “Though, I assume you already know that.”

Till smiled against Ivan’s chest. “I didn’t know they used it for mornings too.”

A door knocked loudly. “Ivan!”

Mizi’s voice.

Both Ivan and Till pulled away from each other instantly, straightening on the bed. It took them a few solid seconds to get to their senses.

“How the fuck is it always Mizi that ruins our moments?” Till whispered.

Ivan hastily brought a finger to his lips, meaning for him to keep quiet.

“Are you awake yet?” Mizi called from the other side of the door.

A short hesitation as the boys exchanged a glance. “Uh—yeah?” Ivan responded in the end.

“Perfect! Can I come in?”

Ivan turned to Till, who seemed to sense exactly what was to come. “ Hide ,” he mouthed.

“Where the fuck?” Till aggressively whispered as he fumbled to grab a shirt on.

“I don’t know—the wardrobe?”

“Ivan?” Mizi called again.

Ivan stilled. “Ah—yeah, hold on,” he sweetly said, before going to pull the wardrobe door open in panic and pointing inside. “Get in. Now.”

“Wow, so demanding,” Till whispered mockingly as he bowed his head to not hit the clothing rack. 

“Shut up,” Ivan mocked back. He closed the wardrobe and rushed to find a shirt, which there was one on the floor but Ivan realized as was wearing it, that it belonged to Till.

He couldn’t really care.

Gathering himself, he went to the door and pulled it open.

Right before the door stood Mizi, looking glamorous despite the early hour of the morning. She was wearing a sleeveless top with her long hair tied into a high ponytail. “Good morning!” she said with a bright smile.

“Morning,” Ivan managed. “What’s up?”

“Oh, Sua went to arrange my makeup artists for today’s Vogue shoot, and Hyuna is talking to some people from the agency—I couldn’t really figure out what it was about.” She started walking into the room. “So I’m just back from my morning run and I realized I better wake Till up because he certainly forgot that we had the photoshoot today.”

Ivan was almost certain Till had forgotten. “Yeah?” he said. “Did you—uh wake him up?”

Mizi sighed as she checked her reflection on the vanity mirror. “I’ve been knocking on his door for the past fifteen minutes, but no use. Phone is on mute as usual. Seriously, nobody can ever reach this man.” She turned to Ivan. “I was wondering if you knew where he…” Her words trailed off, as her eyes did—downwards. To the armchair where Till’s coat rested, left from the night before.

Shit .

“Mizi—about that, I can really expla—”

“Why did you put this coat like this, Ivan?” Mizi asked as she went on to grab the coat.

For a second, Ivan froze. He blinked in silence. “What?”

“The cloth will get wrinkles if you don’t hang it properly,” Mizi said, dusting off the coat. “Goodness, do I have to teach you that?”

She started walking towards the wardrobe.

Ivan tensed again.

“No no, Mizi, really—there’s no need—”

It was too late.

Mizi pulled the wardrobe open.

Inside, Till was crossing his arms, staring at her with his same old glare. “Wrinkled coats are a fashion choice, Mizi. Not like I expected you to understand it but maybe try to respect it a little.”

A long silence.

Mizi looked from Till to Ivan. Hands loose around the coat, lips parted in a search of words.

At last, Ivan gave a sigh of defeat. “Before you ask,” he said, bringing a hand to his nape as he looked away. “It is what it looks like. I can’t even lie.” 

Mizi blinked, eyes still going between Ivan and Till. And after a few seconds that felt like it stretched out to eternity, she started laughing .

Ivan raised a brow. Till stepped out of the wardrobe.

“Hold on a second,” Mizi was saying as she laughed hysterically. “How is this even—”

Till forcefully grabbed his coat from her hands. “Yeah, yeah, we know. You got your laugh. Is that fun now?”

“I was just—” Mizi couldn’t stop laughing. “I just wasn’t expecting this! Not from you two—but oh my god—”

“Well, we were going to tell you guys in the end, anyway,” Till said.

“Does anybody know?” she asked, trying to cease her chuckles.

“Only Hyuna,” Ivan said. “I suppose you won’t wait a second to tell Sua.”

“Only if you two want,” Mizi said. She was still smiling—not a smile of mockery but more of… happiness. Support. “I mean, just until five minutes ago I didn’t even know you liked boys, Till. I would understand if you want to keep it a secret.”

At that, Ivan looked at Till, as well, leaving the decision to him.

For a short moment, his grip tightened around the coat. A second of faltering only Ivan noticed. But then, he casually tossed the coat at the armchair and shrugged. “Whatever,” he said. “You know, Hyuna knows. Sua deserves to know it more than either of you.”

Mizi tilted her head. “Well, if you’re allowing me to tell her, then I will.”  She paused, before adding, “Congratulations.”

“Nobody is pregnant,” Till grumbled as he sat on the bed.

“Not by that mean,” Mizi said, rolling her eyes. “I mean, I’m happy that you’re listening to your heart. Both of you.” She glanced at Ivan. “I’m happy for you both.”

Ivan couldn’t help a smile. He had never ‘come out’ to people. It was almost like they always knew of his preferences, weren’t shocked to see him with a boy at parties. 

But in this context, it almost felt different. There was a satisfaction in his chest, almost like a weight he had gotten rid of. Almost like, he thought, how Marie Antoinette might’ve felt after surviving that balcony stand and walking back into the palace with her grace and pride.

A phone ring interrupted the moment. Mizi took it out of her pocket and checked it.

Whoever was calling, it was enough to make her smile drop. 

Before Ivan could even open his mouth to ask, she picked up the call and brought it to her ear. “Hello?” she said. “Luka? Why are you calling?”

Luka .

Anger bristled Ivan. Till stood up from the bed when he heard the name.

Mizi blinked vacantly as she listened to the phone. “Come again?” she asked. Luka said something back, to which she only frowned. “You’re telling me you’re in Paris ?”

Now, that could be the last thing Ivan was expecting. He exchanged a glance with Till: one that bred caution, concern, fury. He wasn’t sure if any of them— especially Hyuna—would be happy about this.

Chapter Text

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” Hyuna said, visibly frustrated. “Luka is in Paris?”

They were on the hotel’s rooftop now, all of them sitting around a table under the umbrella shade while Hyuna stood before them, hands on her hips.

“I don’t know,” Mizi said with a note of distress. “He just called me and told me he was here and was coming to check on things.”

“Well tell him there’s nothing to be checked!” Hyuna said.

“But my father is the one who sent him to make sure everything in the hotel is fine.” Mizi was looking at her phone. “Oh—Luka’s parents own this hotel. Shit. That makes sense.”

“So he wasn’t lying about that?” Hyuna asked, frowning. “I’m going to kill that asshole—”

That was when the automatic doors of the rooftop slid open. Everyone’s heads turned in unison.

Stepping onto the rooftop was Luka. Wavy blond hair styled flawlessly natural, with a flowy white button-up and fancy brown pants. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, a trench-coat draping from his arm, a golden Tambour on his wrist and similarly, a Les Gastons pendant on his neck. Ivan couldn’t even calculate how expensive that outfit was.

Mizi was looking at Luka with concern. Hyuna, on the other hand, seemed like she was boiling in flames.

From under the table, Till’s hand touched Ivan’s.

Ivan turned to the boy sitting next to him. Till wasn’t looking. His gaze was stuck on Luka, too. But still, there was a warning in his grip. A need in his touch.

Luka shortly looked at all of them, before his glance landed on Mizi. “ Bonjour , Miz.”

“Luka,” Mizi cautiously said. “Why did you fly all the way here from New York? You could’ve just told my father you were busy.”

“But I wasn’t,” Luka said with a cool smile. When he started walking towards them—towards Hyuna , Hyuna stepped back, as if trying to keep her distance.

“Everything is fine,” she said aggressively. “Nothing needs to be checked. You can return to the shithole you came from.”

Luka’s smile didn’t even falter. “But I just landed this morning,” he said. “I deserve to rest a little. Thankfully, this hotel is under my mother’s name.”

He and Hyuna seemed to be having a staring competition that lasted until Hyuna tutted in annoyance and shook her head. “The lying look is so obvious on your face. Tell me the real reason you’re here. Right now.”

Luka hummed. “You still remember the looks of my face, then?”

Hyuna didn’t budge. “Yeah, you used to lie a lot. It’s not that hard to recall it when it’s the only thing I remember about you.”

There was a short silence where Luka’s mocking smile faded away. His gaze deepened. “That’s quite why I’m here,” he said. “To talk things out.”

Sua shot a sideways glance of curiosity towards the table. Mizi shrugged in a similar confusion. Ivan shook his head. And by his side, he could see Till pursing his lips, eyes locked on Luka and Hyuna.

“Talk what out?” Hyuna grumbled.

“Hyuna,” Luka said, his voice so soft, so sincere that Ivan couldn’t get himself to believe he was actually being genuine. But the look on his face was far from pretense. “You know what’s around the corner. Next month, it’s going to be one year, and I don’t want us to be like this—”

When he took a step towards Hyuna, she pushed him away. “Stop acting like it wasn’t your fucking fault—”

“I know what it looks like to you,” Luka said. “But you’ve never given me the chance to explain myself ever since the incident—”

“Hyunwoo is fucking dead !”

A deep, heavy silence.

Ivan was sure everyone at that table could remember the day Hyuna lost her brother. It was soon after the recordings for Anakt Garden were over. They were supposed to be moving on with the film editing, negotiations with distributors, and deciding on a release date.

But the news had wrecked Hyuna so terribly that they had postponed the process for several months. The media hadn’t gotten an explanation. Just a postponement notice. 

It was a car crash, from what Ivan was told. In the dead of the night, in Manhattan. The doctors at the hospital seemed to be cautious of the information told to the visitors, all of them giving out the exact same explanation like a recitation.

For days, Hyuna hadn’t left the hospital. For weeks, she had locked herself in her house. The first few months, it was almost impossible to reach her. Anytime Ivan tried visiting, he would be left out the door. Anytime Mizi or Sua called him, he would expect to hear some news about Hyuna.

It had taken her long months to get back to her usual self. Maybe it was the work that helped her start going out again. Maybe it was her family. But regardless, after about seven months, Hyuna had started joining the dinners with the film crew once again, and that seemed to be what brought her back to the flow of life.

Yet despite all this, Ivan wasn’t exactly sure what Luka had to do with Hyuna’s brother’s death.

“You know it was my loss too,” Luka said, his voice cracking so subtly. “As much as it was yours,” he added. “Hyunwoo was my friend.”

“If he really was your friend, then you would’ve tried to prevent him from going for his own death —”

“You think I haven’t tried, Hyuna?” Luka asked loudly. “Do you think I would’ve let him kill himself if I could stop him?”

“You could stop him,” Hyuna drowned out. “You knew he was using drugs, and you fucking hid that from me!”

Those unexpected words brought discomfort to the moment. Mizi’s eyes widened, Sua was frowning in concern. By Ivan’s side, Till shifted in his seat. His eyes lingered on Hyuna and Luka with an unreadable face.

He didn’t look away. Not even when Ivan interlocked their fingers underneath. Not even when he rubbed his thumb over his knuckles.

“Hyunwoo wanted me to hide it,” Luka insisted. “Even I found it out by accident, and he was petrified. Can you imagine how wrecked he would be if you knew? He was so scared of his little sister finding out the extent of his addiction that he threatened me, Hyuna.” Luka gave a shaky breath. “He told me he would kill himself if you ever found out.”

Hyuna’s eyes were filled with tears of anger that she kept on blinking away.  “We could’ve gotten him help,” she said. “We could’ve found a way to get him clean before he died.”

“I know it was my fault to think I was doing the right thing, but I was so afraid to lose him,” Luka said. He swallowed. “And I was so afraid to hurt you.”

At that, Hyuna gave an uptight breath. She gritted her teeth. “Well, thanks to your reckless decision, you lost him and hurt me anyway.”

“Hyuna,” Luka called, but Hyuna was already walking past him.

“Mizi, Till. We better head to the studio now. You have a photoshoot in an hour.”

“Hyuna, can we—”

“ Not a word,” Hyuna directly told Luka. “Get up, people. Our schedule doesn’t stretch.”

The air was dark and heavy with the mists of spoken words, veiled truths. Everyone could feel the tension. But still, the only thing they did was to obey Hyuna’s words and stand up, following her inside the hotel and leaving Luka alone on the rooftop, above the cityscape of Paris.

. . .

The photoshoot, it turned out, had a romantic theme intended. The Vogue crew were true masters at their art. The matching clothes Mizi and Till were expected to wear had a flavor of Renaissance, with the colors red and black on spot. The studio, meanwhile, was filled with props of similar vibes: roses everywhere .

The crew had greeted them eloquently. All the stylists, makeup artists, and photographers had shaken their hands and expressed their delightedness with a quick spoken French before getting to work.

Mizi being as good as a native helped the communication a lot, because whatever high-society French was going on around here, Ivan struggled to get a perfect grasp of it.

As the stylist and her assistant were fixing the suit on Till, the MUAs were doing Mizi’s makeup. There was a calm working process. Friendliness could be debatable, but the team was doing a good job regardless.

Ivan was sitting in the corner as the prop stylist served him, Hyuna, and Sua coffee. His eyes were on Till, whose solo shoots had begun while Mizi’s costume was getting arranged in the dressing rooms.

Each pose Till made, the photographer shot a picture, as if it was too good to miss, too rare to not save. And Ivan had to agree.

In that suit, Till seemed to his eyes like the King of Hearts. 

The contrast of red and black showed on the makeup. A pearly necklace hung from the frilly neckline of his shirt, the red satin on the inner side of his black overcoat showing each time he posed in a way that flattered the design. When he stared at the camera, there was confidence on his face. There was a charm in the way he moved, something captivating in his attire.

“You stare too much,” Sua mumbled to him quietly.

Ivan blinked away from Till. “Do I?”

Right now, she knew. Mizi and Hyuna knew too. Unlike the other two, Sua hadn’t said a single word about it. Hadn’t even reacted, but just moved on like it was the obvious thing. Almost as if she knew beforehand.

Sua nodded. “Starry-eyed,” she noted. “Can’t make sure how the media didn’t get their head around it yet.”

Ivan rolled his eyes. “Stop that.”

Just then, Mizi came out of the dressing room in her echoing high heels. Sua’s attention was immediately drawn.

Mizi stood there with her hair curled and pinned into an amazing bun. She was wearing a glossy corset with a glamorous art painted onto it, edges refined with gold. Down her legs was a cage crinoline that reached her knees, showing the lace black stockings underneath it. From both sides, the crinoline was covered by frilly red skirts, matching the color of her stilettos.  While her dark makeup brought out the color of her eyes, the red lipstick complemented the shape of her lips.

Hyuna let out a whistle. Sua’s eyes glinted. “Oh my god, Mizi.” She put her coffee aside and stood up from the couch. “You look spectacular!”

Mizi smiled. “Except I can’t breathe in this thing,” she said in a low Korean, tapping on the corset. Sua and Ivan laughed at that, right before the photographer called.

“Miss Mizi,” he said in French. “If you’re ready, we can take your solo pictures, before moving on to the takes with Mister Till.”

“Of course.” Mizi nodded, walking towards the set area quite stiffly due to the dress. Behind her, the stylist’s assistant grabbed the tail of her dress to grant ease.

As the crew focused on Mizi, Till got the chance to step away from the cameras and sit on the couch next to Ivan. He sank down, arms extended on the head of the couch. “Did that look good?”

“As good as a marble statue,” he said. “Every photo of this shoot has to be displayed in a museum.”

Till took Ivan’s coffee and drank a sip. “Is this how a history nerd compliments?” 

Ivan grinned. “I suppose.” When Till gave the coffee back to him, he drank from the exact same place Till’s lips had touched. “But seriously, you looked amazing.”

By their side, Hyuna cleared her throat.

Ivan and Till turned to her in confusion.

“ I didn’t need to hear all that.”

There was a short moment before Till burst into laughter. The happiness in his voice helped Ivan giggle too, while Hyuna rolled her eyes at them.

Soon after, Mizi’s solo shots were over and the photographer called Till to join. Hyuna went to the balcony for a cigarette while Ivan helped the prop stylist take all the empty glasses to the kitchen area—which, surprisingly, this studio had.

The team were all around Till and Mizi, observing and giving ideas with poses. Everything they suggested required proximity. Everything they wanted from the models was for them to act like lovers.

As much as it got on Ivan’s nerves, he didn’t let it show. Well, maybe he squeezed his hands into fists, sometimes glared at the stylist who kept on asking for Mizi to throw her leg around Till’s hip, and gave audible sighs as he walked away, to the couch and tried to ignore the shooting entirely—but he tried to keep it subtle and not let it show.

At least Mizi and Till knew what they were doing. They tried to keep the distance as much as possible. Tried to keep their glances friendly, their contact lowset. Their individual confidences were already making those pictures worthy. Even without seeing the final results, Ivan could be sure of that.

After some time, the stylist suggested Mizi and Till to lay on a prop—a bed of roses—together and take close up pictures. Already bored of the woman’s irritating voice and rude, demanding French, Ivan decided to go to the balcony and take a break from the chaos.

When he walked out the tiny balcony, he was caught off guard by Hyuna, who was sitting on a bentwood chair with one leg drawn up to her chest. Phone in one hand, half smoked cigarette burning into the ashtray.

“Hyuna?” Ivan said as he sat on the other chair across the round table made for two. “What’s up?”

“Hey, Ivan,” Hyuna said, raising her head from the phone. She turned it backwards and put it on the table. “Nothing, just chilling out. There’s a nice wind in here.”

That was right. The studio was on the higher floors of an apartment, and looking down from here, they could see the entire street.

“There is,” Ivan agreed.

Neither of them continued the conversation.

Hyuna took another drag from her cigarette, Ivan watched the birds on roofs. The silence was quite uncomfortable.

At last, “Hyuna, are you sure you’re okay?” Ivan asked in one breath.

Hyuna exhaled the smoke before tapping the cigarette into the ashtray. She seemed to be thinking of an answer as she looked down, at the burning tip of the cigarette between her fingers. “It’s about to be a year,” she said, “since Hyunwoo died. And, well, since Luka and I broke up.”

Ivan hesitated before saying, “I didn’t know about your brother’s… situation.”

Hyuna shrugged. “Nobody knows,” she mumbled. “That night, Luka was there with him, you know. It was a car crash.”

Ivan recalled how the doctors had told everyone it was a car crash, but he hadn’t known Luka was there, as well.

“I was so fucking worried for them,” Hyuna said, voice weak. “My brother and my boyfriend—both of them were in a terrible situation. Hyunwoo was taken to an emergency surgery, and Luka was unconscious. I couldn’t ask anything to either of them.” She twisted the cigarette and pressed it onto the ashtray, stubbing it out. “Only after the autopsy did I learn about Hyunwoo’s addiction. That he was under influence while driving that car—I was just so sad and angry. Really, I can’t remember the reasons of my actions. It was terrible. Instead of being there for Luka, I was blinded by my grief. I argued with him, yelled at him for everything but he was in no position to defend himself. That accident gave him a heart condition. Left him in the hospital for weeks.”

Ivan suddenly remembered the talk show studio, where Luka’s agent Claire had reminded him of his heart medication. So this was what that was all about.

“Of course, Luka’s agents tried to cover the accident almost immediately,” Hyuna went on. “Nobody heard a word of it. Not the magazines, not the news. But for the sake of his fucking reputation, Luka started acting like an asshole. He pretended to never know Hyunwoo at all. Fuck, he didn’t even attend his funeral . All he cared about was the media—always the goddamn media.” She gave a sigh after all that, rubbing the crease between her brows. “And in that tantrum, we broke up.”

Ivan wasn’t sure what to say to that. He looked away at the rooftops of Paris once again. “He seemed quite serious this morning, though. At the hotel.”

Hyuna swallowed. “I didn’t know Hyunwoo had threatened him.” A lifeless, angry scoff. “God knows what else I still don’t know about my own fucking brother.”

“I don’t like Luka,” Ivan truthfully said. “After the situation he put Mizi and Till into, I don’t like him at all.” He couldn’t help a bristling flame in his chest every time Till’s crying face came to his vision. He sighed, glancing at Hyuna with the side of his eye. “But he seems to care a lot about you, Hyuna.”

When he said that, Hyuna looked up at him. Her icy blue eyes were clueless, lost. Looking for guidance.

Ivan shrugged. “Maybe give him a chance to say whatever he has to say,” he suggested. “Keep him away from me, though.”

That made Hyuna scoff. “Now that you say that,” she muttered thoughtfully, eyes scanning the city. “Closure could be nice.”

There was a tone of yearning in her voice. One Ivan could tell easily.

She wanted to talk to Luka.

“Then go and get it, while he’s still in Paris,” Ivan said. “Nobody is holding you back.”

After considering those words for a second, Hyuna shook her head in defeat, wearing a smile. “You’re good with words, Ivan, you know that?”

“What can I say?” Ivan said. “That’s the definition of my job.”

. . .

The photoshoot lasted all day long, so once they had left the studio, all of them were starving. Mizi said she knew a place and took them to a restaurant for a late lunch, or relatively, early dinner. Upon Mizi’s suggestions, Ivan ordered steak au poivre : a traditional French dish.

Since the boys had missed the show at Moulin Rouge last night—which Mizi and Sua could now understand, knowing the situation going on between Ivan and Till—Mizi had suggested going to Opéra Garnier to watch a concert or play, whatever they were having tonight.

Neither Ivan nor Till had an excuse to say no to that, so they complied. 

Palais Garnier was almost as fancy as Versailles was. Inside, shades of gold reigned. Carefully carved columns, captivating ceiling art, marble stairs that made their steps echo; it truly felt like stepping inside history, to centuries prior to the day they lived.

Apparently there was an orchestra concert that night: of Dmitri Shostakovich’s symphonies. As always, saying Mizi’s name at the entrance allowed them access into the grand theater. The staff showed them their last minute seats, which were surprisingly close to the front rows, at a location where they could see the entire orchestra perfectly well.

Live music had always impressed Ivan. It was so different from listening to recordings: it was present and alive , as the name suggested. It satisfied his ears, his heart. Each musician on that stage had a different charm to them. Whether the instrument they played, or the professional focus on their faces. It never failed to amaze Ivan. Through the entire concert, his eyes trailed among the musicians. He watched each violinist as they moved their bows in rhythm, cellists as they slid their fingers through the necks of their instruments, trumpeters as they breathed with the music, and the chief conductor who lived within the melody she was directing.

All of this, unitedly, could be the best view created by humankind.

Sometime in the middle of the concert, Till laid his head on Ivan’s shoulder. The music was slow then, violins playing a calm melody, a soft harp layering the tune with its grace.

The theater was dark, and nobody would’ve noticed it. Ivan thanked the spotlights on the stage as he tilted his head, cheek pressing on Till’s head.

“Why so touchy all of a sudden?” he whispered.

“Just felt like it,” Till whispered back with a shrug.

The harp blended into the violins before erasing itself from the music. And then came the piano. A melody so angelic, so relaxing as the strings accompanied it.

Ivan closed his eyes shortly. It was peaceful, he thought. All the instruments so coherent, like puzzle pieces. Till’s head on his shoulder, comfortable as he reached up a little, only enough to plant a soft kiss on the side of Ivan’s neck before lying back on his shoulder. Between their seats, their fingers interlocked without a gap, like they were made for each other.

This was peace. And if he had the chance, Ivan would’ve stayed in this exact moment forevermore.

. . .

After the concert, they had returned to the hotel. Tomorrow, they had the Paris gala, and right after that, they were going to fly to Rome, Italy. Another night flight, another night of disrupted sleep.

Though, Ivan tried not to think of their busy schedule tonight. Instead, he took a long, warm shower in the bathtub, letting his mind have its rest. Most of his thoughts were about Till. About his scent. His eyes. The warmth of his hands. The taste of his lips. But occasionally, his thoughts of affection got poetic and led him to another aspect of his feelings: creation.

He thought of the draft awaiting him in the pages of his journal.

In his mind, it was already starting to take the shape of a new movie script. Maybe, he considered, it could be his next project.

Maybe.

When he checked his phone after getting out of the shower, he saw a message from Till.

Till : Wanna go out?

Ivan was ruffling his hair with the towel as he clicked on the message to type a response.

Ivan : Like, right now?

Till was suddenly online.

Till : Yeah. Maybe to the hotel’s bar, or the pools. Idk, you decide .

All thoughts of sleep vanished from Ivan’s mind as he read that message. He texted an answer without a second thought.

Ivan : Meet me in the hallway in five minutes.

Till : Wow, so eager.

Ivan : Oh please, you’re the one who suggested it in the first place. Can you not spend a moment without me?

Till : Maybe. I love you.

A single text, three simple words. Yet somehow, Ivan felt a flutter in his chest and a smile on his lips.

Ivan : I love you too.

In five minutes, they met in the hotel hallway. Ivan was already out, walking to Till’s room when Till came out.

His face was immediately painted with a bright smile as soon as he saw Ivan. “Hey,” he said, pulling his room’s door closed.

“Hey,” Ivan said, leaning in to press a kiss on his cheek. 

“I missed you,” Till mumbled.

Ivan chuckled. “Till, it’s barely been an hour since we returned to the hotel and parted ways.”

“I know,” Till said, “but I still did.”

As they started walking to the elevators, “You know, the French word for missing somebody is quite poetic,” Ivan said.

Till smiled. “Go on, professor. Tell me about it.”

Ivan rolled his eyes at Till’s amusement. “ Tu me manques ,” he said. “It literally means ‘you are absent from me’. As if you’re a piece of me, and when we’re apart, you’re missing from me.”

“ Tu me manques ,” Till repeated. “That has a nice ring to it.”

They took the elevator to the ground floor. The hotel bar could be crowded and Till was not in disguise, so they decided to just go out into the hotel’s pool area, where they could get fresh air, privacy, and quiescence.

The sky was already so dark, the chilly night breeze balanced. There wasn’t anybody left in the big outdoor pool, obviously. Cushioned sunbeds were empty. Neon blue lights were lit inside the pools, making them the only source of light, save the moon.

Till took Ivan’s hand. “Come on,” he said.

“ Till ,” Ivan said in a warning manner, though he didn’t pull his hand back.

“Nobody is around,” Till excused.

“But we’re still outside,” Ivan said matter of factly.

Till kept leading him on the wet boards around the pool. “The paparazzi can’t get inside the hotel’s territory and anybody to watch us from their hotel window wouldn’t recognize me in the dark.” He met Ivan’s eyes shortly. “Please, I just want to have a moment with you.”

Ivan was never going to understand what on earth he might’ve done in a past life to deserve to hear those words.

He squeezed Till’s hand. “Alright then,” he said, making the other boy smile.

They walked until they reached the edge of the pool. Till, without a word, sat down and extended his legs into the cold, gleaming water.

It had almost reminded Ivan of the night they went to the beach in Los Angeles, where Till had sat on the pier with the exact same attitude. Smiling, he sat next to him.

In the moment of slow sounds of the water, “You know what,” Till began. He was staring at the sky, although there were no stars. “Last night, I had a proper sleep for the first time in a long time.”

Ivan looked at him. It was so hard to press down the urge to grab his cheeks and pull him into a kiss right now. Instead, he tilted his leg just a little, enough for it to touch Till’s. “Does that have something to do with sharing a bed with me?” he playfully asked.

Till grinned. “I think it does,” he said. “You’re better than a painkiller.”

Even if there was a note of something else in his voice as he said those words, Ivan couldn’t quite catch it. 

Till didn’t let him think on it, either. He continued, “Today at the photoshoot, I was thinking of what my life has become.”

“What about it?” asked Ivan.

“I fucking posed for Vogue today, Ivan,” he stated, now looking at his lover. “That’s where I stand now. Where my fame has brought me.”

Ivan recalled the conversation they’d had in Madrid. He didn’t want to bring it up and ruin the moment, but a part of his mind was stuck there, at the fact that Till thought of his worth to be equivalent to his reputation.

No , he thought. He didn’t want to take the smile away from Till’s face.

So, instead, “You’ve come a long way,” he told him. “Really, I admire you.”

As he spoke the Korean word, its Russian counterpart came to his mind. Любоваться . It was often translated as to admire, but it was a bit more specific. It shared the same root with the word love .

It meant to look at someone with love. To take great pleasure just from being in their presence, with the sense of wonderment laying in its foundation.

He did admire Till, he realized. In every sense of любоваться .

“I’m thankful that you supported me about dropping out,” Till said. “If it wasn’t for you back then, I wouldn’t have been here today. Saying it was the fans or the agencies that got me here is a lie.” His hand found Ivan’s in the dark. “It has always been you.”

Words had a power. That was an undeniable truth. But how fragile were humans to be affected by so little of it? How fragile was Ivan to want to cry when he heard those words from Till’s mouth?

He swallowed, smiling. “You told me this before,” he mumbled. “In Tokyo, when you were drunk, remember?” He paused a second, adding, “Not the latter, but that you were thankful.”

To that, Till chuckled. “Did I?” he asked, looking down at the neon pool. “Well, I guess now you know for sure that a drunk mind speaks a sober heart.”

When the doors of the hotel opened from the inside, Till and Ivan instantly turned in unison. If it was a normal guest of the hotel, it would’ve been fine. Till would’ve turned his face into the darkness and waited until the intruder got out of sight. Maybe they would’ve just stood from where they sat and walked back into the hotel like nothing had happened before anybody could have proof of the two boys flirting by the pool.

But to see who had walked out of that door was too much of a shock for both of them that they forgot to move for a solid second as they stared at the silhouette framed in light.

Luka .

His eyes landed on Ivan and Till almost immediately.

Ivan pulled his hand away from Till’s, stopped brushing his leg with his. Instead, he clasped his hands over his knees.

Luka started walking towards them. His face was… distant from the usual cocky expression, almost like he was in a more natural state, away from the cameras. “Till, Ivan,” he said with that irritating, velvety voice of his.

Ivan remained cautious. And so did Till. Neither of them responded to him.

But that didn’t seem to bother Luka at all. “What are you doing here at this hour?” he asked. His amber eyes measured them up from head to toe.

“Taking fresh air,” Till said quite defensively. “Making the most of the pool I can’t use in daylight.”

Luka’s gaze lingered a little long on Ivan. “Well, have fun,” he said doubtfully. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Till mumbled, lacking sincerity.

Luka almost started walking away, yet he halted just after taking two steps. He turned over his shoulder. “Also, Till,” he said.

Till raised a brow. “What?” he asked in a tone that could almost be interpreted as rude.

Though, that didn’t seem to faze Luka, either. He just wore a practiced smile that got on Ivan’s nerves and tilted his head. “I wanted to say sorry for our last encounter. I hadn’t thought it would be a sensitive topic for you.” He shrugged. “But I understand. You’re new into this business.”

Ivan would’ve punched him right on the face if it wasn’t for Till who just mirrored the poised, cunning smile of Luka’s. “Sure. I might be bad at interviews, but at least I can manage my relationships better than you,” he said.

That caught Ivan so off guard he almost laughed.

Yet Luka’s smile didn’t falter. “A sharp tongue too. I’m sure the media would love you.”

“Yeah,” Till said. “Maybe even better than they love you.”

After that, Luka didn’t say anything else. He just stared at Till for a little longer than a second, then turned away, on his way to wherever he was going. “Good night, Till,” he coolly said.

“Good night, Luka,” Till echoed, watching him walk away.

As soon as the blond man was out of sight, Ivan snorted.

“He just apologized to you,” he remarked.

“Sarcastically,” Till noted. “Not my proudest moment.”

That just made Ivan laugh more. “God, I wonder what Hyuna might’ve told him for him to come here and say sorry.”

At the thought of that, Till giggled too. “All I can imagine is her scolding him.”

“Yeah, if I’m being honest, I would apologize too if Hyuna scolded me.”

Still chuckling, Till laid backwards on the boards. “Wait, do you think he apologized to Mizi too?”

Ivan laid down next to him. “Oh, Mizi, chérie , I’m so sorry for paying god-knows-how-many-dollars to the paparazzi for your pictures! Surely you’ll forgive me!” he mocked in a voice that imitated Luka, leaning in close to Till.

Till laughed. “Stop,” he said between chuckles. Unexpectedly, he slid a hand to Ivan’s nape and pulled him in for a kiss.

Ivan’s laughter dissolved into a sigh as soon as his lips met Till’s. He forgot what he was doing, what he was thinking. The before and after perished, leaving only the present. He stabilized himself on his elbow as he leaned in, kissing Till deeper.

Damn Luka, damn the stylist who wanted Till to touch Mizi for the photoshoot, damn anybody who could be watching them from their hotel balcony right now.

All he needed was this feeling in his veins. Till’s touch on his skin. His heart beating against his.

And then, he could forget everything else.

Chapter Text

“My feet hurt so bad,” Mizi was saying as she walked in loose sneakers after the gala. “Do we have a carpet in Rome?”

“Nope,” Hyuna said as she dragged her suitcase behind her back. “Just a few interviews in the afternoon, and then we’re free for the night.”

They had checked out of the hotel in Paris, and were about to load their luggages in the limo to drive to the airport, and fly to Rome. 

Ivan wasn’t sure where Luka was. He hadn’t seen him again after last night. He hadn’t contacted Mizi at all today. From the visible ease in Hyuna since this morning, he could tell she and Luka had talked. But whatever it was about, Hyuna didn’t bring it up.

And truthfully, nobody wanted to ask.

As they were driving to the airport, Mizi was in a melancholic (and quite dramatic) state of watching Paris’s streets out the window, wishing to come back here soon. Sua, as her interest in popular culture was immense, was flipping through a French magazine, occasionally asking for Mizi to translate words. Hyuna was on her phone, and the event must’ve gotten Till so exhausted because his eyes were closing, head inclined towards Ivan but not quite leaning.

And Ivan didn’t feel the need to cover themselves, because everybody in the car knew.

They knew and didn’t bat an eye. Treated it normal. Usual.

Even that awareness was helping him breathe better.

They arrived at the airport in no time. Loading their stuff into the plane had become a routine now—one that didn’t require much talking or time. As per usual, Ivan settled onto the back window seat. He put his bag down, under his seat after taking out the new book he was going to start reading. 

Till walked into the plane soon after. “ All of these into the refrigerator?” He was holding a bunch of packaged snacks in his arms.

“All of them,” said Hyuna as she loaded bags onto the overhead storage.

With a sigh, Till dropped his backpack on the seat next to Ivan’s and went to the refrigerator.

Right then, walked in Sua and Mizi, settling on their own seats. “Till,” Sua called. “You still didn’t send me the photos!”

“Ah, right—on it!” Till mumbled, though his hands were fumbling in the jet’s fridge, trying to make space for the new snacks. “Ivan, could you grab my phone from my bag? It’s in the front pocket.”

“Sure,” Ivan said, putting his book aside. He reached for Till’s black bag, turned it, and unzipped the front pocket. Inside was Till’s wallet and his phone, which Ivan took.

But as soon as he took the phone out of the bag, something else caught his eye.

Foil packaging. Curiously, Ivan took it and turned it around.

It was a pack of white pills. 

“Ivan?” Till called.

Ivan put the medication back into the bag without a word, feeling like a child caught stealing. He tried to press down the lump in his throat. “Here.”

He extended the phone as soon as Till approached. “Thanks,” he said with a smile. He took his phone and started walking to Sua’s seat. “Here. Choose the ones you want, Sua," he casually said.

But Ivan was too stuck on what he saw. The good in him tried to not put much meaning into it. Pills could be for anything, after all. For headaches, or stomachaches, or maybe for Till’s very obvious insomnia. But still, for some reason, he couldn’t shake the bad feeling. The secondary thoughts. The unwanted ideas.

Till was back to their seats before Ivan could let himself think for long. “God, I’m so exhausted,” he was saying as he put his bag down to free the seat. 

Ivan swallowed. He pushed the thoughts away. “If you want to sleep, my shoulder or lap is always here," he said.

Till giggled at that. “Then I might take your shoulder, so we can listen to music together, too.” He sat next to Ivan.

Come on. Ivan wanted to push away the off feeling. Till was acting normal. He was fine. His intrusive thoughts were just being intrusive. There was no need to overthink it.

“A new book?” Till asked.

Ivan blinked back into the moment. “Huh? Oh, yeah.” He flipped through the novel. “ Camere Separate by Pier Vittorio Tondelli . ”

“Don’t tell me it’s in Italian,” Till said, giving him a glare.

Ivan chuckled. “It’s not,” he said. “It’s in English. I got it while we were in London.”

Till pulled his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “Well then, tell me what it’s about.”

“It mostly deals with the theme of loss and grief,” Ivan started, looking down at the cover. “But also, it’s a complicated love story. Between two characters named Leo and Thomas.”

Till hummed. “Does one of them die?” he instantly suggested.

Ivan smiled helplessly, knowing how Till would react to it. “Thomas does.”

Just as he had expected, Till rolled his eyes with a groan. “God give gays one day of peace,” he said, making Ivan laugh. “How does it happen?”

“Well, that’s what the entire story is about. Leo dealing with the loss of his love, Thomas. He keeps recalling their memories throughout the book,” he explained. “You see, Leo had a relationship with someone else before, which was quite destructive for him, so he left that person. Afterwards, at a party in Paris, he met Thomas. The two clicked right away. They kept meeting around Europe, spending holidays together and going on trips. But in no time, things got complicated.”

“Of course they did,” Till mumbled.

“Leo’s fondness of solitude put a distance between him and Thomas, which Thomas couldn’t bear and found a woman to spend his time with, which triggered a jealousy in Leo. And while things were in that messy state, Thomas fell ill and died.”

Till gave a sigh. “I already hate this,” he said. “You really can’t get enough of tragedies.” 

"You're right. This book is kind of slow, but I enjoy the writing. Even though I don't like the story as much." Ivan put the book down and looked up at the ceiling. “But you know, I like to change the ending in my mind.”

At that, Till chuckled. Ever so slowly, he laid his head on Ivan’s shoulder. “Do Leo and Thomas end up together in your mind?” he asked quietly.

Ivan closed his eyes at the warmth of his lover. “They do,” he said. “They’re happy and alive.”

When Till turned his head as if to inhale Ivan’s scent, his breathing tickled Ivan. “That’s good to know,” he whispered.

There was a momentary, welcomed silence. Without opening his eyes, Ivan found the tangled earphones in the pocket of his jeans. “Anything you want to listen to?” he asked as he fiddled with the cable to untangle it.

Till, with a smile, tapped his phone screen open. “I have just the song.”

Ivan gave the stereo plug to him while tucking one end of the earphone in his ear, and the other into Till’s.

In a few seconds, Till clicked on a song. A soft, familiar guitar started playing in Ivan’s ear.

Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer.

He laughed as soon as he recognized the song. “Kiss Me?” he mumbled. “Should I be taking it as a hint?”

Till's smile widened. “Maybe,” he whispered.

“ Kiss me beneath the milky twilight,

Lead me out on the moonlit floor,

Lift your open hand, strike up the band,

And make the fireflies dance,

Silver moon’s sparkling,

So kiss me… ”

As the song went on, Ivan planted a soft kiss on Till’s head, one that seemed to regulate his breathing, help him lean into sleep, along the calm guitar and vocals coming from the earphones.

“I love you,” Ivan whispered.

Till didn’t respond with words. Instead, he snuggled in a little closer. And that was more than enough for Ivan to feel as if he’d heard the words back.

. . .

Ivan really hated night flights. The landing had awoken him from such a deep sleep that he couldn’t even care to check the time. All he wanted was to go to the hotel and sleep again.

He couldn’t remember half the stuff he did in that state of mind. With closed eyes and a dazed head, he managed to unload his bags, carry them to the limo, and sit into the backseat.

The car ride was silent, since everybody was drowsing. Even Hyuna, who was supposedly the one in charge, closed her eyes every five seconds, occasionally yawning.

They arrived at the hotel, took their belongings and got inside the building. Ivan could hear Italian and English, but his brain wasn’t registering any of it. Not now.

He could hear Mizi talking to the employees in a low, weary English. In a few moments, the staff had taken their bags and told them to wait at the lobby as their rooms were prepared.

Ivan wasn’t sure if the waiting lasted short or if he dozed off on the chair he was sitting on, but either way, he was in his room so soon.

And he really, really couldn’t care less about anything else. Without even turning the lights on, he stumbled in and dropped his suitcase on the ground. He threw himself onto the bed, and as soon as his head touched the pillow, he was pulled into a heavy, needed sleep.

. . .

The next morning, Mizi and Till had an interview with the biggest Italian movie critic, who apparently had gotten to see the screening in Los Angeles and was a huge supporter of Mizi’s work, entitling her as a talent born into the right family in his previous reviews.

As they drove to the studio, Ivan’s eyes were on the ancient sight of Rome. It was amazing how Europe had kept its roots and authenticity after all these centuries. Every single building, every single gargoyle carved above a door or a column made him want to sit and stare for a moment, appreciating the architecture.

“I wish people still made buildings like this,” Ivan said, staring out of the car window.

“With that, I agree,” Hyuna said. “Why sit in a big white box when you can spice it up with gargoyles?”

“I’ll build you a castle,” Till told Ivan with a note of flirtiness.

“If you build it, that would be disastrous,” Mizi said from across the seat.

Till frowned at her. “Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try, silverspoon.”

So soon, they arrived in the studio. They were greeted by the team in a polite English, who led them upstairs to the set to start the shooting session. 

When they got up there, movie critic Mr. Lorenzo was already there. He was a fashionable man, in a well tailored suit and a neckerchief. His hoar hair was styled backwards, mustache and beard trimmed delicately. He pushed his colorful sunglasses above his head and stood up from his seat as soon as he saw the movie stars, wearing a big bright smile. “Miss Mizi! Mister Till!” He shook their hands. “It’s a grand pleasure to have you here today! Ah, Director Hyuna! And Sir Ivan, the screenwriter!” His English had an Italian accent, but it wasn’t hard to understand his words. He shook Hyuna and Ivan’s hands too. And before Sua could introduce herself, “Miss Sua, Mizi’s agent,” Lorenzo recognized her, bowing to her gentlemanly.

Sua blinked, her surprise melting into a smile. “It seems to me that you’ve done your research, sir,” she said. 

Lorenzo laughed at that. “Of course. I make sure every guest I invite to my studio is researched properly and asked the right questions. Would you like tea or coffee?”

And so, the session started.

Lorenzo summed up how the process was going to be like to Mizi and Till while his crew arranged the cameras, lighting, and mic packs. The recording began and so did the questions. Hyuna, Ivan, and Sua were watching from behind the camera; though, Ivan’s eyes were only on Till.

He tried not to think about the pills he saw last night, but now, it was almost like he was looking for a sign to confirm his worst ideas. A part of him sought Till’s every action, while the other part deliberately called himself a fool for even thinking of a possibility. 

He shook the thoughts out of his head. He wasn’t going to overthink it.

“So, Till,” Lorenzo said. “Speaking from what I’ve observed in the screening, your character was so fiercely in love at the beginning, yet through the end, some things changed.” He peeked at the camera. “No spoilers yet, of course.”

The crew laughed. Lorenzo continued, “How was it for you to manipulate that change of emotions? And how did you, as an actor, feel about that?”

When Ivan translated the question to Till from behind the camera, he nodded. 

“Well, truly, my character goes through a severe psychological ride in the film, as he meets someone he seems to like, yet the developing relationship unveils his personal problems and they reflect on his love interest, which you’ll get to see soon—I think Mizi did a great job on those scenes,” he explained, giving Mizi a smile. “It was hard for me. Possibly the hardest job and the most complex character of my acting career so far, but after a few months of shooting, I was getting better at peeking into the character’s mind and starting to understand his morals better.” He shrugged. “Did it end the way the audience would’ve expected? No. Not for any of the characters. Was that parting necessary? To me, yes.” His eyes slid to Ivan for a short second. A glance that shared what they had. “But we can all change the endings in our heads, can’t we?”

Ivan smiled. He translated that response, word by word, trying to capture the essence of Till’s emotion and point of view. 

That answer seemed to satisfy Lorenzo, since he smiled under his mustache. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from an actor,” he commented, before moving on with the next question.

After the interview, Lorenzo gave each of them his contact number for anything, anytime. He also added that he was going to write a positive review about the movie for Times.

Ivan expressed his gratitude for the critic one last time before leaving the studio and settling into the limo.

Somehow, he couldn’t help a smile. To know a script he wrote had come this far, he just couldn’t help himself.

Maybe, he thought, things could be so much different after Anakt Garden ’s release. Maybe he would get new opportunities. New jobs. Who knew?

The future awaited. All he needed was to get there.

. . .

“Colosseum, Pantheon, Vatican City, wherever you guys want to go, please let’s just go after nightfall,” Till begged them in the car. “It’s so hot in this city. I just want to eat some pizza.”

“I have to agree,” Mizi said. “Let’s just eat first, please."

Traveling after nightfall was going to limit their entries to museums, Ivan realized. But one thing he had to admit was that Italy was so hot. For this once, he considered, he could let his historical passion aside and instead, maybe, use this day like a vacation, now that their interview was over. So, at last, "That works for me," he said.

“Alright everyone.” Hyuna’s eyes were already on her phone. “I’m going to find us a restaurant, then.”

They drove to a small restaurant, in a calm street, where the owner was a middle aged Italian man who clearly didn’t know Mizi or Till. He greeted them at the door and led them to an empty, old fashioned table. Inside, an Italian flag hung from the wall alongside several tabloids and polaroids of the owner with Italian celebrities. They instantly ordered three margaritas upon Till’s request, and dove in as soon as the first one arrived, everyone pulling out one slice.

As they were halfway through eating the second pizza, Mamma Maria started playing in the restaurant. Mizi and Sua simultaneously gasped at the song they recognized.

“ Mamma Maria is playing!” Sua said.

“What’s that?” Hyuna asked, mouth full of pizza.

“Lack of culture, once again,” Mizi complained, before starting to sing the chorus. “ E poi ti dice solo cose belle, Ma-ma-ma, mamma Maria !”

Mizi’s angelic singing voice was nothing new. With a singer mother, she had grown up learning how to sing, despite her career choice in acting. As Sua sang the main vocals, Mizi harmonized with her, creating a beautiful coherent melody.

“How about we go to karaoke after this?” Ivan suggested as he took another slice from the pizza.

Till nodded immediately. “Oh my god, yes!”

“Oh no,” Hyuna grumbled. “There’s no way I’m going to sing with you.”

“Stop being a killjoy, Hyuna!” Till complained.

Mizi nodded. “Yeah, Hyuna, just enjoy this with us for once!” she said. “Please!” both of them begged in the same tone.

Hyuna glared at them both shortly, before giving a deep sigh. “Fine,” she said. “For this once.”

Mizi and Till cheered, raising high-fives across the table.

Sua got on her phone. “I’m going to find a place then!”

As they all ate their final pizza, Mizi and Till were discussing all the songs they wanted to sing. To see them so bright and happy was making Ivan smile too. Truthfully, all the interviews and events aside, they deserved to have a little fun themselves, too.

. . .

The karaoke session started tame, with Mizi and Sua dueting their favorite Taylor Swift songs. After that, Mizi insisted on giving the mic to Hyuna. Hyuna rejected it at first, but when all of them encouraged her to take the stage and sing at least one song, she complied. As soon as she got the microphone, her attitude melted into the confidence of a rockstar. She opened Bad Reputation by Joan Jett, to which Till knew the lyrics to, so he joined her. After that, when Till opened Queen, everyone cheered and sang along to Bohemian Rhapsody .

And right now, Mizi and Sua were on the last verse of Because the Night by Patti Smith. 

“ Cause we believe, the night will love us,

Cause we believe, in the night we trust! ”

As the song faded out, Till leaned into Ivan. “Join me in the next one?” he asked.

Ivan looked at him. Under the neon lights of the dark karaoke room, his smile was enchanting. “What are we singing?” he asked.

“You’ll see.” Till stood up from the seat, grabbing Ivan’s hand. “Hand me the mic, Mizi!”

“If you two start singing a love song, I might just throw up,” Mizi said as she handed him the mic.

“You literally just sang a love song with Sua!”

“That’s different!” Mizi protested.

“I’m sure it is,” Till teased.

He took charge and typed the song’s name, quickly finding it and clicking on it. So soon, a soft electric guitar started playing and Ivan looked up at the lyrics screen to see what song it was.

I Could Die for You by Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Till walked up to Ivan and held the microphone between them. “I was kind of upset that they didn’t play this song in the concert that day,” he said.

Ivan smiled, feeling an indescribable lightness in his heart. He knew the song—it could even be one of his favorites of the band. “Then let’s sing it together,” he said.

As the intro came to an end and the lyrics began, Till leaned into the microphone. “ Something inside the cards I know is right, ” he started. “ Don’t wanna live somebody else’s life .”

On the next line, Ivan joined him. “ This is what I want to be, and this is what I give to you, because I get it free .”

“He smiles while I do my time ,” Till sang that part quite louder, putting emphasis on the pronoun he changed from she into he .

Ivan couldn’t help but chuckle at it. His hand closed over Till’s on the microphone. “ I could die for you ,” they sang together. “ Oh, this life I choose… ”

Throughout the song, Till didn’t separate his eyes from Ivan. Not even once. Every word he sang, he sang to him, like it was a message to be delivered. A vow to be made. Each word felt deeply, despite the language neither of them were born into.

“ Come again and tell me where you wanna go,

What it means to me to be with you alone,

Close the door and no one has to know,

How we are… ”

. . .

The karaoke had lasted a long hour, where the music shifted from pop to rock, country to punk, jazz to rap. Even though they were often careful around the girls, Till still couldn’t keep his hands to himself and gave Ivan small kisses every time he got the chance. Sua took a lot of videos of them singing. At some point, Mizi had put on her mother’s songs from the 80s, and even Hyuna, when she warmed up a little, could put on a performance worthy of a rockstar.

Their session ended, and they left the karaoke lounge to get lost in the streets of Rome again. As they were leaving, though, Till’s eyes caught a bar in the same street, so he insisted they go in and at least drink a bottle to seal the day.

It was the late hours of the afternoon already, and they had figured they could see the Colosseum and Vatican City at night.

So, when it came to drinking, nobody argued.

They walked into the bar and took a table towards the back. Ivan could see a few heads turn towards them, recognizing the actors.

Yet none of them dared to come up to them.

They all settled on a round table and when the waiter came, Mizi ordered a whole bottle of campari .

The drink and their glasses came with ice cubes in them. The Italian waiters were quick-handed, serving the drinks while putting on a visual show.

The red drinks glowed under the dim lights of the bar. Till raised his own high. “To Rome,” he said, imitating the toast they had in London.

“To Rome!” everyone echoed, glasses clinking.

The drink was bitter, had a citrusy flavor that made Ivan close his eyes as he registered the taste. Till and Hyuna, on the other hand, had already chugged their drinks down, leaving only the ice cubes at the bottom of the glass.

Till exhaled after swallowing the drink, Hyuna blinked to process the bitterness.

“Slow down,” Sua told both of them.

Grabbing the heavy bottle, Till poured himself another shot. “No, I really needed this.”

“Should we order a second bottle?” Hyuna asked.

“Goodness, finish this one first,” Mizi said.

Till slid the bottle to Hyuna on the table after filling his glass. He leaned backwards, throwing an arm around Ivan’s chair. “Hey,” he said, bringing his drink close. “A toast to us.”

Ivan smiled. In a bar filled with a dozen people, in the middle of a city neither of them knew, he brought his glass to clink with Till’s. “To us,” he said. 

The Eiffel charms on their matching leather bracelets flashed against the lights as they took a sip from their drinks at the same time.

“Hey, Till!” Hyuna called.

Both boys turned to her in unison.

“Want to continue the drinking competition we have going on?” Hyuna asked with a smirk.

Mizi rolled her eyes. “Oh, here we go again.”

Till slammed his glass on the table. “Bring it on, Hyuna!”

The two of them raised their glasses for a shot as Ivan and Sua laughed and cheered under the twinkling lights. Maybe they weren’t going to visit Italy again anytime soon, but Ivan was sure they would never forget this moment, no matter what.

. . .

By the time they left the bar, Till and Hyuna were unrecoverably drunk. But despite the amount of times Ivan insisted they should return to the hotel, the two rejected it. Apparently they wanted to see the Colosseum and take pictures. So, Ivan sighed and complied.

The Colosseum was beautiful at night, lit up meticulously in gold, contrasting the navy night sky. While the girls were taking pictures, Ivan and Till started walking around the ancient amphitheater. 

Till’s steps were clumsy, stumbling. When he came to the brink of losing his balance, Ivan caught him. “Maybe,” he said, helping Till stand, “we should’ve just returned to the hotel.”

“You said the same thing at least fifty times, Ivan,” Till grumbled. “I want to walk around Rome. It’s not like we will get to see it again!”

With that, Ivan couldn’t argue. Rome was a beautiful city—the center of an empire Ivan spent his years learning about. As his eyes trailed on the broken Colosseum, he envisioned all the gladiator battles that once took place in this venue. All the bloodshed, all the vulgar cheering. Surely, he didn’t want to live in that time period. But to live today and to be able to illuminate that aspect of history was what he treasured above anything.

“We can see the stars,” Till mumbled.

Ivan blinked away from the Colosseum. By his side, Till’s eyes were on the sky. He looked up, as well.

Truly, they could see more than several stars, blinking at them from afar. There weren’t any clouds to cover the sight. Not tonight.

Ivan smiled. “You know what this makes me think of?” he asked.

Till’s hand found his. “Tell me.”

They were in public. Ivan was well aware. But it was dark at night, no tourist turned to look at them, and Till’s hand was too warm to let go of. Besides, if they stood away from the lights of the Colosseum, nobody would see them.

Nobody would.

Ivan let his fingers intertwine with Till’s. “Dante’s Inferno ,” he said. “The final line of it. E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle .”

“You know I have no idea what that means, right?” Till said, making Ivan laugh.

“Then we came forth to behold the stars,” Ivan translated. “That’s what it means.”

Till seemed to be thinking about it as he kept staring at the stars. Still, “Doesn’t make much sense without context,” he said.

“It’s about Virgil and Dante,” Ivan said. “In Divine Comedy, Virgil guides Dante through nine rings of hell. And at the end of part Inferno , they travel back to Earth, and Dante sees the stars again after a long time.

“Oh,” Till let out with a note of understanding. “ That’s why.”

Ivan nodded. “In a literary sense, it gives the reader hope. Almost like a reassurance that in the end, everything will be okay.”

“Everything will be okay,” Till repeated. He looked down. “That’s nice to imagine. Though, I’m not sure if I believe in it.”

When he said that, Ivan stopped walking. He squeezed Till’s hand. “Till,” he said, as if to give him a little comfort. As if to talk things out, whatever it was that worried him. Maybe even to bring up the things Till kept on hiding, to remind him that he was there to listen, no matter what. He swallowed. “I just—”

“Hold that thought,” Till said like he just had an idea. “What if we go and get matching tattoos?”

Ivan blinked at the unexpected offer. “What?”

“Like, right now.” Till was smiling, a glint of thrill in his eyes. “That quote you said about stars. I want to get a tattoo of it.”

“Till, you’re drunk,” Ivan said, even though Till had already started dragging him along. “You’ll regret that the next morning.”

“We’re in our twenties, Ivan, we live to make mistakes!”

Ivan sighed. “Not sure if you would say the same thing tomorrow morning.”

“It’s not like I’m going to get a tattoo of a dick on my face!” Till protested. “It’s just a quote from Dante’s whatever!”

“ Inferno ,” Ivan corrected. “Dante’s Inferno .”

“Yeah, that.”

. . .

There was a French phrase for doing something stupid for no reason at all. L’appel du vide , they called it. In literal translation, it meant the call of the void . And thinking about it, it made quite the sense. It was supposed to mean as if the tiny voice in your head had called you from the void, and gave you the sudden urge and impulse to do something really, really stupid.

In the late hours of the night, as he walked out of a tattoo studio in Italy with Till, that was exactly what he was thinking. 

He hadn’t gotten a tattoo himself, that much of sanity was still there in him. But of course, he hadn’t managed to stop Till from getting one.

Just as he had said at the Colosseum, he wanted to get a tattoo of the last line of Inferno on his wrist. As soon as Ivan had explained that to the tattoo artist, she had understood the image.

In the middle of the process filled with needle buzzes and chews of the girl’s gum, “You look a lot like a movie star,” she had told Till in English.

Till hadn’t needed Ivan’s translation to understand that one. He had just given her a grin and said, “I get that a lot.”

After the studio, they had called a cab to the hotel (Maybe it was the dark backseat or the tired driver, because he didn’t seem to notice Till—not even a glance), and took the elevator to their rooms.

Ivan had called the girls beforehand, just to tell them of Till’s stupid idea to get tattoos and that they could return without waiting for them. And so, he assumed, at this hour of night, they were probably already sleeping in their rooms.

Till showed his room card to the sensor and unlocked his door. As he pushed it open, he glanced at Ivan over his shoulder. “Want to sleep together tonight?”

Ivan couldn’t help a smile. “How can I say no to this if you keep on looking at me like that?” He held Till’s chin and softly raised it up for a kiss.

He still tasted like the bitter campari . Regardless, a warm, familiar sensation filled Ivan. The sensation of belonging, of veracity, of faith that no other man had ever made him feel before. When he slid his tongue into Till’s mouth, Till smiled against his lips.

He pulled Ivan into the room and closed the door behind his back.

Chapter Text

It had been so long since Ivan was last awakened by the kisses of somebody he loved.

Just one soft kiss had made him recognize Till’s touch. First on his lips, then his cheek. After that, when a hand trailed up his neck, Ivan’s eyes fluttered open.

To see Till lying next to him could be a gift from heaven. His hair was a mess as usual, one arm tucked under his pillow as his fingertips grazed Ivan’s nape.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

Ivan couldn’t get enough of hearing his raw voice, whispering so sweetly in the early hours of the morning. He smiled. “ Buongiorno, amore mio .”

Till smiled, too. “Now, that I understood,” he said.

“You’re getting better at this.”

“When I’m together with a literary genius, it’s not so hard,” he said with a note of flirtiness. When he tilted his head slightly, a love mark caught Ivan’s eye, on the side of his neck.

He grinned. With a sudden move, he got on top of Till, their limbs tangling under the sheets.

Till tossed his head back with a laugh.“Hey—”

Ivan didn’t even wait a second to kiss him deeply, lowering himself on his elbows. Till responded by grabbing his cheeks, pulling Ivan atop of him.

When Ivan pulled back to take a breath, “You might want to use concealer today,” he said.

Till frowned. “Why? Something on my face?”

Smiling, Ivan inclined his head to Till’s neck and pressed a light kiss. “More like, on your neck,” he whispered.

Till groaned in realization, hands sliding into Ivan’s hair. “We have the Berlin gala tonight too,” he said.

Ivan let himself lay on Till. He found his hand and brought it to his lips. “Also, a little concealer on this could work too.” On Till's slender wrist was the newly made tattoo, peeking under the leather bracelet he never took off. E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle, the tattoo wrote. Ivan gave it small kisses, as if to remind him of its existence.

“Holy shit,” Till said then, looking at his wrist. “I nearly forgot that I got this.”

Ivan closed his eyes and laid his head on Till’s chest. “Do you remember what it means, though?”

Till frowned at the writing on his arm. “Something about stars,” he mumbled. “It was a quote, too.”

Ivan chuckled. “From Dante’s Inferno ,” he reminded. “It’s a quote about hope.”

With a hum, Till’s hands came to rest around Ivan’s neck again. “No idea why I got it, now that I’m thinking of it.”

“Do you regret it?” Ivan asked.

“What? Not at all. We’re in our twenties, we live to make mistakes.”

A part of Ivan couldn’t believe Till had sobered up yet still thought the same thing. He nuzzled up on the crook of his neck.

“Plus, it reminds me of you now,” Till added.

Now that could be the sole sentence that made Ivan want to bottle it up, just to listen to it again and again, anytime he wanted. “Does it?” he whispered.

Till hummed in agreement, closing his eyes.

There was a comfortable silence, with Till’s heartbeats right under Ivan’s ear, his warmth enveloping him in the bed. Till’s heartbeats were regular. Thumping once at a time.

Then it faltered a little. Fastened, just a little.

Till shifted in his place. “Alright now, koala, may you get off of me so I can take a shower before we fly to Berlin?”

With a groan, Ivan rolled off of his lover, to his side of the bed. “Is koala what you’re going to call me now?”

“I mean, if you want me to,” Till said as he went to the vanity to check his hair. He ran a hand through the strands that had curled upwards through the night, tried to fix them. 

Still on the bed, Ivan reached for Till’s pillow and hugged it. It smelled just like him. “We need a reciprocation for pochemuchka , anyway,” he muttered.

“Reciprocation?” Till echoed. “Wow, linguistics major. Use normal words.”

“Reciprocation is a normal word,” Ivan said.

Till rolled his eyes. “To you, lobotomy is a normal word too.”

Ivan frowned. “What’s wrong with lobotomy?”

Till was already walking into the bathroom, but from the vanity reflection, Ivan could see him smile at that last bit.

Till turned the bathroom lights on and pushed the door, but didn’t quite close it. It was left ajar. The light inside was leaking into the bedroom.

Ivan couldn't help but keep staring at it.

There were some actions one did without knowing the reason. Actions done without thinking, with an absent mind of the moment.

Maybe that was how Ivan had managed to get himself off the bed. Maybe that was why he started walking to the bathroom. Maybe that was why he had peeked inside, though he was not expecting anything.

Inside, Till was standing in front of the mirror, hands placed on either side of the sink. His eyes were on his reflection, inclining his head to check the mark on his neck. As he traced a finger over it, it was like the ghost of a smile was about to paint his face. Yet it didn’t. Instead, his eyes trailed down to the sink. Perhaps to see if he had concealer, or he was just lost in thoughts. 

But as soon as Ivan followed Till's gaze, it caught his eye.

There was a transparent plastic pack on the corner of the sink, filled with something.

White powder.

The sudden realization was like a knife stabbed into Ivan’s chest. The pain so solid, the comprehension so sharp. It hurt to know he had been right. It hurt more to know he hadn’t realized it before. That he had turned a blind eye to it by thinking Till would never. But also, that Till had kept it a secret from him.

When Ivan pushed the bathroom door open, he wasn’t thinking of anything.

The door creaked. Till shot a sideways glance at Ivan.

He gave him a smile. It was innocent. So composed that if Ivan didn’t know better, he would’ve been fooled by it.

“What?” Till said sweetly as soon as he saw him. “Can’t spend five minutes without me?”

Ivan couldn’t get rid of the lump in his throat. How long has this been going on , he wanted to ask. Why did I not know?

“Till,” he managed. “Is that—“

But Till didn’t let him speak. Quickly, he took a step towards Ivan, as if to prevent him from seeing what he already had. As if to hide the drug behind his back and pretend it wasn’t there. Pretend everything was fine, like he always did. “If you want to take a shower together, you can just tell me,” Till mumbled, raising his chin to meet Ivan’s gaze.

He looked tempting. Effortlessly charming. Irresistible. 

Ivan swallowed. “No,” he said. “Till, stop trying to play it off by flirting. What is behind your back?”

He watched the expression on Till’s face change, harden with tension. “What? Nothing.” His hand that reached for the sink instinctively was proving those words otherwise.

Unable to keep himself, “Is that heroin?” Ivan asked directly.

The question was sharp. Ivan’s concern was morphing into affliction—fueling a disturbance towards his own blindness and Till’s constant attempt to keep it hidden.

Till stood still. His hand fell from the sink, leaving the pack of drugs exactly where they were. “No, it’s not,” he said.

“Don’t tell me you’re using that, Till.”

Till was already walking past him, back into the bedroom. “I’m not.”

Ivan watched him over his shoulder. “I think we need to talk about this.”

“No,” Till sharply said. “I think we’re fine.”

But Ivan couldn’t get himself to let go. He leisurely walked to the threshold and leaned on the doorframe. “Are the pills in your bag also for this?”

Till was caught off guard about that. “When did you—” he began, but shook his head. “I’m not using them.”

“If you didn’t use them, you wouldn’t be carrying them around, would you?” Ivan pressed, approaching him. “Quit lying.”

“Fuck off,” Till scoffed. “Quit lying? I’m an actor, Ivan, remember? It is my job to lie. To pretend. I need to look like I’m fine to the media, so what’s wrong if I take a few substances to help me with the process—”

“It’s not okay for your health, that’s what I’m trying to explain!” Ivan said, now louder. He instantly took a deep breath, trying to gather himself. “Don’t you remember what happened to Hyuna’s brother?”

That seemed to make Till mad. He frowned, green eyes flaring in anger in a way that made Ivan realize maybe he shouldn’t have said that. “Hyunwoo was an addict,” Till said furiously. “Hyuna said that herself. Don’t you dare put me and him in the same equation.”

Ivan tried to press it down, but it hurt. Every word Till said, every crack in his voice and crease of rage between his brows. It hurt to see him like this. 

“And you believe you’re immune from that?” Ivan asked.

“I’m trying to cut it off,” Till said, avoiding his gaze at all costs. “It’s not an addiction. I just need it before media appearances sometimes—”

Ivan sighed. “To think you need it is already a symptom—”

“How much do you know, Ivan?” Till loudly retorted, his tone defensive. “Besides, I told you I’m trying to cut it off, didn’t I?”

“Please, Till,” Ivan insisted. “All I want is for you to see a doctor.”

Till laughed, a sarcastic sound braced with annoyance. “And let the media know what kind of a shithole I’m in? Never.”

Ivan frowned at those words. “Funny thing,” he said with a note of temper. “That sounded a lot like Luka.”

That was the last straw.

The look in Till’s eyes changed, though it was unreadable. The words could be heavy, but if that was what Till thought, then it proved Ivan right. It did sound like he valued his reputation more than the people he cared about. More than himself. More than Ivan.

At last, Till looked down. “Leave me alone,” he grunted into the silence.

Ivan sighed. “Till—”

“Please.” His voice hitched. “Go. I don’t want to discuss this with you. Not now.”

Ivan couldn’t help but feel like maybe he had said too much. But then again, what was too much when the topic was something as destructive as this?

What was too much?

He swallowed, retreating only one step.

And then, without a word, he turned to leave the room, hoping it was the right decision and not a mistake he would regret later.

. . .

As Ivan packed his stuff to check out of the hotel, he was replaying the argument in his head, going through every word both him and Till said. He couldn’t think of anything else. He couldn’t get himself to let the moment out of his mind. His hand went to his phone every five minutes, wondering whether he should send a message. Yet every time his fingers hovered above the keyboard, words flew out of his head and he decided to throw the phone away in frustration, burying himself into overthinking the situation.

Thankfully, so soon, Hyuna had texted into the group chat, saying she expected all of them to be in the lobby in ten minutes.

Ivan couldn’t be more relieved to have a reason to see Till again, just to make sure he was okay.

And surprisingly, he was.

Till had taken a shower, packed his suitcase, and dressed up properly to go to Berlin. When Ivan came into the lobby, Till was already there, laughing as he showed his tattoo to the girls. And just an hour ago, Ivan was blaming himself for not noticing. But how could any of them notice when Till covered it up like he did with the mark on his neck? How could any of them know when he smiled so brightly, joked about his stupid drunk decision, and acted as if he hadn’t argued with Ivan about the drug he kept in his bag?

Ivan wanted to punch a wall.

“Ah, Ivan!” When Mizi called, he blinked back into reality. “Good morning!”

“Morning,” Ivan said. He looked at Till, yet the boy averted his eyes, making sure they never interlocked.

“Come on, drop your room card at the receptionist table and let’s leave,” Hyuna said, oblivious to the tension between the boys. “We have a long day ahead of us.” As she gestured for them to get on their feet, Ivan tried his chance to meet Till’s eyes, once more. 

But it was no use. He was avoiding him on purpose.

Swallowing, Ivan turned his back and proceeded to give his room card to the receptionist.

The flight from Rome to Berlin was expected to last two hours, which meant they would land around noon. Through the car ride to the airport, Till hadn’t said a word to Ivan. Hadn’t even acknowledged his presence.

And so, Ivan had decided to do the same.

As they were loading their bags onto the plane, Till hadn’t walked up to Ivan’s side, for the first time since the beginning of the tour. Instead, he had sat next to Hyuna, who was probably starting to sense something was going on, yet wasn’t bringing it up.

Ivan didn’t break his attitude. He walked past Till and Hyuna, sat in his usual seat, took out his headphones alongside his book, and for a while, let himself be disconnected from the world.

Though, he couldn’t turn a single page. Couldn’t even read a paragraph without Till interfering in his thoughts.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He needed time to figure things out. To process the truth, look over all the signs he had missed, find a way to be of help without leading Till off the rails. 

And after he could get himself to settle, he needed to talk to Till again. Properly, this time.

Without messing it up.

A hand on his shoulder made him almost jump.

He turned, only to see Mizi. He pushed his headphones off of one ear. “Mizi?”

She extended a packet for him. “Sandwich?” she offered.

Until he got that fresh scent of bread, he hadn’t realized how hungry he had been. Right. The last thing he ate was before last night. With a nod, he took the sandwich. “Thanks,” he said, forcing a smile. “I had forgotten I was starving.”

Mizi sat on the empty seat beside him. “I offered one to Till, as well, yet he didn’t want it.”

At the mention of his name, Ivan almost choked. Avoiding to respond, he took another bite from the sandwich.

“He doesn’t seem to have the appetite,” Mizi went on. “Maybe because you two are on bad terms.”

It’s not about that, Ivan thought to himself, though he wouldn’t dare say it aloud. He could bet it was the drugs. The way Till avoided eating and sleeping, it was all the drugs…

He paused for a moment. “Wait a second,” he mumbled, turning to Mizi. “How do you know we’re on bad terms?”

That made Mizi giggle. “It’s not hard to realize that when he sits next to Hyuna instead of you, Ivan,” she said matter of factly. “It’s normal, though. People argue. Lovers, even, argue more.”

Ivan wished she was right. He wished it could be a normal argument. He wished he had done something wrong to get Till mad, something that could be resolved with one simple apology.

But that wasn’t going to happen, was it?

“Oh my god, Till,” Sua said from the middle row, leaning forward to show something on her phone to Till. “There are rumors going on that you’re dating someone.”

Those words were like a mass of iron dropped severely on top of Ivan’s head. He stopped chewing the piece in his mouth. There are rumors that you’re dating someone. Fuck. Had they been too careless? Had Ivan taken the dark hours of the night for too granted?

By his side, Mizi straightened in confusion. “Anything about Ivan?” she asked the exact question Ivan had been wondering.

Sua scrolled down, possibly on Twitter. “Nothing,” she said.

That helped Ivan breathe again. He finally managed to swallow.

“No pictures, no proof,” Sua said. “This just seems like a spineless claim of someone in the industry.”

“What do you mean, someone in the industry?” Till asked.

Sua showed her phone again. “The source happens to be an anonymous insider. Literally, could be anyone we came across during this tour,” she explained.

Ivan frowned. From Ravi to Lorenzo, Dean to Finley, a thousand names and faces went through his head. Just the idea of it made him sick, uncomfortable with the weight of acknowledging someone knew, yet he still couldn’t be sure who.

There was a stretching silence until Till gave a loud, sincere laugh. “No proof and they’re still talking?” he mocked. “These fuckers of the media.”

“Don’t say that online,” Sua warned.

“Yeah, I won’t,” Till assured before resuming his conversation with Hyuna, like nothing had happened.

How could he always act like nothing was going on?

Mizi turned to Ivan. “Hey,” she said soothingly. “Don’t let this bother you. There are always rumors going on in this business. Whether you like it or not, you get used to it.”

Ivan knew her words were supposed to make him feel better. But for some reason, they only suffocated him more.

He only gave her a nod. “I know,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m getting used to it.”

As those lies streamed out of his mouth, Ivan couldn’t help but wonder whether he could ever get used to it.

. . .

They landed on Berlin several minutes after noon. The gala was in the evening as per usual, which meant they could travel around the city all afternoon.

In different circumstances, Ivan could be excited to see all the historical landmarks he spent years researching on. The 20th century had always been an unavoidable topic, as it laid in the foundations of the current western politics. Ivan would’ve wanted to see the Holocaust memorial and pray for the deceased souls, to see the graffitied remains of the Berlin Wall and remind himself of the war. Not only that, but Brandenburg Gate, Berliner Dom, Pergamon Museum, and Charlottenburg Palace… There was a lot he wanted to see.

But it wasn’t as fun when every time Till passed by him without a word, he felt himself get buried in deeper and deeper concern.

Ivan spent his time at the Reichstag Building by translating the inscription—an action that busied his mind enough to help him focus on something, at least for a while.

Then came the Brandenburg Gate. As Ivan watched the Quadriga statue atop of the gate, a part of him wanted to tell Till about it. He wanted to tell him that quadriga meant a chariot pulled by four horses, and the woman holding the reins of the horses was the Roman goddess of victory, Victoria.

But Till was busy taking pictures with Mizi.

And so, Ivan didn’t say anything.

Their next destination was the Berlin Wall Memorial. That, Ivan had to admit, could be one of the most affecting landmarks he had seen ever since the beginning of this tour. The remnants of the war were so intact, despite the broken cement. To walk along the wall and know that there was a time it divided this city into two. The people, the ideologies, the sides of a war.

Once again, his eyes trailed to Till, who was observing the worn out graffiti on the ruins of the western side.

It was quite ironic, he thought, to see him on the other side of the wall, while Ivan stood on the east.

On their way to Charlottenburg Palace, Till and Mizi wanted to stop by a supermarket, so while Hyuna went in with them, Ivan and Sua decided to wait by the door.

Ivan absently started watching the streets of Berlin as he stood leaning on a pole: the people that walked by, the cars that passed by. He tried to read German signs, to make out some words with the help of his etymology classes. Despite both being descendants of the same language family, English and German had huge differences that oftentimes made it hard to connect the dots between the two.

For instance, like the one Ivan stared at across the street right now: apotheke . If it wasn’t for the English translation underneath, Ivan probably wouldn’t have understood it was a pharmacy and would try to recall the Greek he once had learned in school, which surely didn’t go beyond basics now.

Apotheke . As he tapped a finger on his folded arm, an irresistible urge was filling him from head to toe. An idea as tempting as a need. One he wouldn’t be able to get out of his head until he went and did it.

In the end, “Hey, Sua,” he said. “I’ll head over to the pharmacy real quick.”

Sua frowned. “Why? Are you feeling sick?” she worriedly asked.

Ivan shook his head way too fast. “Oh—no! No, not now but in the plane, sometimes, you know,” he lied. “I’ll just get something for motion sickness!”

“Ah,” Sua let out in an understanding manner. “I see. Of course. Then, try to be quick, okay?”

Ivan nodded. “I will.”

Checking left and right, he walked across the street and climbed the stoop of the pharmacy with basically running steps.

He pushed the glass door of the shop and got inside.

He knew exactly what he was searching for. Maybe he wasn’t sure whether they would sell it to him without prescription, but he had to take his chance. 

Gathering his courage, he walked up to the counter.

“ Willkommen ,” the pharmacist woman greeted him with a smile.

“Good afternoon,” Ivan said in English. “Can you understand English?” He hated the shame in asking for other people to switch languages. Maybe , he considered at that moment, I have to study German sometime . 

“Ah, of course!” the woman said, her accent audible. “What do you need?”

Ivan swallowed. “Have you got naloxone, by any chance?”

The name of the medication was a piece of information Ivan couldn’t even remember where he’d first learned. Naloxone. He had checked it online this morning, just to make sure he remembered it correctly. Which, he did.

It was the antidote of heroin. 

Just in case, Ivan thought. Just in case something bad happened, he wanted to be prepared.

He wanted to do whatever he could, if it meant he could prevent the worst.

As the pharmacist took out a small, medical glass jar and put it on the counter, Ivan added, “Also, a syringe, if possible.”

It was almost like that sole request had revealed the intention of its use.

But the woman’s soft expression didn’t even falter. She just nodded, leaning under the counter to grab a syringe packed in plastic.

Ivan reached for the wallet in his pocket, and the woman put the medicine and syringe into the plastic bag.

“Is it for a loved one?” the woman asked out of the blue.

Ivan halted. He forgot about the cash he was trying to find in the wallet, the annoying thoughts about his lack of German, the medicine in the bag. All he thought of was Till. 

The boy he had desperately fallen for in the course of weeks. The boy who had redefined what love meant for him. The boy who had crushed the tragic endings of his books single handedly, proved him it could be different.

Fuck , Ivan thought to himself. Maybe Till had kept it a secret and broken his trust, but Ivan loved him. He loved him too much to keep arguing—as well as he loved him too much to forgive it just like that. They just needed to talk things out. He just needed Till to understand what he felt.

He swallowed. “It is,” he told the pharmacist.

Her smile widened. She pushed the bag to Ivan over the counter. “They’re lucky to have you,” she said.

As Ivan paid for the medicine and took the bag to leave, all he could hope was that the woman was right. That he could be of use for Till, even if it consumed him.

If it was for Till, it would be worth it.

. . .

The Berlin gala felt like it was never going to end. 

It was almost like the carpet extended to eternity, the flashing lights intensified each step they took, and the interviews were repetitive. Maybe Till was thinking the same thing, because he was visibly avoiding any microphone extended to him by the reporters. He just smiled for pictures, posed with Mizi in his well-tailored suit, and waved to the fans behind the barricades.

His smile was too easeful to be natural. Was this how Till always smiled on the carpet and somehow Ivan had never noticed it? Or had Till smoked a drag before the event?

Ivan wanted to hit his head. Why was he always thinking of the bad scenario?

But what if it was the truth? How long had he gone, being fooled by the mask of an actor?

“So, Till, rumor has it that you have a new sweetheart,” a reporter called. “What should we be thinking of that?”

Ivan intended to translate that question for Till, but he didn’t even stop before the reporter.

He just kept on walking towards the next section of cameras, protecting his smile.

Though this time, was it to avoid the reporters or Ivan himself, he couldn’t make sure.

After the trailer screening was over, Ivan took a deep, deep breath like he had just been released from a four hour lecture. In normal circumstances, a movie wouldn’t be expected to have a gala in a city like Berlin, yet for Anakt Garden , it had been a luck to have the movie’s head producer be German. And so, his financial support couldn’t be overlooked.

Right now, as he was here, too, the after party was set to be greater than the gala itself. The event venue, thankfully, had already arranged the dining hall for drinks and treats. After the screening, the producer had led everyone to the hall surrounded by glass walls, lit with glowing neon lights and reflections of disco balls.

Mizi had instantly cheered, saying the ambiance reminded her of her family beach house in Florida. From the first five minutes, she and Sua had already strayed to the dance floor with glasses of expensive champagne in their hands.

Hyuna had been dragged into a conversation with the rich and entitled of the industry, thanks to the head producer who couldn’t stop praising her directing abilities and claiming she deserved a better place.

Ivan, as well, had been offered champagne by the European elites of the show business who all spoke an accented English in their overly flamboyant clothes. “I’ve never seen your level of skill in the art of writing, you know, the new generation in the film industry is quite fond of imitating the classics…” A woman called Madam Josephine had taken Ivan hostage with her endless rants of youth and simultaneous compliments for Ivan’s writing now. It had been going on for the past fifteen minutes, which Ivan spent looking around the room to catch a glimpse of Till.

The room was crowded, lights were in shades of blue and they were flashing, the music—soundtrack of some movie everyone seemed to be enjoying—was loud. It was almost impossible to catch a sight of anyone familiar, making Ivan wonder who on earth even enjoyed after parties like this.

“You see, I’ve tried working with a new screenwriter before—he had just graduated, of course—and all he told me was basically to remake a movie already done before!” Josephine went on, drowning out of the music.

Ivan scanned the dance floor shortly, but Till wasn’t there. He wasn’t by the beverage table, either. Ivan’s eyes trailed to the glass door that opened to the garden of the venue.

And that was where he caught the familiar silhouette of messy hair and fashionable suit, walking out of the door.

Till .

“…And then I told him—“

“I’m sorry, Madam Josephine, but I really have to leave,” Ivan said hurriedly. He thrusted his champagne into the woman’s empty hand. “Have an enjoyable night!”

Without even waiting for an answer, Ivan turned his back and started pushing through people to get out of here. He didn’t care about who he bumped into, whether they were a famous actor invited, or a producer who could make his wildest dreams come true, or a screenwriter he admired so much and would give everything to meet.

At that moment, none of those mattered more than talking to Till.

Ivan managed to push the door open and step out of the suffocating atmosphere. He hadn’t realized how hot he had been inside until the cold, fresh night breeze hit him in the face. Taking a deep breath, he looked around the garden. It was dark, with only the neon lights reflecting from the party indoors. Till, meanwhile, was walking beyond the trees, away from the sound of the music.

Ivan followed him without a word. “Till,” he called.

The boy halted. He stopped walking.

“Till, I want to talk,” Ivan said. “About this morning—”

“I don’t want to,” Till grumbled, without turning to meet Ivan’s gaze.

Ivan sighed. “Then how long are we going to let this hang?” he asked. The question was met by silence. So, Ivan went on, “I said some things I didn’t mean to, but—try to understand me a little. I’m worried for you, Till. That's it. All I want is to help you.”

Till scoffed. “And that’s what you don’t understand, Ivan,” he said. “It’s not something to be helped. It’s how things work in this business, okay? If I don’t smile, I’m fucked. If they stop liking me, everything I have is fucked—” 

“You have me,” Ivan insisted.

“That’s—” Till didn’t finish that sentence. He just exhaled. “That’s not my point. You’re just exaggerating the situation because of what you heard about Hyunwoo. What’s wrong if a bit of powder helps me with my nerves? How can you blame me when we're in an industry every fucking movie star has a drug dealer saved in their speed dial? I use it carefully enough to not get myself deep into this shit, anyway. A little lie doesn’t hurt anybody—”

“But it does hurt me!” Ivan cut off, frustrated. 

There, when he said that, Till looked into his eyes for the first time since the morning.

Ivan froze at the unexpected pressure of his gaze. “I just—I didn’t know any of this, and it hurt me to find out,” he said.

“You didn’t know?” Till echoed mockingly. There was some sort of disbelief on his face, some sorrow in his voice. “Then what were you expecting from someone like me, Ivan? For me to always wear that perfect smile I put on for cameras?”

“No, Till, that’s not—”

“I grew up in the same house with an addict !” Till said, raising his voice. “It's only natural that I turned out this way, isn't it? You think I didn’t want to see a psychiatrist at fifteen? But no, all my dad did was to give me pills .” His voice cracked in anger. Ivan could see the tears crystallizing in his eyes. “I told him I wanted to kill myself, and he just—gave me drugs and drinks and told me it would pass! Fuck, I knew fentanyl’s taste before all these expensive cocktails we get to drink now! You tell me, Ivan. Do you have any idea how hard I tried to keep myself clean? Do you know how happy I was to get into university so finally, fucking finally I would be living elsewhere than that hell?” He ran a hand through his hair as if to stop himself from crying. “Stop telling me it’s my fault. I’m just—I’m trying to cut it off, okay?” He swallowed. “You’re helping me cut it off, Ivan. So please just… I’m trying, I really am—”

Ivan couldn’t stand to listen to his sobbing voice a second longer.

Without a word, he pulled Till into his arms.

The boy’s trembling voice steadied. For a moment, he stayed still. And then, slowly, his hands came up to hug Ivan back.

Ivan closed his eyes. No, he wouldn’t change this feeling to anything. He wouldn’t change Till’s scent and touch to anything the world might have to offer.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Till’s hair, unsure for whichever reason he was apologizing. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Till’s grip on the back of his suit tightened. He didn't answer for a long while that felt like forever. In the end, “I'm letting you down, aren't I?" he mumbled.

Ivan shook his head. “You're not,” he said. “You never have. If you’re saying that you’re trying, then I believe in you, Till.”

Those words seemed to unlock a new part of Till. A part more sentimental than he showed to outsiders, more delicate than he seemed to the media.

Ivan let him bury his head on his shoulder and cry silently. Tomorrow, he would deny that he ever cried. Later on, both of them would decisively forget this night ever happened.

But right now, in a dark garden, in the middle of somewhere in Berlin, it was okay. It was okay that Till cried, held Ivan tight, and calmed down in his arms.

After all, wasn’t that what Till always made him feel? The present. Cleansed from the past or the future, leaving only the two of them bathed in the moment.

Even though Ivan could sense that the thread of lies in between them wasn't resolved yet, that it was still a tight node that would bring forth more issues, he could let himself ignore it.

Even though a part of him hated to do so, he would ignore it.

Chapter Text

Till was an amazing actor. Ivan had no doubts about that. But sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder if he actually forgot things easily, or if that was a result of his meticulous talent, too.

Because right now, as he laid with Ivan on the hotel bed in Berlin while listening to Fleetwood Mac, he really seemed to forget everything: the argument from the morning and the way he cried on Ivan’s shoulder in the evening.

“ Sweet wonderful you, you make me happy with the things you do ,” the song was playing on low volume on the bedside table, from Till’s phone. “ Oh can it be so? This feeling follows me wherever I go… ”

“You know what.” Till curled up to Ivan on the bed. “Today, not talking to you has been terrible.”

“Same,” Ivan said, closing his eyes. “But tell me about it anyway.”

Till’s hand found Ivan’s. “I really can’t communicate without your language skills,” he said. “It felt like being tongue tied. Too foreign. Like, everyone is speaking German and English in my ears—can’t they shut up for once? I don’t understand shit anyway.”

Ivan chuckled at that, wrapping his arms around Till’s waist. “I can’t speak German,” he said. “So I kind of felt the same thing.”

Till hugged him back, burying his head on his neck. “It’s almost like you’re my home in an unfamiliar world.”

Those words played back in Ivan’s head, in a way that brought him inspiration and ideas. He looked down and said, “That sounded like a poem.”

Till only pulled him closer. “Then use it in one,” he whispered. “Credit me though.”

Ivan laughed. “Sure, I will,” he said. 

“ I never did believe in miracles ,” the song teased his ears. “ But I’ve a feeling it’s time to try… ”

“You can rely on me, Till, you know that, right?” Ivan abruptly said. “Not only with languages, I mean,” he added. “You can rely on me to carry the weight with you.”

Till’s grip on him loosened, only enough to pull back and see his face. His green eyes were doubtful—not towards Ivan but almost towards himself. At last, “I do trust you,” Till said.

“Not the word I used,” Ivan mused. “I know you trust me, I trust you too. But to rely on someone, Till, that’s different.” 

의존하다 , he had used for the word rely. Uijonhada . A Korean phrase with a lot deeper, meaningful roots than they used today.

He reached up to touch Till’s face, caress his cheek with his thumb. “Do you know the Sino-Korean characters that word comes from?”

Till slowly shook his head. “Not really.”

Ivan leaned in to press a soft kiss on his forehead. “It’s made of two characters,” he explained. “ 依存 . Though it’s pronounced differently in Chinese. But in Korean, it’s the same we use today. Ui , which means to lean on. Jon , which means to exist. It emphasizes that you exist by leaning on others, Till. You live on by their support.” 

A long silence came after that. From the corner, the music kept playing. Ivan watched Till’s flawless features lit by the dim lights, which he could keep doing for an eternity.

In the end, Till sighed. “Yeah, I must be quite out of practice on that,” he said. “I don’t know. I’ve never really liked depending on people.”

“But this is different,” Ivan told him. “It’s not like I’m asking for you to push it all onto me. I’m just asking for you to share the load with me. Whatever it is: your thoughts, feelings, worries about your career—hell, even things about your dad. You don’t have to be alone in this, Till. Not when I’m here with you.”

Till looked at him shortly, his expression vulnerable as if he was caught off guard by those words. Yet still, after a second, he turned to the bed and nuzzled up into the pillow with a groan. “Stop being so good with words, Ivan,” he complained.

Ivan smiled. “You know I’m here for you,” he said. Please, let me help you . 

He couldn’t say that out loud.

Instead, he pulled away from Till’s touch. He leisurely stood up from the bed and went to turn the lights off. 

The lights clicked off, and the hotel room folded into darkness. A soft music still played on Till’s phone but it was too quiet to be intelligible. Ivan didn’t mind. The sound was pleasant. 

He walked back to the bed, and as soon as he got under the covers, Till found him in the dark, pulling him in.

“Hey,” he chuckled. “Aren’t we going to sleep?”

“We are,” Till whispered, right before pressing a deep, passionate kiss on his lips. Ivan was caught off guard. The kiss was profound, Till’s skin burning under Ivan’s touch, making him get lost in the sensation. But before Ivan could kiss him back, he pulled away slowly. “I’m not in the mood for that tonight anyway.” He grinned wickedly. “Good night, amore mio .” Without another word, he turned on the bed and pulled the blanket over himself.

Ivan blinked. “You’re evil,” he grumbled.

“You’ve said that before,” Till said with a laugh.

Shaking his head in desperation, Ivan sighed as he laid down, as well. He wrapped his arms around Till’s waist from his back, and let his warmth transcend. It reminded him of that night in Toronto—back when all he wanted to feel was this . To be the one to hold Till close. To inhale the scent of his shampoo, the remainders of his cologne. To be in skin to skin contact with him, to feel his heartbeats, to know his touch. Despite everything, he was thankful to be the one Till loved. Even though things needed time, he was thankful. He didn’t care about anything beyond.

“Ivan,” Till whispered. “Are you asleep yet?”

Ivan didn’t shift, didn’t open his eyes. “No,” he only responded. “Why?”

“I was thinking about meeting your father in Russia.”

That made Ivan smile. “You’re still down for that?”

“Of course I am,” Till said. His hands came to rest over Ivan’s, over his own stomach. “Question, though. How nice is he, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Oh, a solid ten,” Ivan said without a doubt. “He’s so nice that he kept paying child support until I got my first salary.”

Till chuckled at that. “Why did your parents even get a divorce?” he asked. “That sounds like the nicest man ever to see the surface of earth.”

“Well, there were disagreements,” Ivan simply said. “You know, different cultures and different countries. They couldn’t really do it together. But it was a healthy divorce. I remember my father telling me about it as if it was a bedtime story, just to observe my reaction.”

Till remained silent for a while. Ivan, without a word, leaned in slightly to kiss the side of his neck.

“Do you remember when my dad called me while we were in Madrid?” Till asked abruptly.

Ivan stopped kissing him, yet didn’t pull back. “I do,” he whispered into his skin. “I had told you to block him. And if he makes you uncomfortable, this suggestion still stands.”

In his arms, Till took a deep breath. “I can’t do that, Ivan,” he mumbled, almost like a whisper. “I know that he was probably calling me, only to ask for money. Fucking hell, maybe to pay his bail.” Something in his voice made Ivan feel like that had happened before. “But I just can’t block him—not like that.” He took a shaky breath. “He’s my father. I may hate that man, but it’s not enough for me to hold a gun to his temple and not feel anything. I wish I could hate him more, but it’s not as simple.”

The confession was sudden. Unexpected.

For a long while, Ivan couldn’t answer. The tone in Till’s voice was inclining towards acceptance.

Back in school, he would never have spoken these words. Instead, he probably would’ve sworn on his life with a drunk mind to get rid of his father at the first chance he got. He would’ve slurred each curse that came to his mouth for his name, praying for his father’s death every night.

But right now, he sounded different. Still furious, but tame, too. Still disquieted, but convinced.

Ivan knew he had no right to comment on this. Nothing other than supporting what Till wanted to do.

Careful as ever, he kissed Till’s shoulder. A soft, tender press of lips that made no sound. “If I could,” he whispered, “I would kiss away all of your scars. You know that right?”

When he heard that, Till smiled bitterly. “To be healed by your kisses?” he mumbled. “That sounds nice.”

Ivan knew it did. He wished with all his being that it could be true.

That he could help Till heal.

. . .

After Berlin, Ivan didn’t bring up the drugs again.

Not only to Till, but to anybody. It was so much harder than he thought it would be, to know somebody was harming themselves and yet loving them too much to dare speaking out loud about it. Somehow, he thought, he could understand Luka. A sentence he never thought he would ever think of, but it was true.

Now, in the early hours of the morning, they were on the plane to their next destination: Mykonos, Greece. 

It wasn’t for a gala, an interview, or any sort of event, to be frank. It wasn’t even in the official tour list, until Mizi’s parents, as always, had asked for a favor on behalf of their beloved daughter, asking for the agency to cut the crew some slack and allow maybe one day to rest.

Which, they gladly had.

“I hope everyone has packed their swimsuits!” Hyuna called from the front seats. “Because we’re going swimming!”

“Oh my god, I’m so excited!” Mizi cheered. “I’ve only seen Santorini in Greece, and I’ve always wanted to see more of the islands. We should play beach volleyball together! And at night we would go out and have dinner in a place by the seashore! Today is going to be so fun.”

Till smirked. “Get ready to be beaten up in beach volley, Miz.”

Mizi’s smile was so quick to turn into a frown. “Oh I bet I’m so much better than you in volleyball, Till!”

“I’m sure you are,” Till teased.

As the two bickered, Ivan looked out of the plane window, at the fluffy clouds and the blue sky they were soaring through. Sitting under the shade and reading. That could be the plan for today. To rest his mind and body from the rush of travel before flying to Moscow and seeing his father. Before introducing Till to him.

He smiled at that thought. 

God, he couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come.

The flight from Berlin to Mykonos was four long hours, throughout which Ivan had spent rereading The Iliad . The Greek epic poem of the Trojan War, written by Homer. He had first read it in highschool, in Korean, and had quickly fallen in love with the story: it had countless shades of tragedy that brought forth countless characters to the reader’s feet. It was the perfect way to get into mythology, Ivan had always thought. Later on, in his sophomore year of university, their professor had asked for them to tackle the Greek copy, where he had analyzed the Ionic Greek writing for his finals (He had hated that, quite frankly). And so now, as he read the English copy he had bought from London, he didn’t even need to pay attention to follow the story.

He knew the tragedy of Achilles and Patroclus like the back of his hand. He knew that they were childhood friends who grew up together. That Patroclus had worn Achilles’s armor to battle and was killed by Hector, who mistook him as Achilles. That afterwards, Achilles had mourned Patroclus, depicted heavily in The Iliad . And as it was mentioned in the book, they were buried together.

To this day, it was a matter of suspicion whether Homer had meant to portray them romantically. Maybe Ivan only saw it that way because of his own orientation. 

He kind of wanted to ask Till what he thought.

However when he raised his head from the book, the boy by his side was sleeping.

Till had been unusually quiet during this flight. He was either sleeping as he did now, or looking at his phone without a word. He hadn’t taken out his headphones for hours.

And Ivan couldn’t help but worry himself over it.

As they were nearing the third hour of the flight, Ivan noticed Till was biting his nails. He was pulling on the skin around his fingers with his teeth, like he wanted to get rid of it.

Ivan put his book down.

Slowly, he slid a hand under Till’s arm and gently held his hand, as if to keep it away from his mouth.

Till, for the first time since the beginning of the flight, took out his headphones. “Something wrong?” he asked, not letting go of Ivan’s hand.

Ivan tipped his head to the plane seat, weaving his fingers with Till’s. “You’re biting your nails,” he remarked.

Till blinked for a moment. “Oh,” he let out. “I didn’t notice.”

Upon that, “Are you okay?” Ivan asked. “You know we can talk anytime you—”

“I’m good,” said Till. He smiled. That calculated smile measured perfectly between real and fake. “Really, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

Little did he know, this attitude was only making Ivan worry more.

Yet he knew he couldn’t say that. He wouldn’t press, but wait for Till to decide to open up.

He wished he would open up.

. . .

They landed on the island before noon. After Berlin, this truly felt like a vacation. The weather was humid, surging them as soon as they got out of the plane. The sun was bright, the wind was hot. In the car to the hotel, Ivan watched the sea they were driving by. It was clear, almost in shades of turquoise than sky blue. The heat was making him want to get out of the limo and jump right into the water burrow. 

The hotel, too, was right beside a long beach. As soon as they got out of the car, Ivan could hear some party music afar. People on the beach were sipping cocktails, splashes of water echoing even from this distance.

The thump of a suitcase drew Ivan’s attention back to the present. “Stop staring, Ivan,” Hyuna said. “We need to get these bags into the hotel before the sunbathing session. Come on.”

Ivan blinked. “Right. Of course,” he said, right before grabbing two suitcases, one of his and one of Till’s.

Inside the hotel was full of paintings of fish and seashells, a low Mediterranean folk song playing on the receptionist radio. Hyuna was already talking to the woman on the counter, showing her something on her phone, to which she nodded.

In about five minutes, they were led to their rooms: the top floor of the hotel where each of them had a suite, the ones that had the best views of the beach. 

Before Ivan could even settle down into the room he was going to spend the night at, his phone buzzed.

Mizi had texted to the group chat.

Mizi : Be ready for the beach in five!!!

Oh . Ivan had totally forgotten about that. In a pace, he found his swimsuit from the depths of his suitcase. He wore it under a pair of cargo shorts, then put on a short sleeved white button up, though he didn’t bother with the buttons and left it open. They were going to the beach, anyway. Before leaving the hotel room, he checked inside one last time to see if he forgot anything. Remembering it last minute, he went and grabbed the copy of The Iliad he was reading, and then got out to meet the others.

As soon as he closed the door or his room behind his back, another door in the hallway closed, too. Ivan looked up, only to see Till.

He, as well, was looking at Ivan. “What a timing,” he said. He was wearing a white tank top that put his body shape on display, and loose shorts around his waist that complemented the outfit. His favorite chain necklace and silver earrings were on, sunglasses tucked between his hair. 

Ivan smiled. “Truly,” he said, taking a step towards him. When he approached Till, he noticed he looked quite pale, almost exhausted.

But before he could bring that up, “You look hot,” Till said. There was a momentary pause, before he added, “And beautiful.”

Ivan forced a smile. “You too,” he said. “Hot and beautiful.”

Till rose on his tiptoes for a kiss, which Ivan welcomed. He held Till from the waist, sliding his tongue into his mouth.

Until another door in the hallway rattled.

Both of them pulled back instantly and turned to the sound.

“Oh,” Mizi said as she was just walking out of her room. “Don’t make love in the hallway, you two. Get a room.”

“Stop ruining our moments, Miz, for fuck’s sake!” Till snapped, making her laugh.

“You can have your moments at the beach. Come on, let’s go now,” Mizi said. “Sua and Hyuna are already in the lobby.”

“We’re gonna play that beach volley,” Till reminded her.

She scoffed. “Yeah. Just don’t cry after I win.”

“I’m sure you’ll be the one to cry.”

“We’ll see about that!”

. . .

Mykonos was truly an island made for vacation.

Strangely, Mizi and Till could be more at ease, with less worries of being recognized. Call it the effect of the hot weather or the tourists who were too caught up in their vacations to care, but nobody looked their way. They got a plastic ball from a shop for beach supplies, and as soon as they were on the sand, Till ran to the sea and kneeled to draw a long line on the ground. “This marks the net!”

“Calm down a second,” Hyuna said, helping Sua put down their towels and snacks.

“Sua is on my team!” Mizi said, twirling the plastic ball in her hands.

Hyuna rolled her eyes. “Do you two ever listen to me?”

“Fine then,” Till said. “Ivan is on mine!”

Hyuna sighed. “Okay. Got the answer.”

Mizi and Till played rock paper scissors to decide who would start the match, which Mizi won. “It’s my win! Take the ball, Sua!” she exclaimed.

Till frowned, walking back to their side of the makeshift court. “Yeah, you might be starting the game but I will be finishing it, just so you know!”

A ball dashed between him and Ivan, slamming harshly on the sand.

Both boys turned to Mizi at the same time, who was grinning wickedly. “One point for us, I guess,” she said.

“Oh, mange merde , Mizi!” Till grabbed the ball rapidly, the girls squealed as he ran at them.

And so, the volleyball match had started.

Hyuna had decided to sit under an umbrella and eat ice cream while she flipped through Sua’s magazines, so the others had teamed up against each other: Ivan and Till against Mizi and Sua. 

Ivan had never been big on sports. He still worked out to keep his body in shape, that was a habit he had earned in school. But to run after a ball? That was one thing he had never been good at.

However, Till, on the other hand, seemed to be so amazing at it. Within the first five minutes, he had gotten their team six points, and so Ivan had decided to stay at the back and prevent the ball from touching their side of the sand, instead.

Mizi and Sua weren’t bad at it, either. Sua didn’t receive the ball as much as Mizi did, but when she did , her strikes were strong. Till and Ivan had bumped into each other twice while trying to catch the ball, falling onto each other in a way that made the girls belly laugh.

Ivan and Till won the first set, which made Mizi mad because they had lost only by a point. And so, thanks to her anger combined with her hype, she and Sua had won the second set. That meant a third set to settle things. But apparently the girls were too worn out and wanted to eat some things, so they left to get Greek food from a buffet by the road after Mizi promised Till a final match. 

“Please tell me you put on sunscreen before going out,” Ivan said as he and Till were walking to the umbrella shade where their stuff rested.

“Uh… I didn’t.” Till was still panting due to the volleyball match. He had taken out his shirt halfway through the second set, and now, with sweat prickled on his bare skin and muscles, it was hard to look away from him.

Still, Ivan managed. “Of course you didn’t,” he muttered. “Hyuna!”

Hyuna looked up from the magazine. She was still chewing the stick of the finished ice cream in her mouth. “Yeah?”

“Have you got sunscreen in your bag?”

She nodded as she reached for her bag. Her hand fumbled inside the bag shortly, then found the sunscreen. “Catch it!”

She threw it at Ivan, and he caught it midair. He sank onto the sand, gesturing for Till to sit next to him. “You’re going to get a burn,” he said as Till sat.

“I’m already burning,” Till responded, with a smirk forming on his lips. “For you.”

Ivan rolled his eyes, making him laugh. “Come here,” he said, squeezing a little bit of sunscreen on his hand. Till leaned forward and closed his eyes.

When he saw him like that, Ivan halted, forgetting he had to scrub the cream on his face. God, he looked flawless. Long lashes caressing his cheekbones, lips still shaped in a perfect smile. Swallowing, Ivan rubbed the cream on his thumb on either of Till’s cheeks, followed by his nose. With one hand, he pushed his hair out of his forehead.

He couldn’t help himself but plant a smooth kiss before putting the sunscreen on.

Till opened his eyes at the touch of his lips. “Hey,” he warned.

Ivan smiled. “Close your eyes, I’m not done.”

He reluctantly closed them again. “It seems to me your head is somewhere other than the sunscreen—“

This time, Ivan kissed him on the lips. 

They were in public. On a beach filled with thousands of people.

But none of them seemed to care, did they? None of them seemed to notice, even.

“Ivan!” Till grumbled. Ivan could see the redness rushing to his cheeks.

“Oh, see, now you’re burning,” he said teasingly. “And it’s for me, too. I guess the sunscreen doesn’t quite work.”

“First of all, fuck you,” Till said.

“You will tonight, won’t you?”

“ Ivan !” Till warned, making Ivan laugh even more.

The rest of the day passed so quickly. Till dragged Ivan into the sea to swim a little, giving him small kisses every time he said the water was cold. After about half an hour, Mizi and Sua were back, so they resumed their volleyball match, which the girls won by a small difference of scores. Until the late hours of the afternoon, they spent time at the beach.

Sua set down the snacks while Mizi was tanning, Hyuna spontaneously decided to buy a surfboard and try to learn surfing, Ivan read his book in the corner while Till was asleep, laying on his lap.

Ivan had been brushing Till’s hair with his fingers ever since he laid down. His eyes strayed from his book to the boy who slept peacefully. 

Every time he looked at his face, he couldn’t help but think about yesterday.

His hand, after probably an hour, stopped playing with Till’s hair and went to his phone, instead.

How much do you know, Ivan? Till was right. Ivan didn’t know much about substance use. Truth to be told, he didn’t know anything.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t research.

He opened Google and typed anything and everything that came to his mind: symptoms, medication, treatment. Every piece of information was worth something when one was fueled by desperation.

When one was fueled by fear.

. . .

Before the sunset, they had packed their things and returned to the hotel to clean up and get ready for a dinner outside at Mykonos Town.

As they were walking to their rooms at the hotel, with salty skin and  grains of sand still at their ankles, Till insisted Ivan should join him for a shower.

Nobody in their right mind would reject such an offer.

Till’s suite had a wide bathtub, so they had filled it with hot water and got in. The showerhead still sprayed water on low setting, just enough for Till to toss his head back and wetten his hair.

Ivan couldn’t take his eyes off of him, sitting across him in a bathtub as the water enveloped his skin, trailed down his cheeks, throat, chest. After wetting his hair, Till dived deeper into the water with an exhale. “This feels good. I’ve been having some muscle aches recently for whatever reason, the warm water really helps.”

Muscle aches . Ivan had read that on the internet today. It was a withdrawal symptom of opioid use.

He swallowed. So Till was trying to cut it off.

To realize that, at least, made him relax a little. Could his tiredness be a symptom of that, as well? Would it pass after a week or so?

Could he actually come clean in such a short time?

“I know,” Ivan said, trying to keep his thoughts inside. “Though I can be of better help than the water.”

That made Till smirk. When he straightened, water splashed. He leaned forward and caught Ivan’s cheeks, reaching for a kiss. It was refreshing. Filling his veins with adrenaline. In a mess of draping water and wet skin, Ivan pulled him closer.

Upon the sudden move, Till almost fell on Ivan. He managed to find his balance with his hands splayed on Ivan’s bare chest, limbs tangled in the water.

When Ivan let his kisses wander down to Till’s neck, he let out a soft, quiet moan. Just the sound of that was enough to nourish Ivan. He sucked on his skin, on the spot between his neck and collarbone, until Till let out a breath of satisfaction.

When Ivan attempted to pull back, “Go on,” Till whispered, his fingers wetting Ivan’s hair each time he dug his hands into the black strands. “I’ve been craving this more than anything. Don’t leave me hanging.”

In any other situation, Right now, in the shower? Ivan could’ve asked. But for some reason, when it came to Till, all voices of reason evaporated from his mind, and left only desire in his bones.

So, without a word, he grabbed Till from the waist and turned in the bathtub with a splash, getting on top of him as their lips met for another kiss.

. . .

They spent more than enough time in the shower to get cleaned up, and when they got out, Hyuna had already texted the group chat by saying she expected all of them to be in the lobby in twenty minutes.

The two of them hurriedly got dressed. Ivan found a navy, short sleeved shirt to wear along with his pants, while Till took one of Ivan’s hoodies and insisted he wanted to wear that.

The girls, too, had gotten prepared for the dinner. Mizi’s sunburnt cheeks were adding a soft color to her face alongside her fancy makeup. Sua was wearing a flowy white dress suitable just for a vacation night, and Hyuna’s button up was bringing out the color of her eyes. They all looked perfectly ready for a night out.

After nightfall, the weather had gotten considerably chilly, which was good after all that boiling hot. They got into the car and drove up to Mykonos Town, which had an indescribable individuality to it. The buildings were all painted in white, windows and doors in shades of blue, red, yellow. Every single house was bright in color, charming in sight; so much that Sua wanted to stop by every five seconds to take a picture.

They found a restaurant right by the shore, with tables set on the cobblestones, next to the sea. As the waiters sat them down, the sky was already painted in shades of blue and purple, glimpses of orange and pink still remaining despite the sun that was gone. The Alefkandra beach was truly stunning at this hour, so much that Ivan grabbed his phone and took a picture of the horizon while the afterglow still lasted.

The place they found was serving traditional Greek cuisine, mostly revolving around seafood. So, they ordered kakavia , shrimps, oysters, sea bass; anything Mizi and Hyuna wanted to try out. Till wanted a bottle of ouzo , and Sua requested a big fruit plate.

Waiting for their dinner to be prepared, Ivan spent time gazing over an armada of yachts and ferries bobbing in the bay, the lights on the land turning on as the sky gave way to darkness. This island was beautiful. Almost in a way that reminded Ivan of the day they spent on the cruise to Santander.

That was around when his phone rang in his pocket.

Ivan took it out and checked the contact.

Папа . 

It was his dad.

While the others were lost in conversation, Ivan scraped his chair. “I’ll take this,” he said to Till. “It’s my dad.”

Till nodded. “Sure, take your time.”

Ivan stood up from the table and walked away, towards the sea. It took him a second to gather himself: breathe deep and press on the screen to pick up the call.

He brought the phone to his ear.

“Hey papa.”

“Ivan!” his dad’s voice came from the other side of the line. “How are you doing?” he asked in Russian. “We didn't get to talk properly since last week. I’m sorry, you know how work is.”

“It’s fine, I understand,” he said, feeling the sharp syllables on his tongue. It had been so long since he had spoken Russian out loud. “I’ve been good, actually. The tour has been exhausting, but it’s coming to an end, anyway. We’re in Mykonos now. It's so captivating, you and I have to come here together sometime.”

His dad laughed. “Oh of course, we do. The next time I manage to get a week off, we’re flying there. Note that,” he said. “How long are you staying there?”

“Tonight only,” Ivan said. “Tomorrow, we will be flying to Moscow.”

“Ah,” his father let out delightedly. “Are you still planning to visit me? If so, I want to drive up to the airport to get you and your friends.”

Ivan felt himself smile. “Yeah, of course. I want to visit you. Thank you, papa,” he said sincerely. “I assume we will arrive in the evening, but I’ll let you know when I’m getting on the plane, anyway.”

“Sure. Don’t have any worries. I’ll be there on time.”

For a moment, Ivan looked over at their table, where Till was loudly telling something to Mizi, making her laugh.

“Also, papa,” Ivan abruptly said, not separating his eyes from the boy. “There’s someone I want you to meet tomorrow.”

There was a short second of static noise before his father’s voice hummed in his ear, understanding the situation immediately. “Is this a special someone?”

Ivan didn’t even have to think twice to answer that question. “It is,” he said. “He’s a very special someone.”

He could almost imagine his dad smile. “Then I can’t wait for it, мой сын .” 

My boy . God, Ivan had missed him so much.

“Me too, papa.”

“Take care, alright?” his dad said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Goodbye.”

Ivan didn’t hang up the phone before the dead line started beeping in his ear. At last, he clicked his phone off and put it back in his pocket before walking back to the table.

Thankfully, when he returned, their food had already been served and the girls had dug into their food after an exhausting day of swimming and playing volleyball.

As soon as Ivan sat down, Till’s attention was pulled to him. “So? What was it?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Ivan said. “He was just calling to make sure we still want to see him.” His gaze got stuck to Till's untouched food for a second. He raised a brow. “You’re not eating?”

Till blinked. “Oh. Yeah no, I’m not really feeling hungry now.”

Loss of appetite. This was starting to happen more than often.

“Till,” Ivan said. “We haven’t eaten anything properly since the morning.”

Till shrugged. “Well, I hardly feel its absence,” he said with a scoff, as if it was a matter to laugh at.

But Ivan didn’t laugh. “Till,” he repeated. “Please.”

Till strained his smile. “I’m fine,” he insisted.

Ivan shook his head. “One spoon,” he countered. “Just one spoon of the soup.” He took Till’s spoon and dipped it into the kakavia soup.

“No way you’re gonna spoon feed me, Ivan,” Till grumbled. “Give me that shit.” He harshly grabbed the spoon from his hands and drank one bit of the soup uncomfortably. “Happy now?”

Ivan hummed. “How about one shrimp too?” he suggested.

“Nope. Not happening!”

But Ivan had already grabbed a fork and stabbed it into a spiced up shrimp in the middle of the table. “Only one!”

“I’m going to throw up.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Ivan said, extending the fork to Till. He knew he wasn’t being dramatic. He knew Till could and probably would throw up later.

But Ivan hated knowing that and doing nothing about it. So, he wanted to try his best and do at least something. Anything.

Chapter Text

That night, Till didn’t get a proper sleep.

Ivan felt the absence of his warmth sometime in the middle of the night. His eyes easily opened when his hands touched the empty bed sheets instead of Till’s skin.

The hotel room was dark and quiet, only with the sound of the air conditioner running in a low setting.

Ivan blinked his eyes open. “Till?”

He rubbed his face, yawning as his sight got used to the dark. The empty sheets were wrinkled. Straightening, he turned his head.

That was when the light leaking from the bathroom caught his eyes.

The worst came to his mind.

He quickly pushed the covers off of him, stood up from the bed, and rushed to the bathroom. “Till?” He pushed the door, expecting maybe to see him inhaling powder, or deep in his mind, hoping he just needed to use the bathroom and it was nothing more than that.

But when he stepped in, Till was only sitting before the toilet. His arms were folded on the marble toilet seat, head bowed in between.

Ivan’s hand fell from the door knob. “Till.” He sank onto his knees on the tiled bathroom floor, wrapping an arm around Till. “Are you okay?” he asked as a thousand worries grew in his head.

When Till sniffed, his shoulders trembled. “Yeah,” he barely spoke. “Go back to bed, Ivan.”

Ivan ignored that. “You look pale. If you feel bad, we can drive up to the hospital—”

“No.” Till slowly raised his head, bringing his hands to rub his eyes. “I’m doing fine. I’m just feeling nauseous. Must be something I ate at dinner.”

It’s not something you ate , Ivan thought. It’s the absence of drugs .

But he didn’t say that. Instead, “Till, you’re clearly not fine,” he stated. “You’re in pain, and I just—I can’t sit here and watch that.”

Till buried his head into his arms again. “Damn it, Ivan, why do you bother this much—”

“Because I love you,” Ivan said without even thinking twice. “I love you and you know that. I just don’t want you to…” He shook his head with a change of mind and sighed to collect his thoughts. In the end, “Till, you know we talked about this,” he only managed.

Till didn’t answer for a while. He didn’t even move as Ivan only stroked his back tenderly, allowing him to take his time.

When Till’s breath hitched into the silence, though, that was when Ivan realized he had started crying.

“Fuck it,” Till whispered, his voice cracking. “I can’t stand this—I’m just—” One hand slid into his hair, digging into his skull. “I want to die.”

Ivan’s heart ached at those words, too much he didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to say. Hell, he didn’t know anything at times like these. All the knowledge he had in his so-praised mind, yet he couldn’t even help the man he loved.

He tried to press down the lump in his throat. “Don’t say that,” he only whispered as he pulled Till into his arms.

Till easily allowed Ivan to hold him. His head fell onto the crook of Ivan’s neck, body slumped against his. It was almost like life had been drained out of him, and left only the mass of his being behind.

Ivan kept caressing his back. Till was burning up, sweat prickled at his nape. Did he have a fever? Was that a withdrawal symptom too?

“It hurts,” Till whispered. “Why can’t it stop?”

Ivan wasn’t sure if he had meant to say those words out loud, because they had come out so weak, so quiet he nearly didn’t hear.

He kissed Till’s temple. “You’re so strong,” he said. “This has nothing on you.”

Till didn’t seem to be believing that at all.

Yet he didn’t say anything. He only leaned on Ivan’s chest as silent tears streamed down his face. He didn’t even seem to have the energy to hold onto him.

And as Ivan kept on threading through his hair, he desperately prayed for a mightier, divine power to do something, because he was clueless.

When he closed his eyes, the word 心疼 came to him, just the way it had in New York. Xīnténg. To share the pain of someone you loved.

He had blamed the Chinese for being pessimistic before, but now, with Till in his arms, he was starting to think maybe they were right.

Pain was irreverent. And when it hit, it was inevitable. It lingered around like a ghost. Always reminded one of its presence like a black hole, sucking one in.

Still, sometimes even the word xīnténg remained insufficient, he thought.

There was no word in any language in the world to describe the severity of this feeling. To describe this sharp stab in his bones.

How come nothing could verbalize his desperation?

How come despite every single word he knew, he was still condemned to sit here tongue tied, mouth sewed shut?

After that, no matter what Ivan did, Till couldn’t sleep.

He wetted a towel to put it on Till’s forehead, which helped with bringing his body temperature down, but not with his constant urge to vomit. 

Ivan knew there was still a pack of powder in his bag.

He knew Till wanted that. He knew he needed that, quite frankly.

But Till didn’t reach for his bag, not even once throughout the night.

Ivan wasn’t sure what to feel about that. He was relieved that Till was sticking to his word on cutting it off, but if he attempted snorting just one drag when he was suffering this badly, would Ivan stop him? When he knew it would make Till feel better and make everything go back to normal, when he knew they would just return to cuddling in the bed and fall asleep in each other’s arms, would he tell Till not to consume the substance?

He didn’t have an answer.

Or maybe, he was just afraid of the answer he would choose.

Some time around five in the morning, Ivan returned from the bathroom with a cold glass of water for Till, who was sitting on his side of the bed, leaning on the bed frame. 

He sat down next to him, extending the glass of water. Till reached for it with a shaky hand.

He took one small sip, but that was it.

Ivan was watching his every action attentively. They hadn’t turned the lights on, but he could almost see the purple under his eyes. His cracked lips, the ends of his hair still wet from the towel.

Ivan lifted one hand to fix some strands of hair that were stuck on Till’s temple. “You know it will pass, right?” he whispered into the silence. “The first few days are the hardest, but it will pass.”

He had read that on the internet. When a regularly used chemical was cut off, the body needed to maintain balance. Thinking of it, Ivan couldn’t help but wonder how much of this pain Till had to bear previously. He thought about the mornings he would come around with red, sleepless eyes. He wondered if Till had ever woken up in a fidget during any of the nights they’d spent together before, because Ivan would blame himself for not realizing it.

Just how long was this going on for?

For how long had Till been trying to cut it off?

Ivan hated to not know.

Breaking that chain of thoughts, “It fucking doesn’t,” Till muttered. “Time doesn’t pass, night doesn’t end, pain doesn’t go away—if it wasn’t for you, I would’ve stopped this already.”

Ivan’s eyes were closing with exhaustion. He folded his arms on top of his legs and put his head onto it. “Till,” he whispered. “Please, try to get some sleep.”

He didn’t care that he could see the colors of dawn painting the sky beyond the hotel window, nor did he care about whatever schedule they were on. All he wanted was for Till to rest.

And the exhaustion seemed to be getting to Till, too, because he only nodded and put the water glass aside. Before laying down under the covers, he shot a sideways glance at Ivan. “Hold me?” he pleaded.

Ivan forced his eyes to stay open, at least until Till slept. “You know I’m going to,” he said.

His arm found its usual place around Till’s waist, legs intertwined under the covers. He tried not to close his eyes for too long, in case he fell asleep. Instead, he tried to focus on the sun that was rising, bringing along warm shades of sunlight into the room. He tried to focus on Till’s regulated breathing, watching his shoulders that rose once at a time. He tried to focus on his touch, making sure his body wasn’t too hot. 

At that juncture, Ivan didn’t remember when he had fallen asleep. But one thing he was sure of was that the warmth of Till hadn’t disappeared again.

. . .

The next time Ivan woke up, it was with a phone call.

He indolently turned away from Till on the bed and reached for the phone on the bedside table, picking up the call without even opening his eyes properly.

“Hello?”

“Ivan?” Mizi’s voice came from the other end of the line. “Thank god you’re awake, because I can’t reach Till again, as always. So, we’re going out to shop for souvenirs with Sua and Hyuna before the time for our next flight comes. Are you two joining?”

For some reason, until Mizi had said it, Ivan had forgotten they had a flight to Moscow today.

He was going to see his father tonight .

Doubtfully, he looked at Till who had finally slept after a long night. He seemed to be at peace, at last.

“We can’t, actually,” he said to Mizi. “Till is feeling a little sick, so I want to stay here with him.”

“Oh,” Mizi let out in concern. “Is he okay? Why is he feeling sick?”

Ivan ignored the latter question. “He’s okay,” he assured. “He’s sleeping now. I’ll take care of it, alright? You guys have fun shopping. Also, if you stop by Nammos Village, make sure to get something for Till. I bet he would love that mall.”

Mizi giggled over the phone. “You know it,” she said. “Alright then. I hope Till gets better before the flight today. Keep us updated, will you?”

Ivan closed his eyes. “Sure. I will,” he mumbled.

“Also, Ivan,” Mizi said, making him open his eyes again. “He’s so lucky to be with you, you know that right?”

Lucky . He had been starting to hear that quite a lot.

Ivan let his gaze stray to the boy next to him. Every time he looked at Till, something stirred in his chest. He had thought he was in love before, but what was this if that was love? This was so much stronger, much more solid and grand. This was making him realize he would do about anything for Till. He would take any revenge, just how Achilles had done for Patroclus. He would go to hell and back with him, just like Virgil had gone with Dante. He would leave everything behind to be with him, just like how Maurice had done for Alec.

At last, “I hope that’s true,” he whispered, feeling every single syllable, meaning every single word.

He really did, with every fiber of his being.

. . .

When Till woke up again, he was completely fine, cleansed of any remainder of nausea and fever. Though, he told Ivan he still had a stinging ache in his muscles, so Ivan gave him a massage on the shoulders, planting soft kisses on his skin at each chance he got.

Till took a shower to relax while Ivan collected both of their stuff, packing their suitcases.

And while he was doing so, he couldn’t help but curiously open up Till’s bag, too.

Maybe it was wrong, but he just wanted to see. Just wanted to check how much of the substance he had. Wanted to know, so he could keep track.

So he could protect him from the worst.

They met up with the girls sometime before noon and drove to the airport, during which Mizi asked a thousand questions to make sure Till was okay after learning he was feeling sick.

Both Ivan and Till decisively lied that it was just something he ate at dinner and that he was fine now.

Guilt of lying was heavy on Ivan’s chest, but he tried to keep it subtle. He tried to avoid their glances, tried to focus on something else, to justify the lie in his head by saying it was for Till.

But was it the correct thing to do?

He didn’t know yet.

They drove to the airport and loaded their bags to the plane, which Ivan helped Hyuna with.

As they were carrying suitcases to the plane storage along basic small talk, Ivan thought of a million conversation starters to bring the topic to Till. To ask for some advice subtly. To ask for what he shouldn’t be doing in this situation. Because Hyuna would know. Hyuna had been there.

But how could he talk about drugs without being suspicious? How could he mention Hyunwoo without bringing her terrible memories back?

Plus, she would understand immediately. Ivan knew Till didn’t want any of them to know.

He hated when his love outspoke his concerns, but it was the truth.

So, whatever he wanted to say then and there, he swallowed it down and didn’t speak about it.

When Ivan got into the plane, Mizi and Sua were already putting their travel bags on the overhead storage. 

Till, meanwhile, was sitting at the backseat, taking both his and Ivan’s space as he extended his legs over the seats with phone in one hand.

“Oh. Hey, Till,” Sua said right before throwing another bag into the rack. She took out relatively a big packet from the bag. As soon as Till looked up, she extended it at him. “We got this for you this morning. In Nammos.”

“Holy shit,” Till mumbled. He sat properly as he took the gift, staring at the Louis Vuitton logo on top of the smooth, black box. “What is this?”

Sua smiled. “Open it up.”

Mizi stood on her seat as well, turning behind just to see his reaction. “I chose it for you, for the record.”

As Till was lifting the lid of the box, Ivan came to sit next to him.

There was a white paper wrapped around the gift. Till pulled it open on both sides, and revealed the present inside. It was a calfskin varsity jacket, in shades of navy and white.

Till’s eyes glinted. “Fuck off, you two,” he said as he took the jacket from the shoulders and lifted it out of the box. “This is so sick!”

Sua and Mizi shared a fist bump, as Till liked their present. “So, since Ivan said you were feeling bad and couldn’t come shopping with us, he said we should get you something. And so we wanted to surprise you.”

When he heard that, Till’s head turned to Ivan.

By his side, Ivan smiled. “Surprise,” he said.

Till grinned. “Fuck you,” he said affectionately.

“I figured we could get you some thick clothes, since we’re flying to Russia now,” Sua said. “You will be needing that.”

“And while we were in Louis Vuitton, this jacket reminded me of you so much,” Mizi added. “So, we got it for you!”

Till was shocked, but also visibly happy; so much that Ivan thought he would almost cry. He scoffed, looking down at the jacket again. “Guys,” he said, his gaze shifting to the girls. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Sua said, before sitting down next to Mizi and resuming whatever conversation the two had going on.

So, Till turned to Ivan instead, still grinning. “You’re insane, did you know that?”

Ivan shrugged. “What can I say?” he mused. “I guess I really am insane for you.”

Till laughed at that. As he grabbed Ivan from the nape and pulled him into a deep, covetous kiss, Ivan didn’t even try to protest. He just closed his eyes willingly, and let himself be bathed by the pure bliss of tasting Till’s lips. 

. . .

Ivan had texted his dad their estimated arrival time before the takeoff, and now, the plane had about twenty minutes to land at Moscow Airport.

It was half past five in the afternoon, and Ivan had taken a break from reading The Iliad , but instead focused on his new script, which he hadn’t gotten the chance to continue since Rome.

He sighed as he scratched another page in his journal and flipped to a new, clean one.

“What are you doing?” Till asked.

Ivan raised his head from the scribbles. Till looked better compared to the morning. He had slept a little more in the first hours of the flight, and when he woke up, Ivan had forced him to eat something properly, even though it was just a sandwich—it was still better than nothing. 

“Writing a new script,” Ivan said, twirling a pen between his fingers.

Till hummed in interest. “What is it about this time?”

Ivan looked back at the messy draft in his hands. “I will tell you, but don’t laugh,” he strictly said.

Till smiled. “I won’t,” he assured. “Tell me.”

It took Ivan a short second to put together a sentence in his mind. His eyes traced the page of his journal: the stars scribbled in the corners of the paper, poetic lines here or there jammed in between quotation marks, a plot line with arrows pointing everywhere. “Well,” he mumbled, “It’s about you and me.”

For a moment, Till didn’t respond.

And then, he chuckled.

Ivan frowned, glaring at him. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing at that!” Till said, still laughing. “I’m just—it caught me off guard. I would expect anything but that.”

“Why not?” Ivan said. “I want to capture this feeling in my form of art. I want to tell my story—our story, to the world.”

At that last bit, Till’s smile faltered. “To the world,” he echoed. He instantly fixed his expression. Just appropriate for an actor. “Well, maybe we should wait a little longer for that.”

That single sentence had reminded Ivan of the unspoken issue of secrecy in between them. He bit inside his cheek as he recalled the older lovers, who only saw him as a fling. Maybe we should keep this private. Between us. In the bedroom . He had heard that demand disguised as a plea a million times before. 

It brought a strange feeling into his chest, an awareness into his body.

The rational voice in him knew this was different. He knew Till wanted to keep it a secret only because of his career.

But when would he be ready, if it kept going like this? 

The girls knew now, and none of them had changed their opinions on Till, did they? Ivan had tried to remind him that no matter what, he would still love him. That his fame didn’t mean anything to him.

Yet still, what was he so afraid of?

“Alright, everyone!” Hyuna called, drawing everyone’s attention. “We are about to land in Moscow. We are free tonight, as usual, and tomorrow night we have the gala.”

Mizi gasped. “So we can travel around the city in the morning!”

“Go on, Ivan,” Hyuna said, taking out her phone. “Give me a list of places we should go.”

Ivan tapped his pen to his chin. “Well, surely you guys need to see the Bolshoi Theatre, also Moscow Kremlin and St. Basil’s Cathedral—god, the entirety of Red Square. In the 20th century, Red Square was the center of many military parades held to display the strength of Soviet army forces and—”

“Hold it down, nerd,” Till called. “I will listen to your history lectures tomorrow.”

Ivan rolled his eyes. “Of course you will,” he said.

The plane landed, and all of them took their bags to leave. Till wore his new varsity jacket alongside his sunglasses, despite the late hours of the afternoon. As soon as Ivan turned the flight mode off, he got a text from his dad.

I’m at the airport , he had written. Waiting inside .

Ivan smiled at his phone.

“What’s up with that look?” Till asked as he grabbed his backpack.

Ivan showed him the text. “My dad is here to greet us.”

The confidence on Till’s face was so quick to drop. “Excuse me, what?” he asked with a frown. “Oh, I’m feeling nauseous again.”

“Till, I told you, you don’t need to worry about it,” Ivan said. 

“But what if I mess it up? What if he doesn’t like me and doesn’t want you to be with me—”

“He might be my father but he doesn’t have the right to make such decision for me,” Ivan cut off. “Plus, I bet he has already heard of you. He tries hard to keep up with what I do, so I’m sure he has seen the trailer of Anakt Garden at least a million times by now.” He looked Till straight in the eyes. “He will know what I see in you. That I love you. And to him, that’s all that matters, okay?”

Till took a deep breath. “Okay,” he exhaled. “Okay. I’ll make a good first impression.”

Ivan scoffed. “Oh, my father has seen a lot in his life, Till, your anxiety won’t faze him at all.”

“Stop being a bitch,” Till said, but Ivan could see the ghostly smile forming on his lips as they walked out of the jet plane together.

. . .

“Ivan!”

As soon as the automatic doors to the airport opened, Ivan was greeted by his father. His hair and beard had grown since the last time Ivan had seen him. When was that even? Two summers ago?

“It’s been so long, syn moy ! God, you have grown up! Gotten taller, too. I have missed you so much, Ivan, come here!” He hugged him tightly as Ivan still processed the quickly spoken Russian.

“I have missed you too, papa .”

“Oh my,” Hyuna said. “I’d forgotten you were Russian for a second, Ivan.”

His dad pulled away from the embrace. “Of course,” he said, now in Korean. “Your friends are here too.”

Mizi blinked. “Ah—sir, you can speak Korean?”

Ivan chuckled. “How did you think he lived with my mother for years?”

“Oh, don’t bring that up now, Ivan,” his dad said jokingly. “Name’s Dimitri, everyone. Ivan’s father. I’ve lived in Korea for about twenty years, so yes, I can fluently speak the language.”

“That’s amazing, sir,” Sua said. “You sound so natural. If I hadn’t known, I would think you were a native.”

Dimitri gave a laugh. “I thought I was quite rusty, but I appreciate that, Miss…”

“Sua,” she said, bowing respectfully. “I’m Sua, Mizi’s manager.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mizi then said, when her name was mentioned. “I’m Mizi. An actress for the movie we are currently on tour for.”

“Ah, I knew I had seen your face somewhere,” Dimitri said. “You’re the girl in the trailer. I watched it.” His eyes found Till then. Ivan could almost see the boy tense up under his father’s gaze. “You were in the movie too, weren’t you?”

Ivan smiled reassuringly at Till.

So, Till gave him a tight nod and stepped forward. “Pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said.

“Papa,” Ivan said as he reached for Till’s hand. “Remember the special someone I wanted you to meet?” he asked in Russian, before switching to Korean and introducing Till. “Meet Till,” he said. “My boyfriend.”

This could be the first time he had used that word, but for some reason, it hadn’t felt wrong. Not the slightest.

Till’s fingers tightened around Ivan’s in assurance. Both of them stared at Dimitri, expecting a reaction.

Dimitri blinked shortly, before his expression melted into a soft, sincere smile. “Till” he echoed. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you. You see, Ivan talks about too few his lovers and brings even fewer of them to meet me, so—”

“Papa!” Ivan said warningly, though it made Mizi and Sua laugh.

“Fine, fine.” Dimitri waved a hand. “How about this, you guys are heading to your hotel now, am I wrong?”

“We are,” Hyuna said. When Dimitri looked up at her, she waved a hand. “Quite a late introduction, but I’m Hyuna. Director of the movie, and technically the one in charge of the tour.”

Dimitri gave a sophisticated nod. “It’s a pleasure, Hyuna,” he said. “I was about to suggest, how about you all come over to my place for dinner tonight?”

Ivan smiled. “Wait, really?” he asked. “It’s been so long since I’ve been to that house.”

“Oh yeah,” Dimitri said. “Are you ready for Till to see all your embarrassing childhood pictures?”

Ivan frowned immediately. “ Papa ,” he grunted, though this time, Till was laughing.

“I want to see your childhood pictures,” Till said, quiet yet playful.

Dimitri seemed to have heard it. “I keep them all in the album underneath his bed,” he said with a wink. “Just in case you want it.”

Ivan sighed. Till smirked. “That will do,” he said.

“No,” Ivan countered. “That will not do.”

. . .

Dimitri suggested driving them to the hotel, so throughout the ride, they all told him about the movie: Mizi told all her hilarious memories from the shootings while Hyuna explained her personal favorite scenes. Dimitri listened to all of them attentively, but he was the most careful whenever Till started speaking.

Ivan had been observing his dad since he met him.

It was obvious Dimitri wanted to get to know him better, and it made Ivan relieved, if he had to be honest. He wasn’t sure whether his father liked Till yet, but nothing had gone wrong so far.

And all Ivan could do was to hope this would last.

Dimitri dropped them off, yet couldn’t help them settle into the hotel, saying he better went home and started cooking dinner for six instead.

Thanks to Ivan’s fluent Russian skills, the receptionist easily found their reservation and handed them the keys to their rooms. Porters took their bags, clerks led them to the elevators. And in the end of the entire rush, Ivan had managed to unlock the door of his room and drag his suitcase in.

The room was wide, with a perfect view of the city. Towers of historical landmarks peeked from the horizon, already lit up in shades of gold as the sky was growing darker.

To be back in a city he had been homesick for so long was fulfilling. It was almost like he belonged here, knew the streets like the back of his hand, found a familiar sight everywhere he went. A part of him wished they had come here when it was snowing, so he could recall all the winter breaks he’d spent here with his dad back when he was just a child.

With a soft smile, Ivan walked into the room and took his phone out to put it on the charger without even taking his coat off. Now, he could take a shower and open his suitcase properly. Then, he would text Till. And in an hour or two, they would leave for his father’s place and have dinner…

His phone buzzed with a message before he could even find the charger in his bag. With one hand still fumbling inside, Ivan grabbed his phone and checked the message. It was from the group chat.

Sua : You guys may want to see this .

The sound of that was not reassuring. Ivan stopped searching for the charger and sat down on the bed. Just a few seconds later, Sua sent a few pictures to the chat.

As soon as they loaded, Ivan knew.

He knew as his heart tightened in fear, brows frowned in confusion, fingers froze in quandary.

They were pictures of him and Till.

Though, pictures he had never seen before, because he hadn’t been the one to take them. One from Rome, when they were toasting a drink in that bar they’d been to. Another from Berlin, at night when they were walking back into their hotel. And the last one, taken when they were both sitting on the beach at Mykonos, kissing.

Ivan forgot how to breathe for a second. He pointlessly zoomed into the picture, where his lips were clearly on Till’s. There was no way to refute this.

Their pictures had been released into the media.

His phone buzzed with another message.

Hyuna : Oh shit.

Mizi : ???? Where did you get these?

Sua : It’s all over Twitter. The pictures seemed to be uploaded today, but I can’t track the source. Not like this.

Ivan couldn’t keep staring at the pictures. He exited the chat and found Till’s name on his list of contacts. He typed a quick message.

Ivan : Did you see what Sua sent?

Till didn’t respond. He wasn’t even online, unnervingly. Ivan clicked on his name to check his last seen hour, but it was merely a minute ago.

So he had seen the pictures.

From atop of the screen, another notification came from the group chat.

Mizi : What are we going to do?

Sua : You know that’s up to Ivan and Till.

She had tagged them both in that message. Swallowing, Ivan texted Till again.

Ivan : Where are you?

No response. Instead, there was another message from the group chat.

Hyuna : We can find a way to track down who leaked those pictures.

Mizi : That we might do, but did you see what all the people are saying in the comments about Till?

Ivan didn’t even want to know about that. He stressfully stood up from the bed and tried to take a deep breath, to calm himself down. He clicked on Till’s name again, this time, calling him.

The phone rang in his ear once, twice, thrice.

But Till wasn’t picking up.

Ivan ran a hand through his hair in panic. He hung up and texted the group chat as fast as possible.

Ivan : Has anyone gotten to contact Till yet?

The girls saw the message instantly.

Sua : Not me, unfortunately.

Mizi : No :(( He’s not responding to my texts.

Hyuna : Well, that doesn’t bode well.

It really didn’t.

Fuck, it only made Ivan more nervous.

He kept pacing back and forth in his room, calling Till repeatedly for the next five to ten minutes. But he didn’t pick up. Not even once.

There were some times gut instinct hit one so solidly, they knew they would regret it if they didn’t listen to it. They knew it was true, whatever worry they had deep in the back of their mind.

So, when his instincts told Ivan to leave everything aside and go find Till, he knew it was one of those.

He left his room with only his phone in one hand, and rushed to find Till’s room. He remembered the number thanks to the receptionist. It had to be at the end of the hall.

In the quiet, fancy hotel, his footsteps were like a sound of terror. It was almost like he couldn’t get himself to care about anything else, not until he made sure Till was safe and well.

He found his room and tried to open it instinctively. 

Of course, it was a hotel door. It was locked. He hurriedly knocked on the door. “Till?” he called. He could see the trail of light leaking from underneath the door. Till had to be inside.

He pressed an ear onto the door to see if he could hear anything, but there was nothing.

His phone kept buzzing with all the messages he got from the girls. He tried to ignore it. “Till!” he called again, knocking at the door repeatedly. “Say something if you’re in there.”

Another notification. Another buzzing in his pocket.

Irritatedly, Ivan took the phone out of his pocket with clumsy hands. It nearly fell down, but he managed to hold it and click the screen open only so he could put it on mute.

Until he saw Till’s name in one of the incoming messages.

His heart sank into his boots. He pressed on the notification and opened the chat.

Till : I’m sorry.

Panic surged Ivan faster than it ever had before in his life. He didn’t check when Till might've sent that message. Didn’t text anything back. He only kept knocking, which was no fucking use.

So, at last, Ivan forced the door. He pulled onto the knob and shouldered the door, with such strength that he was shocked himself.

But the door had finally opened, and Ivan had stumbled inside, nearly failing his balance. “Till!” he called into the room.

Inside, Till was sitting on the ground, leaning on the bed.

But when Ivan took only one step towards him, he realized his eyes were closed.

Fear was a powerful emotion. It always was, in any situation. But when the case in point was the life of somebody you would do anything, and literally anything for, it was much more monumental. It made Ivan’s pulse beat in his ears, his body sweat uncontrollably, his hands shake, his knees weak.

“Till,” he barely mumbled as he fell onto the ground right next to his fainted lover. Till’s breathing was shallow, irregular. His skin was too pale, lips purple. “Till, can you hear me?” Ivan shook him by the shoulders, dabbed his cheeks, but there was no response.

When he looked down at his hands, he could see his fist closed. Inside was an empty plastic package.

Realization came to Ivan like a flash. He immediately started patting his pockets.

Later on, he would forever be praying to Moscow’s cold weather. He would forever be grateful to not have taken his coat off today, because in its pocket, he had found the naloxone. 

The antidote he had bought from Berlin.

He took the vial and the syringe out, tearing the package apart with shaking hands. 

He had never injected medicine on someone through the veins before. And truthfully, he had no idea how he could do that when his hands trembled so badly as he was opening the lid of the vial.

But at that moment, when Till’s life was on the line, he couldn’t afford to think about that. He clumsily filled the syringe with the naloxone, almost dropping the naloxone in the process. He turned the vial upside down, drew the medication into the syringe, and managed to pull the needle out of the vial before messing it up.

Taking a deep, heavy breath, he grabbed Till’s unconscious arm. It was so stiff under his touch, yet burning up. 

Ivan stuck the needle into the visible vein trail in Till's arm, and injected the antidote, praying to god during every second of it.

Once that was done, he ripped the edge of his own shirt without a thought and loosely wrapped the cloth around Till’s arm so it wouldn’t bleed.

He had no idea what he was doing. No idea how his body kept on working. But it did, somehow.

He shortly looked around for his phone to call an ambulance, but the first one he saw was not of his own, but Till’s.

The screen was cracked terribly, yet it didn’t stop Ivan from clicking it open, sliding to the side, and getting to the emergency call screen.

Once again, he prayed to the fact that he had lived in Russia enough to remember the generic medical emergency line. 103 .

He pressed the numbers and called it, his heart thumping against his ribs each time the phone beeped.

“Russian medical emergency line,” a woman picked up, her voice coming static. “What’s your emergency?”

Ivan managed to swallow, eyes on Till. “I—we need an ambulance,” he spoke in a stutter. “Please.”

He wasn’t sure whether the plea was for the dispatcher on the phone to hurry up, a god up above to help him out, or the unconscious boy in front of him to wake up as soon as possible.

At this point, he could consent to any of them. Any of them, as long as Till would be okay.

Chapter Text

The fluorescent hospital lights were giving Ivan a headache. The floor was too glossy; it made footsteps scrape the surface in an ear itching way. There was a stifling scent of antiseptics. Men and women in white coats were walking here or there, and every time a door opened, Ivan looked up with hopeful eyes, expecting the doctor to come out and tell him Till was okay.

But it wasn’t the doctor this time, either. Just a random nurse from another room.

They had cleared this part of the hall from any patients as soon as Ivan had requested anonymity in medical records, considering Till’s reputation. The ambulance had entered through a private entrance, and inside the hospital, security was already staged. 

Now, as he waited, Ivan started tapping his foot on the ground. He was still sitting with his coat, hands tucked in now empty pockets. He hated the discomfort the hospital gave him. He hated knowing Till was beyond one wall and not being able to go in there. With a deep breath, he took his phone out to check the messages.

As soon as he unlocked the phone, the screen opened up to Till’s last message, which he kept on rereading ever since he was condemned to wait here, on the uncomfortable seats in the hospital hallway. 

He swallowed before sliding out of the chat and going to his last calls.

For some reason, before anyone else, he had called his dad.

Before even the ambulance had arrived, he had called his dad and told him everything with quick words, Russian that sometimes slid into Korean with his uncontainable panic. And he wasn’t even sure if his dad had understood anything from that mess of an explanation, but he had said he would meet him at the hospital, and right now was probably on his way here.

After that, in the ambulance, Ivan had called Hyuna and let her know of the situation.

Somehow, he didn’t even need to finish his sentence for Hyuna to understand it was an overdose.

She didn’t question it over the phone. Maybe later on, she would. Maybe as she, Mizi, and Sua were driving to the hospital now, she was.

But Ivan could worry about that later.

“Ivan!”

Hearing his dad’s voice made him almost flinch. He looked up, watching the figure of his dad walking towards him. “Dad,” he managed.

“I came as soon as possible.” Dimitri sank onto the seat next to Ivan, leaning forward. “Are you feeling okay? Where is Till?”

Ivan's hands were fidgeting. “Inside,” he said, pointing at the door across him. “I’m not sure what they’re doing. They told some things about blood tests and physical examination, but I wasn’t listening.”

Dimitri stroked his back. “It’s okay,” he said. “Let’s wait and see, alright?”

Ivan didn’t want to wait. He had always thought he was good with patience, but why couldn’t he sit still now?

He took a deep, trembling breath. “Our pictures were released into the media,” he mumbled so quietly, in Korean as if to maintain privacy. “It was harsh. Maybe embarrassing, but still—why did he have to do this ?”

Just that sole question had left his mouth with an awful desperation.

“Sometimes,” his dad said, “there is more than what you know, Ivan.”

Ivan hated that. He hated sitting here, alone with his thoughts and this brimming worry, unable to do anything. Nothing .

“Hey,” Dimitri said, still stroking Ivan’s back. “Do you know why your mother and I got a divorce?”

Ivan was caught off guard by that question. For the first time, he raised his head properly. “Because you couldn’t reach a certain point in literally anything?”

That made Dimitri scoff a little, though it was bitter. “When you phrase it like that…” he mumbled, half to himself. He shook his head and turned to Ivan. His old, black eyes were watching him with sympathy. “The issue was, I think, miscommunication,” he said. “Your mother avoided telling me some things, I avoided telling some to her.”

Ivan frowned, trying to understand. Trying to recall the times they were still together, the times they would argue in a broken mess of Russian and Korean. “But why would you?”

Dimitri shrugged, as if shrugging off the piled up regret of years and trying to let it go. “Language barrier is a strong thing, Ivan,” he said. “It’s draining, to tell the truth; to be unable to express yourself entirely.”

Ivan allowed himself to think about that. Language barrier is a strong thing . He looked down in consideration. “Then maybe,” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “I learned to speak so many of them, just to avoid ending up like you and mom.”

If it was his mom, she could’ve taken offense. But something in his dad’s attitude was showing that he, as well, had come to understand that in all these years he spent alone, in Moscow. “Maybe,” he agreed, tilting his head. He gently patted Ivan’s shoulder. A warm, paternal gesture Ivan never realized he needed before. “So, don’t let it go to a waste,” his dad said. “Don’t end up like us.”

Before Ivan could think of a response, a door opened.

This time, it was the room Till was in.

Ivan instinctively stood up before the doctor had even stepped out. There she was: a middle-aged woman, who looked strict and sophisticated, though that could also be an effect of the composure saving human lives required.

She walked out holding several papers of reports. “Alright now,” she said in Russian. “The patient is in a stable situation and can accept visitors. The nurses will come to check in once every hour, and change the serum every three hours. You told me he was showing withdrawal symptoms, if I’m not wrong?” She tilted her head down, looking at Ivan behind her old-fashioned rectangle glasses frames.

Ivan nodded. “He was trying to cut off opioids,” he clarified.

The doctor shook her head. “I may need you to be more specific, if possible.”

Ivan hesitated. “Heroin,” he mumbled quietly.

At that, the doctor nodded. “Okay,” she said, glimpsing at sheets of reports in her hands. “We may need to hospitalize him for a few days, to make sure no other incidents of overdose or substance consumption happens.”

“I will stay here with him,” Ivan said, looking once at the doctor, then briefly at his dad. “No matter how long it might last.”

The doctor nodded. “Very well,” she said. She pointed at the door with her head. “You may see him as I go over the counter to register the patient anonymously, to maintain privacy.”

Ivan managed a deep breath. “Thank you,” he told the doctor, before barging into the room with practically running steps. 

The hospital room was dim at this hour of night, a nurse standing by the bed, in front of a monitor, which she clicked some things on.

And in the white sheets of the hospital was Till, half laying on the bed. His hair was tousled on the pillow, a bandaid on his elbow pit peeking from the white hospital gown sleeve. A cannula was attached to his hand, reaching up to the serum holder. And though he looked exhausted, his eyes were open. He was breathing.

Ivan’s eyes uncontrollably teared up as soon as he saw him like that. “Till,” he let out.

Till’s gaze instantly found him, eyes widening ever so slightly. The nurse, as well, turned around. She briefly checked the monitor, then said, “Let me leave you alone,” in a polite Russian.

For a short while as her heels clanked across the room, Ivan and Till stared at each other without a word.

As soon as the door was closed after her, Till shifted in his seat, straightening. “Ivan, I—”

“What were you thinking?” Ivan snapped, his voice coming out painfully desperate rather than angry. “Just why would you—god, Till, if I hadn’t been there, you could’ve died! If I hadn’t injected the naloxone in time you—” The words insisted on not coming out. Instead, tears spilled down his cheeks. “Do you know how scared I was?” he broke down. 

Till was visibly shaken by that. “Ivan, I’m sorry,” he hurriedly said. “I was just—afraid. When I saw the photos, when I saw what people were saying—I just wanted to silence the voices a little bit and—”

“Till, I told you a million times that your fame doesn’t define your worth—”

“But it does, Ivan!” Till countered. “When I know if it wasn’t for the name that I have, I would be back to living with my dad, it fucking does! Fame is a delicate thing. I didn’t finish college like you did, I don’t have a guaranteed job from nine to five, and if a scandal ruins my image, the thing I call my career will be nothing better than fifteen minutes of fame. I just—if I don’t have this, I don’t have anything .”

Ivan wiped his tears with the sleeve of his coat. “So you tried to die ?” he asked. “Is that how much you want to avoid your issues?”

“That was not what I was trying to do,” Till said strictly, with a note of defensiveness in his tone. “I just wasn’t thinking properly, one dosage wasn’t fucking enough when my head was reeling in panic, Ivan—”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Ivan asked. “Till, you know you could—”

“I wasn’t sure if you would still want to see me after all that shit, okay? I—I don’t know, maybe you would want to cut if off because you never signed up for this and I would understand if you wanted to—”

“You thought I would call it off?” Ivan asked in disbelief. He sighed. Slowly, hesitantly, he sat on the side of the bed. “Till, I would do anything for you. But I would never, ever dare to leave you.” He took Till’s hand, careful to not touch the cannula. When he gently held his fingers, Till squeezed his hand back, though his touch was weak. Ivan swallowed. “I was so afraid of losing you,” he whispered, looking straight at Till’s face. 

The green of Till’s eyes glinted with tears as he heard that. “I’m sorry,” he whispered with a trembling voice. “I’m so sorry, Ivan.”

“Quit saying that,” Ivan mumbled. He pulled Till closer, wrapping his arms around his neck. Despite all the hospital scent that had encompassed him, he still smelled like himself. It helped Ivan finally take a proper breath, for the first time since the morning. “I’m just glad you’re safe,” he said. “Please, let’s not argue. I hate to see you like this.”

After a silent moment of low monitor sounds, Till’s hands came to rest on Ivan’s back, fists holding onto his coat. He buried his head to his shoulder.

And Ivan felt like he was home again.

“Is he in there?” a familiar voice came from somewhere close. Mizi .

Ivan slightly tried to pull back, but Till didn’t let him go. “The others are here,” Ivan whispered. 

“I know,” Till said. “Just a few more seconds, until they’re inside.”

So, Ivan let him hold him. Though, those few seconds passed quickly, because so soon, “Till!” Hyuna’s voice called.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room, and Hyuna, Sua, and Mizi walked right in. Ivan pulled away from the hug and turned to the door.

Hyuna’s wide eyes relaxed as soon as she saw Till. She gave a deep breath. “Thank god,” she let out. “You’re okay.”

Mizi jumped straight in for a hug. “Oh my god, I was so worried, you dummy!”

Sua, meanwhile, stood with concern readable in her eyes. Yet still, “Thankfully, you handled the security perfectly, Ivan,” she said. “We might completely prevent this incident from hitting the media.”

To hear that had satisfied Ivan. “I hope,” he said, truly meaning it.

After them, walked in Dimitri. Ivan had almost forgotten he was here for a second.

Thinking of it, he had probably overheard their entire argument, too.

But even if he had so, he didn’t show it. He was softly smiling instead, leaning on the wall as he watched them from the corner.

“I’m—good,” Till said, patting Mizi’s back. “Sorry for worrying you guys.”

Ivan watched Hyuna avert her eyes, arms folded.

He could almost read her mind, but he chose not to focus on it. All of them seemed to be ignoring the reason they were here, in a hospital now. And frankly, Ivan was relieved they were doing so.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Mizi went on. “With the media, I mean—”

“Don’t bring that up now, Miz,” Till said, pulling away from the embrace. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“Till is right,” Ivan agreed. “Let’s just focus on what to do next, instead of what already happened.”

Mizi looked down at her lap. “I hate to say this, but it might be too late to erase all evidence now.”

Till wasn’t glad to hear that. His fists were clenched around the white hospital blanket as his gaze strayed outside the window.

“Yeah, I agree with that,” Hyuna said. “So, I’ve been thinking we should track down who spread these images into the media, instead. I already got in contact with the PR team of the agency.”

“I will be helping with that, as well,” Sua said. “Might reach some IP addresses by tomorrow. It won’t be that hard to find a name.”

Ivan frowned. “You can do that?”

“She can do a lot of things,” Mizi prudently admitted.

“Since when?” Till asked, as confused as Ivan.

Sua gave a sarcastic smile. “Try being Mizi’s manager,” she said.

That made Mizi frown. “Hey! I’m not that scandalous!”

“So she claims.”

“ Sua !”

At that, Till scoffed softly; a sound that wasn’t entirely happy, yet it still made Ivan feel better. Irrationally, it brought a smile to his face, as well.

“Alright then,” Till said. “We can do that. We don’t have a better option anyway.”

Whether Till had meant it or not, that last sentence had brought a heaviness into the room. An awareness of the situation.

But nobody brought that up, and it flowed away in the middle of the conversation.

As the visiting hours neared the end, Sua told Ivan and Till to rest assured about the scandal, and Mizi told Till to rest properly, which he probably couldn’t do otherwise even if he tried. Dimitri, as well, wished Till a sincere get well soon and told the girls he would drive them back to the hotel.

Ivan was decisive about spending the night at the hospital. All he had was his phone and his wallet, but truly, he didn’t need anything else. None of it mattered more than Till.

He walked the others out of the backdoor of the hospital, thankful for the dark night of Moscow for keeping them secluded.

His dad patted his back. “My phone will be on all night, in case you need something, okay?”

Ivan smiled. “Thank you, papa,” he said. “Also, about the dinner—”

“Don’t even worry about that,” Dimitri said, waving a hand. “We can have dinner anytime. You know my door is always open for you and your friends.”

He was glad his dad didn’t ask questions Ivan wasn’t sure how to answer. He was glad he just tried to be of help, without causing a strife. When things were this horrid, he was glad he at least understood what his son needed.

Before following Dimitri into the car, Mizi hugged Ivan goodbye. “Take care of him well,” she said.

Ivan nodded. “Have no worries,” he said. 

“I will contact you if we find something,” Sua said as she was wrapping Mizi’s jacket around her arms (Rightfully so, in the cold of this city).

“Please do,” Ivan told her. “If I don’t pick up by any chance, make sure to call Till too.”

Sua nodded. “Of course,” she said with a ghostly yet sympathetic smile. 

The two girls started walking away arm in arm, and at last, left Ivan alone with Hyuna.

There was something overt in Hyuna's eyes. It was almost like she was about to bring it up. Like she was about to either break down crying in the memory of her brother or yell at Ivan for not being careful enough with Till.

Deep down, Ivan realized he was hoping for the latter. He felt like he needed to be scolded for letting things come to this rate.

But Hyuna’s reaction was neither of the two. She just stood with her arms folded as the night breeze played with her hair. “What did the doctors say about Till’s situation?” she asked. “You know, we have the gala tomorrow.”

Right . Ivan had forgotten about that. “Well, they said that he needed to be hospitalized for a few days at least,” he said. “To guarantee he doesn’t face another… you know, overdose.”

“Yeah, of course,” Hyuna immediately said. “So, he’s not joining. I’ll try to talk to the agency. Maybe we could postpone it. Or we might have to go for it without Till.”

At this point of events, Ivan couldn’t get himself to care about it at all. “Whichever works better for the majority of you,” he said. “Don’t try to change things only for Till, okay?”

Hyuna gave a tight nod. “Of course,” she assured. 

Ivan forced a smile. “Alright, then. Good night.”

“Yeah,” Hyuna muttered.

So, Ivan turned his back to walk back into the hospital, to return to Till’s side.

But before he could even take a step, “Ivan,” Hyuna called his name. Ivan turned over his shoulder. Hyuna was staring at him with some sort of sorrow, mazed between pity and empathy. “If you ever want to talk, I’m always here.”

A part of Ivan realized that this was all he needed to hear these past few days. He swallowed, preventing the tears from filling his eyes uninvitedly. He looked down. “Yeah, of course,” he managed. “Thanks.”

Hyuna nodded. “Anytime,” she mumbled. “Good night.”

“Night.” Ivan watched her walk away and get into his dad’s car after Mizi and Sua. He waved them goodbye, waiting there in the cold until the vehicle blended into the darkness of the night and left him with the rustling wind and chilly cold of the lonely night.

. . .

When Ivan walked back into the patient room, Till was out of the bed. He was sitting on the windowsill, the serum holder standing beside him as he watched the night sky.

Ivan quietly closed the door behind his back and took off his coat. “They’re gone,” he said. 

Till didn’t separate his eyes from the sky. “You’re staying, then?” he asked.

“Of course I am.” Ivan walked up next to him. The windowsill was wide enough for two. So, Ivan hopped on the other side and leaned back on the window frame. He let one leg dangle as he pulled the other to his chest and intently watched Till. There wasn't much light to illuminate his expression, but he was visibly thoughtful, deep in his own mind. Ivan tipped his head backwards. “So, what are you thinking of?” he broke the silence.

When he asked that, Till finally looked down, at the inner side of his arm. “I realized I remembered.”

Ivan blinked. “Remember what?”

Till extended his arm to reveal the quote marked on his wrist. E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle. “The tattoo,” he said. “I remember what it means. Then we came forth to behold the stars.”

That made Ivan smile. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “The quote from when Dante and Virgil return from hell and see the stars again. When they realize there is still hope.”

Till glanced upwards, out of the window, once again. “Though, there are no stars tonight.”

He was right. The night sky of Moscow was cloudy. Pitch black. Not even the moon was there.

“Stars or not,” Ivan said with a shrug. “I would walk to hell and back with you.”

At that, Till’s face softened into a smile. He tilted his head, leaning on the glass. “Even if we have to imagine the stars, then?”

Ivan nodded without a doubt. “Even if we have to imagine the stars.”

In the short, comfortable silence, Till wrapped his arms around his legs. He started humming a peaceful melody, out of the blue. One Ivan recognized.

Vincent by Don McLean. A song they used to listen to in school. One they would put on to fill the silence as they stargazed from the balcony of Ivan's apartment.

With a smile, Ivan found his phone in his back pocket and typed in the song name on the search bar. He promptly clicked on it and put his phone aside, on the ledge between them.

Till’s humming faltered with a chuckle as soon as the real lyrics started playing from Don McLean’s voice.

“ Starry, starry night,

Paint your palette blue and gray,

Look out on a summer’s day,

With eyes that know the darkness in my soul… ”

Till closed his eyes as he let the music sink in. Ivan, as well, tried to relax. After all, right now, it was just the two of them in the dead of night. Nobody else to ruin it. Nobody else to take their smiles away.

“You know what,” Ivan whispered. “I sometimes wish it was always this quiet. With only you and me.”

Till’s smile got bitter. “Me too,” he said. After a brief hesitation, he added, “I really don’t even want to go outside after this, Ivan.”

Ivan couldn’t respond to that. He only swallowed. “Me neither,” he whispered, unsure if Till even got to hear it. He just wished everyone could disappear from the surface of earth completely, even if it was only for a while. He wished that there was a way to erase everything from the internet. To go back to just a week ago, where they could change the entire outcome of the situation they were in.

“Why did this happen now?” Till then asked. “Why is it something irreversible? Like, why couldn’t coming out be my choice? Isn’t it supposed to be?”

Those words hit Ivan like a punch in the pit of his stomach. “Till,” he mumbled, straightening on where he sat. He took Till’s hand. “It was partially my fault. I shouldn’t have forced you to be public just because of my… temporary insecurities. I shouldn’t have taken our surroundings for granted. Should’ve been more careful where I kiss you. It’s my fault that it happened in the nastiest way so I'm—”

“But we shouldn’t have to be,” Till countered, leaning forward.

Ivan faltered. “What?” he asked.

“We shouldn’t have to be careful where we fucking kiss, Ivan,” Till said. “Who I love shouldn’t matter this much. Plus, it’s not your fault. Never has been.  I also wanted to kiss you there in Mykonos. I wanted to toast our drinks in Rome. I chose to walk with you on our way to the hotel in Berlin, because god, I can’t stand a single day without you. Not when—for the first time in my life, I feel something for someone.”

That last bit could be the best thing somebody has ever said about Ivan. He tried to remain composed. “Till,” he mumbled, squeezing his hand.

Right then, maybe it was the effect of the medicine the doctors gave him, or the severity of everything that kept overlapping in the worst way possible. But for some reason, Till’s eyes were filled with tears once again. “But why does it have to be this complicated?” he asked, his voice cracking painfully.

Ivan didn’t know the answer. He hated it, but he didn’t. “I don’t know,” he truthfully said, words shallow at the tip of his tongue.

He reached up to wipe a tear from Till’s face with his thumb.

Till held his hand. He leaned into his touch, pressing his lips on his palm. Not quite a kiss, but close. As his teary eyes sought the starless sky again, “What are we supposed to do now?” he asked.

Ivan looked down. “I don’t know,” he repeated.

From his phone, the song still kept playing, despite the moment of despair the two were having.

“ Now, I think I know what you tried to say to me,

How you suffered for your sanity,

How you tried to set them free,

They would not listen, they’re not listening still,

Perhaps, they never will…”

. . .

In the late hours of that night, Ivan and Till were laying together in the hospital bed, with Ivan’s head on Till’s chest and his arms around his waist, while Till’s hands were playing with Ivan’s hair softly.

Whatever the doctors put in that serum pack, it was helping Till sleep better. 

Ivan had been listening to his heartbeats ever since they laid down. It was a unique melody. One that was only for him to listen. At the thought of that, he comfortably snuggled in a little closer.

Lifting his head up, he planted a small kiss on Till’s bare neck.

He didn’t react. He had to be asleep already.

Not that Ivan minded. He liked to see Till be at peace. It made his own muscles ease, his mind rest from all the worries that awaited them outside of these walls.

Thinking of it, a Russian word came to his mind. Climbed up to the surface of his vocabulary mountain from the depths, unexpectedly. Живучий .

Zhivoche .

It had several translations, ranging from resilient to tenacious. But in Ivan’s mind, it was closer to ‘one that clings to life’ . To survive no matter what may come knocking at the door. To endure the pain and the impediments, despite everything.

It quite reminded him of Till. Reminded him of how strong he was, to build himself a career of his own from scratch. To try to cut off his bad habits. To be brave enough to love.

A part of him couldn’t wait for him to wake up so they could discuss it. So Ivan could tell him that the root of the word was to live , inherited from Proto-Slavic languages. And Till would listen, even if he didn't understand any of it. He would listen no matter what.

But that could wait until Tomorrow. Right now, Till being asleep fulfilled Ivan better.

Around that time, his phone started buzzing.

Ivan flinched at the loud sound, remembering he hadn’t turned it off just in case any updates came from Sua. Ivan slowly pulled out of Till’s embrace, which made the boy open his eyes so slightly.

Ivan hushed. “Sleep,” he whispered, giving him a peck on the cheek as he reached for the bedside table and took his phone. As he had expected, it was Sua.

Stress spread through his veins, squeezing his heart. Without letting the phone ring any longer, Ivan picked it up.

“Sua?” he said in a whispering voice.

“Hey,” Sua called. “I thought you would be sleeping at four in the morning, but I’m quite glad you’re not, because I might have found something you would want to hear about.”

Ivan straightened on the bed, throwing his legs to the side. “What?” he asked. “What did you find?”

“An address,” Sua simply said as several keyboard clicks sounded over the line. “We’ve been in contact with the PR team for several hours now, and based on the information they have sent me, I found the paparazzi who have taken your pictures. They’re three different men, from all three countries.”

Ivan frowned. That was creepy. “How did they know we were there?” he asked. “Why did they specifically take our photos and not yours?”

“Yes, that was what I was wondering,” Sua said. “So, I tried to track the path these pictures took—though, that's not very legal, so we better not mention this—but it led me to some interesting commonality.”

Ivan blinked, still trying to wake up as he processed those words. “Which is?”

“That all of those pictures taken were mailed to the same address,” Sua said. “One in New York City.”

Something twisted in Ivan’s stomach.

Luka .

“I can confirm.” This time, Hyuna’s voice came over the line. Ivan didn’t even know she was there until she spoke. “This is Luka’s address. I remember it like the back of my hand.”

“So,” Ivan mumbled hesitantly, looking out of the window absently, “you suggest that… the one who leaked those photos was Luka?”

The question was met by a short silence.

Then, “Yes,” Sua said. “That’s what all evidence leads to.”

Ivan didn’t know what to say to that. A million questions were reeling in his head. How did Luka know? Why would he do something like this? Hadn’t he talked to Hyuna about all of this in Paris? Did this mean he could use the talk show footage against them now?

What on earth did he try to achieve by ruining Till’s reputation?

Ivan tried to shake the unwanted thoughts away. “Can you guys come to the hospital?”

“As soon as Mizi wakes up,” Sua assured. “Sorry. She’s really terrible at pulling an all-nighter.”

“It’s fine,” Ivan said. “Till is asleep, too. It’s better if we wait after sunrise for this matter, anyway.”

“Whatever you desire,” Hyuna said. “We will let you know when we’re leaving the hotel. Don’t turn your phone off.”

Ivan nodded. “Roger.”

Before he hung up the phone, “Ivan,” Sua called one last time.

Ivan held the call. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Do you have an idea on what we might do?”

It was hard not to scoff.

It was almost like Sua had read his mind. And by god, Ivan still didn’t know how she could do that every single time.

He turned over his shoulder, looking at Till who was sleeping serenely. “I do,” he muttered, determination draping from those words despite his tired state of mind. “I just have to make sure Till wants to go with that, too," he said.

A momentary silence.

“Alright then,” Sua responded approvingly. “See you after sunrise.”

Ivan closed his eyes. “See you.”

Sua hung up, and the phone was left to beep into Ivan’s ear for a long while. He wasn’t sure how he could fall asleep, now that he knew the culprit behind everything. Now that he knew it was completely intentional.

But the room was dark, the night was quiet, and the bed was warm. So, even if he wasn’t going to be able to sleep, he could still lay in his lover’s arms and pretend he hadn’t just survived an overdose. Pretend they weren’t in a random hospital in Moscow. Pretend their secret wasn't out.

Pretend they weren’t going to face reality after about two hours.

Two hours until sunrise .

He better made the most of it.

Chapter Text

Ivan had a light sleep of two hours, somewhere in between the unavertable exhaustion and similarly prevalent stress, though Till’s touch was helping him lean towards the prior.

The next time he awoke, it was with the fingers of Till softly threading through his hair.

His eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning,” Till said. His hand in Ivan’s hair slid down under his chin to lift his face just a little.

Ivan hugged Till tighter. “ Доброе утро ,” he mumbled.

Till smiled. “Is that how you say it in Russian?”

Smiling back, Ivan laid his head back on Till’s chest. “Yes,” he said. “Say that to my dad and he will eternally be proud of me for teaching you Russian.”

“Noted,” Till said decisively. 

After that was a brief silence where neither of them spoke. There was a lot waiting to be tackled. Ivan had to tell him that Luka was the one to release those pictures. He had to tell him that the gala was likely going to be postponed. They needed to discuss whether Till was going to commit to the treatment process in the hospital and cut off the drugs completely.

But visibly, neither of them wanted to think about those. 

They just laid together in the silence, both waiting for the other to break it.

Till gently kissed Ivan’s hair. Without a word, as if avoiding it all. And truthfully, Ivan didn’t have it in himself to complain.

His hands at Till’s waist trailed upwards, fingers sliding inside the hospital gown and touching his hot, bare skin.

Till’s breath hitched at the touch. “Hey,” he mumbled with a chuckle. “Stop it.”

Ivan grinned. He let his fingertips graze his spine, tracing shapes. “Why? It tickles?”

“It does!” Till arched his back to escape his touch, still laughing. “Stop it!”

Ivan turned on the bed and got on top of Till, not even hesitating a single second to lean in for a kiss. It helped the secondary thoughts vanish out of his head, helped him focus only on Till, and nothing beyond that.

Till smiled against his lips, hands reaching up to grab his cheeks. He pulled him down from the collar before breaking the kiss to take a short breath. “I love you,” he whispered in between. Ivan’s heart skipped. No matter how many times Till said it, it never failed to make Ivan feel it. Every word of it. 

Truly, he thought, love never got lost in translation.

When those words were spoken from the heart, it didn’t lose meaning. It directly translated into the emotion, conveyed without clutter.

With some sense of fulfillment, Ivan’s lips crashed on Till’s again, pressing his chest against his. It was almost like this was all he needed after yesterday. To wash the worry away and ensure that Till was still within reach. That he was still his Till.

God, how far it felt, even though it was just last night. 

But he hadn’t lost Till. They were still the same, despite everything.

A door knock came. 

Ivan instantly pulled away from Till. He straightened on the bed, Till cleared his throat. While Ivan stood up from the bed, he was fixing the white sheets until there was no sign of them ever sleeping together. At last, after sharing one short glance with his lover, “Come in,” Ivan said in Russian.

The door opened slowly. It was a nurse, walking in with a pack of serum in her hands. 

Ivan looked away as he ran a hand through his hair, acting like he wasn’t kissing Till just a moment ago. Till, as well, acted naturally, wearing the mask of an actor. 

The nurse smiled. “Good morning,” she said, though words more directed to Ivan, since Till couldn’t speak Russian.

“Yes,” Ivan said. “Morning.”

The nurse walked over to the monitor, checking some numbers and clicking on some beeping buttons. Then, she looked up at the nearly empty serum, which was still connected to the cannula on Till’s hand. She undid the old pack to replace it with the new one. As she did, her eyes shortly glanced over at Till. It was like she recognized him, yet even if that was the case, she didn’t show it.

Instead, “He looks better than yesterday,” she said to Ivan, pointing at Till with her eyes. “The color is back in his face.”

Yeah, maybe because we were in the middle of something just a minute ago , Ivan thought.

Not like he would say it out loud.

He managed a nod. “He does,” he agreed. 

The nurse slid the pack to the serum hanger. “Well, based on what I’ve heard from the doctors, they can’t get a psychiatric evaluation done, since the patient can’t speak Russian,” she went on.

Ivan looked up at her. “I could provide the translation.”

“Unfortunately, one on one privacy is required in such examinations,” the nurse said. “It’s a delicate situation. You said it wasn’t an intended overdose, but that he used opioids regularly before.”

Ivan didn’t want to think about that, but it was the truth. He loosened his shoulders with a sigh. “Yes, he did.”

“It seems like the withdrawal was so sudden that the amount of substance his body craved doubled. It’s so dangerous,” the nurse said with pity. “Right now, the serum is providing pain killing medicine in a dosaged amount, yet once we cut it off, he might keep craving the drug.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Ivan asked. 

“Controlled withdrawal,” the nurse simply said. “He needs to see a doctor—one who can speak Korean—and go through several psychiatric tests. Afterwards, he can begin the recovery process under medical supervision.”

Ivan nodded. “I’ll let him know,” he said, though it came out quite reluctantly. He knew he was supposed to be Till’s translator, yet sometimes he wished there was somebody else to deliver the news, because Ivan didn’t even know where to start when it came to his addiction.

“We can discharge him tonight, once the doctors check up to make sure everything is good,” the nurse said. “Tell him to rest well, will you?”

Ivan forced a smile. “Sure. Thanks.”

With those words, the nurse respectfully left the room, leaving Ivan and Till alone once again.

As soon as she was gone, “Wow, that was long,” Till said. “What were you two talking about?”

Ivan came to sit on the side of the bed. He wasn’t sure how to bring it up. A part of him was afraid to end up with another argument, while the other part feared Till would deny ever being addicted and claim controlled recovery was bullshit.

But he had to tell him, didn’t he?

“I will tell you, but you will listen to me carefully and not forget these are the nurse’s words and not mine, okay?” Ivan asked.

Till nodded. “Of course.”

Ivan was already starting to plan the sentences in his head, trying to find the kindest way to put them into words, so Till wouldn’t take defense.

But before he could even start speaking out loud, his phone rang.

Both Ivan and Till turned to the phone on the bedside table. 

Hyuna was calling. 

Of course. They were going to come to the hospital to discuss what to do about Luka. Discuss a plan that had come to Ivan’s mind dead in the night, on the phone with Sua last night.

Ivan took the phone and picked it up. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Ivan,” Hyuna greeted him. “Good thing you’re awake. We’re coming to the hospital now. Sua has gathered all the evidence into tangible documents of proof. The rest, whatever it is, is up to you.”

Ivan nodded. “Yes. Thank you,” he said. “Did you tell Mizi yet?”

“Not really,” Hyuna admitted. “She’s dying to know, though, as we speak. Did you tell Till?”

Ivan exhaled. “No,” he said. “No, I haven’t.”

When his gaze slid to Till, “You haven’t what?” Till whispered in confusion. Ivan held his hand reassuringly without a response and focused back on the phone call.

He realized he was trying his best to avoid it. To avoid being the person to reveal it all to Till. Really, he didn’t want that at all.

“Well then, it’s going to be an unpleasant surprise for both of them, don’t you think?” Hyuna said dryly. Ivan could hear the exhaustion through her voice.

He looked down. They all were exhausted.

And all Ivan wished was for this tour to come to an end.

. . .

“ What ?” Mizi and Till exclaimed at the same time.

They were in the hospital, all gathered around the bed. The evidence Sua brought was spread around the room due to traveling from hand to hand. Ivan was sitting next to Till, Hyuna was leaning on the windowsill, Sua sat on an armchair. Yet Mizi, meanwhile, stood on her feet with one print of Luka’s address in her hand, still in disbelief. “You’re telling me Luka has done that?” she asked. “Why doesn’t he fucking learn?”

To hear Mizi swear was a strange experience, Ivan thought. Now that he considered it, he didn’t think he had ever seen her this furious before. Her eyes were flaming, brows furrowed. The expression on her face was raw: it was something more uncontained than those movie scenes she would act out a harangue and win an award for.

Till, as well, was looking at all the evidence of mailed photos from the paparazzi to Luka. For some reason, he hadn’t let go of the print of the picture of them kissing in Mykonos. He was holding it in one hand, absently but tightly as if he wanted it to be a secret, although everyone had seen it already.

Everyone had seen it already.

Ivan tried to not think about that.

“To tell the truth,” Till said, “I have been expecting this. Not too big of a surprise.”

“But are we going to let him get away with this?” Mizi asked. “Nothing fucking guarantees he won’t do something like this again!”

“What do you suggest we do, Miz?” Till shot back. “He has already done the worst, don’t you think? He brought up my addict father in an interview, hired people to take pictures of me with my boyfriend, and released them to the media. What else could he do to ruin my fucking life?”

“We could ruin his life back,” Mizi said, dead serious. “If he dares to use the media against you, we can use it back against him.”

“And how much would that help?” Till said. “My audience doesn’t make up half of his. It’s a clear damned win for him.”

“Speaking of the media,” Ivan chimed in. When he spoke, Till and Mizi stopped arguing. Everybody looked at him. So, Ivan went on, “I have an idea, though it matters that all of you agree with it.” He looked at his lover. “Especially you, Till.”

Till’s eyes were desperate. Almost like he would go for anything, anything Ivan was to suggest at that moment. “Tell me,” he said. “What is it?”

“Well,” Ivan began, “Mizi might be right about using the media on our behalf. Though, Till is also right about Luka’s immense audience and unspokenly admitted power in the industry.” He hesitated shortly. But he had to say it. They were at a point where they had nothing to lose, so they might as well try to fix it rather than just sit here and do nothing. Ivan composed himself. “So, how about we reveal the truth to the media?”

Then came silence.

“What?” Mizi asked at last.

“I mean, like, everything,” Ivan said, glancing at Till again. “That we’re together. That the photos were a scandal preplanned by Luka. Just—anything you want to tell to the people who are there to hear it. I know not all of them will listen. They never do.” He shrugged, taking Till’s hand. “But some of them could. You said it yourself last night, Till. That we weren’t supposed to hide. You said it in Paris while we were dancing, that we had the right to love. You told me in Madrid, at the temple, that you didn’t care we were in public and that you wanted to kiss me anyway. And—I know you hate it, but things already went down. I know it should’ve been our choice, but it wasn’t. So why don’t we take a chance to win the situation over?” At that, he met Till’s eyes. “Plus, what purpose do I have as your translator if I don't deliver your words to the world?”

“Ivan,” Till let out softly. For the first time ever since they met, he looked completely unshielded, Ivan thought. Not a single sight of defense. Only the bare reflection of his emotions on his face, the vulnerable weight on the slump of his shoulders. 

“We have the proof,” Ivan went on, glancing at all the papers around the room. “We have our reason, Till. Besides, if we’re lucky, we might even have an audience as grand as Luka’s.”

“Hold that,” Hyuna cut off from across the room. “Sorry to ruin this very affectionate moment, but how are you going to do that last bit? I mean, Luka’s audience is arguably the widest in the nation.”

“That’s why we go international,” Ivan said. “You know, there is the word terra in the root of inter , which literally means on earth —so, what I mean is, we have been on this world tour for weeks now, and have seen three whole continents. Just think about all the reporters and interviewers we have met, the entire network we built through the journey. I was thinking that maybe, we could use that .”

“That’s incredibly smart,” Sua acknowledged, seeing the vision immediately. “If we can get in contact with some of the people we’ve met through the galas and after parties, we can help distribute any announcement you two want to make to the entire world.”

Ivan turned to Till. “Only if you want to, as well, of course,” he told him.

It took Till a while to get his head around the idea. He looked at the sheet of evidence in his hands, visibly evaluating Ivan’s words in his mind. In the end, he looked up. His gaze wandered on all of them regardfully, and landed on Ivan at last. 

He inhaled deeply as he squeezed Ivan’s hand. “Okay,” he said, in a way that helped Ivan breathe better. “Okay then. Let’s do it. Let’s try to make the truth known.”

. . .

To make a plan was complicated, but with a terrible scandal at the door, they could put their heads together and come up with something productive. From the depths of their phone contacts or the information cards forgotten folded in the back pockets of their clothes, they managed to make a long list of reporters, critics, and journalists they had come across throughout the tour.

They first contacted Lorenzo: the movie critic they had met in Rome, Italy. Surprisingly, the man had picked the phone in the first ring.

Of course, he knew of the photos. He had seen it all, and though Ivan wasn’t expecting it, had expressed his sincere empathy. 

And when Ivan talked about the plan, he had listened until the very end, and had enthusiastically accepted to be a part of it.

“I may be a movie critic, but I approach public figures with the respect they need as human beings,” Lorenzo had said over the phone. “If you have such an idea to gain it back for yourself and Till, I would love to contribute with my team.”

That had made Ivan smile. “ Grazie , Lorenzo.”

“ Prego ,” Lorenzo had responded in his fancy Italian. “You can reach me through this number. Text me the details afterwards, and then we’ll talk, alright?”

“Of course,” Ivan had said, writing Lorenzo’s name on a paper.

“ Ciao .”

That had been a good start when Ivan was sure nobody, and truly nobody would care to listen to them. Not at the rate everything had come to.

But Lorenzo had single-handedly proven him wrong, hadn’t he?

So, after that, things started escalating quite faster.

The plan was a global broadcast, planned to be distributed to be streamed on mostly magazine channels, alongside social media platforms. 

Sua, as Ivan and Till were reluctant, went through social media herself and made a list of questions most of the media yearned to know the answers of. Mizi and Hyuna were thankfully strong when it came to networking. Until noon, they had called a lot of people. Some had picked up, some hadn’t. Some had accepted to show their support, some hadn’t.

Funnily enough, nobody from Hollywood had returned the calls.

Sure, America was Luka’s playground more than it was Till’s. There was not much hope in getting L.A. and New York on their side.

But Ivan could see the hope in Till’s eyes every time Mizi or Hyuna called an American reporter. Because they were practically who owned the media. Even if they got only one name, it would mean something.

That was when it came to Ivan. 

That one reporter from Mexico City. The woman who had written the article about Ivan.

Hurriedly, Ivan took out his phone to find that article on the internet. If it was a few days ago, it wouldn’t be so hard since there was nearly nothing under his name online.

But now, as soon as he wrote his name, his pictures with Till showed up. Many articles from magazine pages with stupid headlines. Ivan frowned. He scrolled past them quickly, as if trying to not see.

After a little while of going through humiliating news he avoided reading as much as possible, he found that article he was searching for.

He clicked on it and scrolled past the interview to find the information about the reporter at the corner of the page.

Rozalia Martinez . That was her name.

And her contact information was written there, as well.

It was possibly late hours of the prior day in Mexico City now, but that didn’t prevent Ivan from trying to give her a call.

The phone rang a little while at his ear, until someone picked up.

“ Hola ?”

“Rozalia,” Ivan called. “It’s Ivan. Screenwriter,” he introduced himself in Spanish. “We had met back in Mexico City, if you recall—”

“ Dios mío, ” Rozalia exclaimed. “Of course, I recall! I have been a follower of your work for as long as I can remember.” A short pause. One that gave away that she, as well as everyone else, knew. “So, is there a specific reason you have reached out to me?”

Ivan swallowed. “I’m sure you already know, but may I request you to listen to what I’m about to tell?” he asked. “I need a small favor.”

Rozalia didn’t even hesitate. “Of course. Anything within my ability.”

Ivan wasn’t sure if the reassurance in her voice was something typical in reporters like her, but whether it was on purpose or not, it had made him relieved anyway.

“Then allow me to explain.”

. . .

Nobody had realized how hungry they had been until a nurse brought a lunch tray for Till in the afternoon and reminded them they had been working for hours to gather up a team.

Sua was still selecting questions and rewriting them appropriately, while Hyuna had just ended an affirmative phone call with Ravi—that social media influencer they had met in London, during an interview. The list was growing, the interview questions were coming together, and the plan was solidifying with each step they took.

Maybe, Ivan considered, it wasn’t going to be that bad.

Maybe they had a chance to turn the tide.

“God,” Mizi said as soon as the nurse put the lunch tray beside the bed. “This reminded me I’m starving, now.”

“Even though the hospital lunch is terrible?” Till asked. “Honestly, take this. I don’t want to eat it.”

Ivan glared at him from across the room, raising his head from the list of contacts. “Till,” he warningly said. “You need to eat it.”

“It’s hospital lunch, Ivan,” Till emphasized. “It’s awful. I would eat anything other than this, anything. Even your a—”

“ Okay !” Hyuna cut off. “I don’t need to hear that.” 

Ivan sighed. “Alright then.” He stood up from where he sat, putting the papers aside. “I’ll go to the cafeteria and get you something. But you can’t complain about what I choose, alright?”

“Deal,” Till said.

As Ivan walked over the closet to grab his wallet from the pocket of his coat, Hyuna stood up as well. “I’ll come with you,” she said. “We should get food for all of us.”

Ivan faltered, only for a short second. A part of him could guess why she would suggest to go with him. But it wasn’t like he was meaning to avoid it. So, “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go together.”

The two left the hospital room, closing the door behind their backs. The hallway was empty, save for several doctors and nurses walking around. This wing of the floor was still prohibited to enter, it seemed. Surely, when a celebrity was hospitalized with a case of an overdose, they were quite indisputable.

For a while, Ivan and Hyuna walked in silence. Until they came to the end of the hallway, neither of them talked.

Ivan wanted to, yet he wasn’t sure where to start. Could he be entirely honest about Till’s situation? What would Hyuna say when she learned about the severity of it? If he told her that Till needed controlled recovery, would she help him break that down to Till?

But he didn’t need to overthink any of these. Because just as he was pressing the elevator button, Hyuna broke the long silence.

“Did you know?” she asked.

Her voice had come off quiet. Unsure. And maybe, in some sense, hurt.

Ivan wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that. Maybe denying the truth was the safer option, considering the range of reactions Hyuna could give. But at the same time, Ivan was so tired of lying. He was tired of keeping secrets.

He just wanted somebody to talk to.

So, he swallowed all the pride he had, and said, “I did.”

Hyuna didn’t respond immediately. She took her time, watching the glossy hospital floor tiles. And then, “I never could’ve guessed,” she mumbled. “This fucking—thing killed my brother, and I still can’t recognize its effects on my friend.”

To hear that shattered something in Ivan. “Till was so careful with it,” he said weakly. “He never dropped the mask around you guys. Not even around me until I found it out by force.”

The elevator dinged at their floor. The doors opened and Hyuna stepped in, followed by Ivan. She wordlessly pressed to the ground floor, where the cafeteria was.

The doors closed, and the uncomfortable silence kept reigning.

Until, “I could blame you,” Hyuna said.

Ivan glanced at her. He noticed her icy eyes glisten with tears.

“I could blame you for not telling us, but I’m just glad he’s alive,” she let out. “I’m just glad you acted early. I’m glad he isn’t dead.”

Ivan tried to prevent the idea of Till dying from settling into his thoughts. He shook his head. “It’s painful, Hyuna,” he said. “It was so fucking painful to see him do that to himself. It hurt to know, but it hurt more to not be able to tell anyone. I just—I hated to watch him suffer, and there was nothing I could do—”

Hyuna hugged him right then.

It was sudden, but warm. Unexpected, but tight.

She closed her eyes. There was sorrow in her touch. Defect on her face. An unspoken empathy, delivered through this sole action.

“You know, back then, I would give the world to hear these words from Luka’s mouth,” she mumbled quietly. “I would give the world to know he felt at least the slightest of guilt, of regret.” She sniffed, as if to not cry. “But if even he fucking doesn’t, then you don’t deserve to, okay? You saved his life, Ivan. There is nothing more important than that.”

You saved his life.

Ivan’s eyes teared up, yet he blinked it away. Slowly, he hugged Hyuna back. “I’m afraid, Hyuna,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. “I’m afraid all of this will go badly, and I will be putting Till in a worse situation. I’m afraid he will be damaged even worse after this—and god, I hate to think that—”

“Ivan,” Hyuna said. She pulled away from the hug to look him in the eyes. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders. “Remember what I told you on the cruise?” she asked strictly. “All you need is to stand beside him as you both break down the walls of obstacles laid in front of you. If it goes bad, then it goes bad. You can’t control how the media reacts, but you can control what you’re going to do next.” She averted her eyes briefly. The look on her face changed, though Ivan couldn’t really name it. “You know, if there’s something Luka taught me, it is that this business is a chessboard,” she said at last. “That there is always a move you can make until it’s checkmate.”

Ivan pressed down the lump in his throat. With hesitance, he asked, “Then, what do you do when it’s checkmate?”

That made Hyuna’s lips curl into a bittersweet smile. One that carried so many memories Ivan didn’t know, and probably was never going to get to.

“That’s easy,” Hyuna said softly. “You smash the board, and start the game again.”

Chapter Text

By the time the doctors checked up on Till and said he could be discharged from the hospital, the plan was almost entirely set. Pieces were laid on the chessboard like groundwork, each equipped with their own form of weapons accordingly.

Out of everybody Ivan had called throughout the day, the most enthusiastic one was probably his dad.

When he told him the idea, Dimitri was truly invested. He had said that he knew a guy who could arrange a studio for the recording, if they needed it, which Ivan instantly agreed to and invited Dimitri to be there too.

He wanted his dad to be with him, in case things went wrong. He wanted someone to remind him that it wasn’t the end of the world, quite frankly.

After the doctors discharged Till, Ivan waited until he changed into his normal clothes and gathered all his stuff to leave. His arm and hand were still plastered due to needle marks, though Ivan figured out they would come off with a shower tonight.

When the boys left the room, Hyuna had already called the limo to the backdoor of the hospital. And so, with everything set in rails, they left for the hotel, once again.

“Let’s go over it,” Sua said in the car. “So, all the reporters and critics we contacted will be coming to Moscow tomorrow, to the studio Dimitri has arranged for us. Lorenzo and Ravi have suggested to be the interviewers and have agreed to take all the responsibility that comes with it, no matter what the media’s response might be.”

To hear that made Ivan feel some sense of gratitude he couldn’t verbalize. To know these people were here to support them, even though they had only met them once in their lives. Maybe, Ivan realized, the influence of public figures was beyond the art they made. Maybe these people could also see what Ivan saw in Till: the ambition, the confidence, the talent. 

Maybe they wanted to help him, not only to preserve his reputation, but also to preserve his attributions to the world of cinema and theater. To preserve the inspiration he could give to countless other people.

That was nice to think about.

“Also, just for the record,” Sua added, “the agency doesn’t know this interview was your idea. I told them it was a normal offer and had nothing to do with the scandal.”

“Wouldn’t that get us in trouble?” Mizi asked worriedly.

Yet by Ivan’s side, Till only shrugged. “Let it,” he said. “If it was left to them, they would want us to remain silent. But I think everyone in this car can agree that we don’t want that.”

Ivan leaned back. “He’s right,” he said. “I would rather get in trouble than to let Luka win this.”

Mizi seemed unsure for a second as her gaze shifted between the boys, but in the end, she sighed. “Well, if you two say so, all I can do is to trust it.”

Ivan and Till exchanged a subtle glance. When Till smiled slightly, Ivan smiled back. Fuck it, he thought. They had each other to lean on as they went through this, and that was all it mattered.

“Now that it reminds me,” Hyuna chimed in. “The Moscow gala is canceled entirely. The venue couldn’t postpone it, so the agency told them to cancel it, instead.”

“Then, what about Beijing?” Mizi asked. “China was the last stop of the world tour, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Hyuna said. “I haven’t asked about that yet, but I’m assuming they would ask us to attend it accordingly, now that Till is discharged.”

Ivan folded his arms. “So, we’re flying to Beijing after tomorrow?”

Hyuna nodded. “It seems like it,” she said. “Considering that the Beijing gala will be your first public appearance after the scandal, we better make good use of it.”

“It’s also the last gala of the tour,” Mizi said, as if she had just realized that. “It’s our closing night.”

Right. It really was coming to an end. All the travel rush and fancy events and sightseeing cities; it was coming to an end. 

And tomorrow was practically going to decide whether the closing night was going to be helping Ivan and Till, or ruining their careers far worse.

. . .

When they were back at the hotel, Till wanted to sleep over in Ivan’s room. Maybe because his own room was still a messy reminder of the night before, with a used syringe and an uncapped vial still on the floor, and the empty pack of heroin crushed into a ball right beside the bed. 

So, Ivan didn’t even complain.

He left Till to lay and rest for a while as he filled the bathtub with warm water and prepared a bath for him to wash away all the hospital scent. Once the mirrors in the bathroom were misted up enough, Ivan stopped checking the heat of the water and stood up, walking back into the bedroom.

Inside, Till was laying on the bed with one hand at the back of his head and the other holding his phone. He raised his gaze as soon as Ivan walked in. “Hey,” he said with a smile.

“Hey,” Ivan responded. He got on the bed and held Till from the waist, leaning in to kiss his neck. 

Till eased under his touch. He dropped his phone and instead, wrapped his arms around Ivan, fingers tickling the hairs at his nape.

“I think you need a warm bath to relax,” Ivan whispered in between kisses. “Plus, you smell like antiseptics.”

Till chuckled at that. “That’s why you were filling the bathtub?”

Ivan’s hands slid under Till’s shirt as he hummed in approval. “Come on,” he said. Slowly, he lifted Till’s shirt to take it off, which he allowed eagerly. 

Once the shirt came off of his head, Till ruffled his hair. He stole a short kiss from Ivan before saying, “If I’m going to shower, you’re coming in with me.” The hands at Ivan’s collar slid lower to grab the end of his shirt and lift it upwards.

“Till,” Ivan mumbled, “I want you to relax in the shower.”

“So what, I can’t relax with you?” Till teased, a smirk painting his face. “Is your mind elsewhere, koala?”

Ivan rolled his eyes. “Cut it off, pochemuchka ,” he grumbled. He allowed Till to take the shirt off of him before they got caught in another kiss.

. . .

The bathtub was warm, and the hotel shampoo smelled fresh as Ivan was scrubbing it on Till’s hair. The boy’s eyes were closed, wearing that natural expression he wore back when Ivan was putting sunscreen on his face at the beach. Water drops were on his cheeks, lashes wet under the spraying shower head. Ivan had no idea how he could be so effortlessly charming, even while sitting casually with his eyes closed.

“You know what,” Till said as Ivan kept threading his fingers through his soft, gray hair, “I’m kind of hopeful about tomorrow.”

Ivan stopped scrubbing the shampoo. He sank his hands into the water and watched the soap and bubbles dissolve on the surface. “I want to be, either,” he said. “The responses from the reporters and critics were already better than I had expected. Maybe the movie being on the brink of release has to do with our current position in the media, as well.”

“I know,” Till said. “Makes me think that we might be standing a chance.”

Till tossed his head back to let the water wash off the shampoo. And for a moment, Ivan watched him. He watched his absent expression, the peaceful and relaxed form of his body. His glance strayed to the needle plaster on his elbow pit.

He needed to talk to him about the recovery process.

He took a deep breath. Each time he deliberated with the topic, the opportunities to bring it up slipped through his fingers. He couldn’t let this keep happening.

“Till,” he called without even hesitating.

Till looked down. His hair was completely wet now, rinsed of the shampoo. “Yeah?”

Ivan’s fingers were fidgeting under the water, yet he didn’t let the doubt take over. He cleared his throat, gathering his courage. “Remember the nurse who came and—well, interrupted us this morning?”

Till’s brows got furrowed with a playful quandary. “You want a payback?”

“No,” Ivan said way too quickly. “I mean, yes , later tonight, don’t make me forget that, but that’s not what I was meaning to say. The thing is, she told me some things about your recovery.”

The look in Till’s eyes changed. Something Ivan was afraid of. “Such as?” he asked.

Ivan really didn’t have the means to go on with this conversation when Till looked at him so skeptically. Like he could start another argument. Like he was visibly uncomfortable by the mention of that.

But it was for the better. Ivan knew that. He had to confront Till about it, now or never.

So, “Till, you need to see a doctor,” Ivan said directly. “You—okay, look, I know you were trying to cut it off yourself, but I need you to realize how dangerous it is. You know how you ended up.” Under the water, Ivan found Till's hands. “Nausea, fever, sleeping troubles, lack of appetite. That’s just—you can’t keep on making yourself suffer.”

“And what could a doctor do to help, Ivan?” Till asked. “I know very well that I’m suffering because I’m craving it, but how could a doctor be of help if they don’t have a magical wand to suddenly make me feel better?”

“I—I don’t know, Till, I’m not a doctor. But I know that they need to keep you under supervision if you’re planning on withdrawing—”

“For what purpose?” Till pressed.

Ivan shook his head. “Till, it’s not like I’m asking for you to be hospitalized, I just want you to quit it in a controlled way—”

Till pulled his hands back. “No, just tell me why they need to keep me under supervision like I’m some sort of a wanted criminal—”

"God, Till, it's just to make sure you don’t kill yourself!” Ivan snapped.

That made Till falter. Whatever he was about to say next dissolved at the tip of his tongue and left him staring at Ivan with a face caught off guard. There was suddenly a spark of awareness in his green eyes. A glimpse of concern in the way he lowered his shoulders.

Ivan exhaled. He gathered himself. “It's to make sure another overdose doesn’t happen out of your control,” he said, more calmly. “Because if it goes bad again—if, by any chance, I’m not there and you…”

Till cut that sentence off with a kiss. It wasn’t passionate or deep. Instead, it was more delicate. Soft. Tender. It was a press of lips that were asking for forgiveness, yet was unsure of how to convey it.

When he pulled back, there was a short silence.

“I’m sorry,” Till whispered in the end. “I didn’t mean to say it like that, I’m just—” He sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t like the idea of being treated as if I’m—as if I’m sick , Ivan. Because I’m not. I’m really not—”

“You’re not sick,” Ivan clarified. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t just… talk to someone who understands medication and make sure you’re doing the right thing.”

Till looked down without a response. So, Ivan took his hand where Till's tattoo was written. He ran a thumb over the quote, slowing down on the word star . He circled around it shortly. “It hurts me to see you suffer,” he said quietly.

After that, Till solely nodded. There was a crease between his brows, a tension on his lips. But still, he dared to look up at Ivan, anyway.

“For you, then,” he said at last. “I will try to go for you.”

Ivan exhaled in relief. That could be all he needed to hear. All he wanted to hear.

But breaking the moment, “But if they make me feel oppressed or some kind of shit, I’m not going again,” Till instantly demanded.

All Ivan could do was to nod. “Okay,” he said promptly. “Okay, that’s fine, so long as you give it one chance.”

Till nodded as he leaned back in the bathtub, sinking lower as he sat more comfortably. That was the cue to stop talking about this topic, now that it was settled.

So, Ivan, as well, turned in the bath and leaned onto Till’s chest. Till allowed him to lay down. When his hand came to graze Ivan’s jawline, Ivan tipped his head to the crook of Till's neck eagerly.

“Thank you,” Ivan whispered.

Till didn’t respond. He only kissed the top of his head, inhaling the soft remains of shampoo in the process.

At that point, Ivan was just glad that things didn’t get worse. He was just glad that Till had accepted to give it one chance. That he had listened to Ivan’s worries.

He closed his eyes.

Maybe, Till could recover sooner than he was expecting.

The idea of that was nice enough to make him forget everything else beyond this room. 

. . .

The day for the interview had finally come.

Ever since they woke up, their hands were full with all the arrangements they had to make: the limo had driven them to the studio in the early hours of the morning, where Dimitri was already waiting for them. Apparently he had required his friend to rent the place the whole day for them, so the recording wouldn’t be interrupted.

Sua and Ivan set the place up, Till and Mizi went over the interview questions one more time as they discussed the best possible way for him to answer those. Hyuna, meanwhile, spent hours on the phone, making sure every reporter who had accepted to contribute to the interview in a physical aspect was going to arrive at the studio in time.

Dimitri was so supportive throughout the entire preparing process. He bought sandwiches for all of them in the morning and carefully handled all of the props and equipment they were going to use.

The reporters were going to arrive at noon, Moscow time. 

And as the time approached, Ivan couldn’t help but feel uneasy. There was a knot in his stomach, adrenaline rushing through his veins nonstop. In the next few hours, they could face countless outcomes. And as much as Ivan tried to avoid thinking of the worst, it still came to him deliberately.

One way or another, the time passed and the clocks struck twelve.

The first person to arrive was Lorenzo. 

Ivan couldn’t help but think that man was actually invested in this, more than either of Ivan and Till. But maybe, Ivan considered, it was for the better.

“ Ciao, a tutti! ” he greeted everyone, taking off his fedora hat. In his usual fashion, he was wearing a beige suit and blue sunglasses, with a similarly colored navy neckerchief around his neck, adding flare to his outfit.

“Lorenzo!” Mizi said, raising her head from the drafts of the scripted interview. “Welcome!”

“Am I the first one yet?” Lorenzo asked in accented English. He looked around as he lightly hugged Mizi as a means of greeting. 

“You are,” Ivan said, trying to smile. “Welcome. We were just going over the final preparations.”

Lorenzo nodded. “I took a look at the document you sent yesterday, and have some suggestions to change some of the questions to expand the topics they explore to help your job get easier.” He put down his briefcase and unlocked it, taking out piles of papers. “If you’d like, you can see if there are any you might want to include in the final draft.”

Ivan was dumbfounded, blinking at the papers the Italian man was holding out at him. People were trying for this interview.

They were trying to tell the truth.

With a swallow, Ivan managed to take the papers. “Thank you, Lorenzo,” he said, briefly flipping through the annotated interview draft in surprise. 

Lorenzo only smiled. “Anytime,” he said. “Now, where are the others? I’m going to order coffee for everyone, because I personally am craving one.” As he was walking into the set room, Ivan and Mizi exchanged a glance. When she snorted, Ivan couldn’t help but giggle, too.

“I think we chose the best movie critic who could ever be a part of this interview,” Mizi said.

“I know,” Ivan agreed, listening to the loud Italian greeting of Lorenzo echo from inside the room. “There’s nobody who could carry this job better than him.”

After Lorenzo, many other reporters came into the studio, one by one. Some Ivan recalled from face, some he recalled from name. There were even some people he didn’t know: people Hyuna or Mizi had contacted, making use of their own independent networks. 

Several reporters set their own cameras, but the main camera was in the middle. That was the footage to be released on the social media platforms, distributed to the magazine channels.

Lorenzo was standing in front of the camera now, talking to several crew members with exaggerated hand movements. Mizi and Sua were getting Till’s makeup done. Hyuna was talking to Ravi on the phone, who was apparently on his way.

And as he was watching all of it from the corner of the room, Ivan felt a hand on his shoulder.

When he looked up, his eyes met Dimitri.

“Papa,” he said, straining a smile. “Hey.”

“Ivan.” Dimitri smiled back. He leaned on the wall next to him, joining his session of people watching. After a short silence, “You know, I’m proud of you,” he said.

Ivan was caught off guard. “What?”

“I’m proud of you for taking the lead in such a thing,” Dimitri clarified. “So few people can dare to tell the truth. And even fewer of them can show an effort to do so. You are brave for this, Ivan. And clearly, you love him enough to be brave. That much is evident.”

Ivan had never looked at it from that aspect. Love . That was what drove him, wasn’t it? That was why he did all of this, without thinking twice.

“I do love him,” Ivan admitted. His eyes strayed to Till, who was sitting on a stool as Mizi made touches on his face with a brush. His hair was held at the top of his head with a pink bobby pin, looking like a palm tree. Ivan couldn’t help but smile at how stupidly cute he looked. “And I want to do everything I can to prove to the world that there is nothing wrong with it.”

Dimitri nodded with a knowing expression. “You’re right,” he said, tapping on Ivan’s shoulder twice. “There is nothing wrong with loving who you want.”

. . .

After a while, during sometime when Mizi was doing Ivan’s makeup, Ravi had arrived, as well. Mizi and Till greeted the boy, thanking him for coming all the way from London.

“Anything for this,” Ravi enthusiastically said as he was taking out his coat. He too had dressed up likely for the occasion. A black turtleneck and brown fabric pants, with a silver wristwatch and a chain necklace around his neck that complemented his dark skin. He put aside his bag and started fixing his hair. “I mean, I’ve been a follower of the Korean media for as long as I can remember, and something as influential as this has never ever happened in my time.”

It was strange for Ivan that Ravi was already considering this as a success when they hadn’t even recorded the interview. It was strange to watch all of them believe in Ivan and Till.

And also, it put his heart at ease. It made him pray to a god above, two times harder. 

“So, do we start the recording now?” Ravi asked.

Mizi pressed her makeup brush onto the powder on the vanity. “After I’m done with Ivan’s face,” she said.

Just then, from between crew members who were setting the cameras, appeared Lorenzo. “Oh, hello there, familiar face!” he said, offering a hand to Ravi. “You must be Ravi. I searched about you on the internet after Ivan gave me your name as my co-interviewer.”

Ravi gladly took his hand. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Lorenzo,” he said. “I know of you, as well. I’ve read several of your reviews before. A huge admirer of your hard work and peculiar artistic perspective, I am.”

Just then, Hyuna walked into the set room. “Ivan!” she called. “Another reporter has just arrived!”

Ivan looked over at the door, where Hyuna was pointing at someone following her into the room. As soon as the woman came in, Ivan recognized her.

He stood up from the stool to greet her. “Rozalia,” he said with a smile. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

Rozalia Martinez was fabulous, dressed in a black suit. Her brown hair was tied at the back into a professional ponytail, heels clanking as she walked. She was already holding her own print of the interview questions in one hand. “I took the first plane from Mexico,” she said in a flawless English. “Thank you for inviting me to be a part of this.”

Ivan nodded. “Of course,” he said. “We’re the ones who need you.”

The crew inside the studio was already crowded. There were around thirty people in here, Ivan assumed. Thirty people gathered up to make this shooting a perfect delivery. Thirty people who were working on cameras, lights, makeup, and the sound settings. It was almost like a movie set, except everything they were about to record was reality and not some script Ivan had written and Till was playing the lead in.

“Now, if everyone’s here, shall we discuss the details of the interview?” Lorenzo asked.

Sua nodded, putting the makeup supplies on the vanity. “Alright,” she said. “So, the questions are already discussed. Ivan and Till have already made the final additions with you, Lorenzo. We are planning to start recording soon, then edit the footage and upload it on all platforms, as you reporters help the distribution around the world.”

“Could I suggest something?” Rozalia asked. Everyone turned to her, and Sua nodded. So, she went on, “How about we do this live, instead of an edited footage?”

Ivan frowned. “What?” he asked.

“Well, these are all small media tricks, but if we make it live, we will get to forestall people who will claim it’s a lie,” Rozalia said. “That way, they will less likely assume you’re asking for their pity, but more for their support. Since the questions are already scripted, you won’t struggle much, either. It would just make you two seem natural. Make the small gestures flow in conversation and remind the audience that you two are not only here to fight for your names, but also for the love you have for each other.”

The love you have for each other .

That was, for some inexplicable reason, beautiful to hear.

“Actually,” Ravi said, checking his wristwatch, “if we go live in about thirty minutes, we would be at the perfect time for everybody to access it. It will be two in the afternoon in Moscow. That means eight in the morning for Seoul and midnight for Los Angeles. Not too early for a city that wakes up at sunrise, and not too late for a city that never sleeps.”

At the thought of that, Ivan and Till exchanged a glance. Despite his bad English, Till seemed to have understood what was going on. Ivan, as well, was considering it. It stood to reason, really. They were at the perfect time, at the perfect place to take a risk and do the daring thing. If they were going to reveal the truth, they might as well reveal it in an unveiled form.

The look in Till’s eyes proved that he was thinking the same thing, either. So, when Ivan gave him a subtle nod, he nodded back.

They both turned to Rozalia simultaneously. 

“Let’s do it then,” Ivan said. “Let’s make it live.”

. . .

Minutes before the live stream, the camera crew was putting on mic packs for Ivan and Till. Mizi was fixing both of their hairs, Lorenzo and Ravi were checking on the last details of the questions, and Sua had already put on a notice on all their social media accounts, alerting their audiences about the broadcast.

Truth to be told, despite all the ease these people in this studio had been trying to grant them, Ivan was still feeling nervous. He and Till were now sitting on the couch, before the cameras, as the last preparations were being made. He tried to calm himself down with deep breaths each time, but the thumping of his heart was decisive in not giving him a rest. What if it goes down? the little voice in his head kept asking. What if this messes everything up?

A hand touched his thigh.

“How are you feeling?” Till asked.

“Anxious,” Ivan retorted. “I might just throw up.”

Till sighed. “Same,” he mumbled. “But look.”

Ivan turned to him and met his beautiful green eyes. There was a glimpse of fear in them, but also, some sense of trust. Some sense of belief that made Ivan feel… strong.

“We’re in this together,” Till said. “I’m past the point of second thoughts. I mean—I just want people to know what you are to me. Forget my reputation. I’ve thought about it enough to realize you matter more.”

That touched Ivan’s heart. Maybe if it was some other time, he could cry. But now, when merely a minute was left before they would go live globally, it was not the time. So instead, he took Till’s hand. “Honestly,” he said with a chuckle. “Maybe it’s selfish, but forget the movie, too. I don’t care if it fails at the box office because of us. All I want is to make the world know that I’m yours.”

That made Till laugh softly. “Wait, that sounded too sweet,” he muttered playfully. “Say that again.”

“What, that I’m yours?” Ivan repeated, leaning in.

Till closed his eyes as if devouring those words. “Yes,” he said. He interlocked their fingers with a relaxed exhale. “Just so you know, I’m yours, too.”

Ivan laughed. “That’s good to know,” he teased. He kissed Till’s cheek: a quick peck others wouldn’t see since they were too busy with technical arrangements of the live stream to look at them.

Though, it wouldn’t matter even if they saw it, Ivan thought. After all, they all knew, didn't they? And right now, if they were here, that meant they supported them, too.

“If everyone’s ready, we are going live!” Hyuna called from the director’s chair, sitting behind the cameras.

Ivan and Till looked at each other one last time.

“Ready?” Ivan asked.

Till nodded without a doubt. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Lorenzo and Ravi took their places on the interviewer couch. The lights of the studio turned off and left only the set under spotlight. Cameras turned on. Hyuna began the count down.

For those last ten seconds, Ivan took a look at everyone’s faces in the room.

Dimitri, Mizi, Sua, Hyuna, Rozalia. The entire crew watching them with hopeful and supportive eyes. It gave Ivan strength. 

It made him think of the Korean word for solidarity. 연대.

Yeondae. Its roots came from the word involved . Just like how everyone standing in this studio at that moment were all involved in this interview. They all had added something into it, solely for the sake of helping them. And that, Ivan thought, could be the biggest proof that yeondae was not a pretense.

It was here, in all its glory.

“Live!”

“Good morning, afternoon, or evening,” Lorenzo began, crossing his legs. “Wherever you are in the world, you are right now watching a special interview, currently being broadcasted globally from Moscow, Russia. I’m Lorenzo, a certified movie critic.”

Ravi sat up straight. “I’m Ravi, a content creator over all social media.”

“And today, we have gathered up here upon an exclusive request from my friends,” Lorenzo said. “An actor you all will clearly recognize, and a screenwriter whose movies you all watch.” He gestured at the couch where Ivan and Till were sitting. “Till and Ivan. Now, would you two like to begin with why we’re here today?”

Till was eager to take the lead. “Of course,” he said in Korean.

They had talked about this beforehand. Till was going to speak their native tongue and address the people of their homeland, as Ivan was going to translate those responses, one by one, into English.

“In normal circumstances, we would be getting ready for a gala in Moscow right now, to promote our upcoming movie, Anakt Garden , which we are currently on tour for. Yet our gala is canceled now, practically due to an unfortunate event that we have faced about two days ago.”

He paused as Ivan translated it, making Lorenzo and Ravi nod, as they could understand the English better than they did Korean. Once the translation was done, Ivan looked back at Till for him to speak the next portion of his speech. But the look in Till’s eyes was changing. He frowned, only a little. Enough to show determination.

Then, he gazed back at the camera. “When we first departed for this tour, Ivan and I were friends,” he said.

Ivan halted. That was not written in the script.

But Till went on, “As most of you have already seen, however, we have a different kind of a relationship now.” His hand found Ivan’s without a doubt. Slowly, Ivan held it back. “Going on this tour changed my outlook on a lot of things. You see, I’m a boy who comes from a family not so privileged. Until you people took my name and raised it high above, I was nobody in the middle of Seoul. I hadn’t seen a single land outside of my country. And relatively, I hadn’t had the chance to learn their languages accordingly.” His gaze shifted to Ivan. “But Ivan had,” he said, eyes glinting with pride as he watched his lover. “And so, he became my translator for this tour. Not only did he translate my words for the people of different nations, he also translated their worlds to me. He taught me a lot of things in these past few weeks. From literature to history, art to music. But I think the most important one he taught me was something universal. Something all of you, no matter where you are in the world, can relate to.” He paused for a moment, looking down at his wrist. At the tattoo. At the bracelet they had bought together from Paris. “He taught me about love,” he then said to the camera. “And even though I love him so much, I still would’ve preferred our relationship being public to be our choice. But it wasn’t.”

He stopped after that. Ivan took it as his cue to translate the entirely spontaneous speech, hoping he wasn't forgetting any sentences in between. As he translated, he could see everyone’s eyes change. Ravi and Lorenzo on the interviewer couch, Rozalia behind the camera. They all were caught off guard, but also, in some sense, proud. Excited for what more Till was going to say.

Till didn’t hesitate to continue. “Our pictures were taken while we were unaware, and released into the media by people hoping for my downfall.” At that, the serious expression on his face melted into a smirk, one that was probably for Luka to see, as he could be watching this from his million dollar apartment in New York City. “But guess what,” Till said mockingly. “I’m not going anywhere. Not when I know that I love a man, who equally loves me back. Because why should it matter that I’m bisexual? What would it change if I’m in love?” He squeezed Ivan’s hand. “At the end of the day, don’t we all love? I’m aware that my life is in front of the public eye due to my profession as an actor, but let me remind you of one thing. Your hatred doesn’t change me, and my relationship doesn’t change you. In this system of equations where lines never cross, I have the firm belief that I have the right to love who I want without causing trouble. And you, as well, no matter who you are or where you might be in the world, have the right to love. Freely and unlimitedly.”

Everything Till said, Ivan felt in his bones. The strength in his voice and the power of that speech was something different. He wasn’t sure how to put it into words. Wasn’t sure how to deliver that without a mistake. But even so, he was going to try.

It was for the sake of their freedom.

So, Ivan cleared his throat, straightened on where he sat, and started translating those words like flowing water, meaning every bit of it two times stronger when it came from his own mouth.

When he ignored what others may be thinking of them, and just focused on being true to his heart and the boy sitting next to him.

Chapter Text

When the broadcast was over and uploaded, there was only one thing Hyuna said.

“Well then.” She sighed, standing up from the director’s chair. “Guess now we wait.”

That could be the most insufferable part of all this, but it was true. Waiting was the only thing they could do.

As the crews were gathering up the cameras and props, everyone was shaking hands with Ivan, saying it had been a great pleasure to take part in this interview. He smiled at all of them, even though somewhere deep inside he couldn’t help but still fear the worst case scenario.

Still think that this could be a bad idea that would ruin everything far worse.

Some of the camera crews started leaving the studio one by one after thanking everyone respectively. Surprisingly, nobody in Moscow seemed to have discovered the location of the studio yet, because the doors were empty as people were leaving.

So, when Lorenzo suggested ordering beer to celebrate the day, nobody argued.

Most of the reporters had left already, save for Rozalia. Lorenzo and Ravi stayed, as well, only to get a taste of this makeshift after party.

And while everyone was talking of the outcome of the broadcast, Till came up to Ivan, wearing an easy smile. It was almost like he was relieved that this was over. Like he was freed of a huge weight. “Hey,” he said. “How are you feeling now?”

Ivan took a deep breath. “Glad that we’re done with it. Still quite anxious of what people might say.”

Till nodded. “I know,” he said. “But hey. We tried our best, didn’t we?”

With that, Ivan couldn’t argue. He only took Till’s hand and brought it to his lips. “We did,” he said in between small kisses. He let his lips slide to his wrist, above the tattooed quote.

Then we came forth to behold the stars . He kissed it gently.

As long as they were together, they still had hope.

They could still see the stars.

“Guys!” Right then, Dimitri walked into the set room with a bag of clinking bottles in his hands. “We got the beer!”

Everyone eagerly settled on the floor as Dimitri gave out the cold bottles of beer to everyone. Drinks were corked up, toasted in the air. The conversation flowed: Ravi was enthusiastically practicing Korean with Mizi, Hyuna and Rozalia were in the middle of a heated discussion about the misogyny in the western media, Sua was asking Lorenzo about a movie they both had recently seen apparently, and Lorenzo was clearly ready to take out his phone and recite a whole review he had written for it.

Ivan took a sip from the bottle he was sharing with Till before handing it back to him. Till gladly took it and drank one sip as well.

That moment, in the middle of a random studio in Moscow after revealing their entire story to the world, was one Ivan was never going to forget. In that short time period between hiding from the media and going to face them all, this one was the safest place he could be at. With his friends and family, all who were willing to stand behind him despite everything.

And especially, with the boy who redefined love for him. Who redefined everything he knew, helped his fears vanish with one embrace, made him get lost in a reverie even if he was doing nothing. The boy he would break language barriers for, if it was for the sake of expressing himself. For the sake of telling him what he was feeling.

The day ended when the clock was nearing six in the evening. Lorenzo suggested driving Ravi and Rozalia to the airport, so they all bid their goodbyes and parted their ways.

Lorenzo shook hands with everyone, taking out his hat for the ladies. Rozalia hugged Ivan and told him he could get in contact for anything in the future. Ravi, as he was a huge fan of Mizi and Till, didn’t neglect to take a selfie with them. But before lowering the phone, “Come in here, everyone,” he said. “A group photo!”

They all got into the frame, posing for the picture.

Till wrapped his arm around Ivan without a shame.

And for the first time ever since they were together, Ivan didn’t hesitate to hold his waist, either.

. . .

That night, they were going to fly to Beijing. 

They had taken the careful road back to the hotel, using the backdoor in, just in case there was a crowd on the front door. Dimitri, as well, had come with them to be there with Ivan until the last moment in the airport. They packed their stuff and ate in the hotel, spending the night collectively avoiding looking at social media. 

If they got on the plane at midnight, they would be landing in Beijing at seven in the morning. That gave them more than enough time to get ready for the gala in the evening.

So, until the time for departure came, they spent time in Mizi’s suite, which was, as per usual, wide enough for all of them to hang out and talk the night away.

The darkness fell onto the sky, hours passed in between long conversations where Dimitri got to know Till and others properly. Till talked about their school memories, Mizi joked about how it was for her to work with Till, bantering with him in the process. A part of Ivan thought that this was how it would’ve been if they went to dinner at his dad’s place that night. This was how they were supposed to meet. And although he couldn’t forget what had happened just two days ago, he could still act like this was the first time his father and boyfriend were meeting properly.

In the late hours of the night, they drove to the airport. It was desolate, considering there weren’t any flights in the next few hours of the night, but only their private jet takeoff.

Before the gates, Ivan dropped his suitcase. He turned to Dimitri, who was smiling absently. Maybe he was just happy to meet Ivan’s friends. Maybe he was still proud of his son about the interview in the morning. But no matter for whatever reason he could be smiling for, he clearly wasn’t upset to part ways with Ivan.

“So, it came to an end, huh?” Dimitri said in Russian, opening his arms for a hug.

Ivan didn’t hesitate to hug him. “It did,” he said. “But I couldn’t show the wonders of Moscow to Till yet. I really want to come here with him again.”

Dimitri stroked his back. “You know my door is always open for you,” he said. “If you two ever want to visit, just give me a call.”

“Thank you, papa.”

“Anytime, syn moy .”

Before they walked into the jet plane and parted ways, Dimitri gave a hug to the others too, especially a longer one to Till.

Nobody else would’ve noticed it maybe, but Ivan had caught Till’s lips curl into a smile when Dimitri hugged him. A small expression that meant the world to Ivan, knowing it was a positive parting between two people who mattered the world to him.

Out in the chilly night, Ivan helped Hyuna and Till load the luggages into the storage before following the girls into the plane.

Today had felt so long that he was truly craving some good sleep, though he doubted he could get it on a night flight. Well, that could be cool, though. He needed to pick up his journal before he slept, anyway. He wanted to write about today. He wanted to make additions to his new script. Wanted to quote some of what Till had said today in his speech, because it never got out of Ivan’s head. It kept playing on repeat, giving him courage as well as motivation.

So, as soon as he sat down in the rear window seat, he dug his hand into his bag to find his journal. 

Soon, Till came to sit next to him as well, sinking onto the seat comfortably. “Are you writing?” he asked, eyes on Ivan’s journal.

Ivan nodded. “I’m trying to,” he corrected. “I have some inspiration, but we’ll see if I can manage to put it in words.”

Till smiled as he took off his jacket—the varsity jacket Mizi and Sua had bought for him in Greece—and truth to be told, that shade of blue suited him perfectly when he wore it. “You can,” he assured Ivan. “Somehow, you never fail to.”

After Hyuna got in, the doors of the plane closed and the engines started running.

Just then, “Oh my god,” Sua said from the front seat.

Till instantly leaned forward in curiosity. “What? Something happened?”

“The interview,” Sua said. “I was just a little curious, so I got on Twitter. It already has one million views and it hasn’t even been a day since it was uploaded! Ravi has posted photos from the set to make use of his own audience while Lorenzo posted the link everywhere—so now, basically everyone is talking about it.”

“I reposted it as well,” Mizi said proudly. “It’s making a sound. About that, you two can be sure.”

“It is making a sound,” Hyuna admitted as she was walking to the bathroom. “So don’t you dare pick up any calls from the agency, because I’m sure they kind of hate us now.”

Ivan had forgotten about the negative aspects of this plan. He gathered up his courage, straightening on where he sat. “Has Luka said something yet?” he asked.

That brought a brief silence. Till glanced shortly at Ivan in concern, and then returned to Sua for confirmation.

At last, “He hasn’t,” Sua said. “Not a single tweet or post.”

Ivan wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be relieved about that.

Hesitantly, “Do you think he will?” Till asked.

Hyuna paused at the bathroom door before walking in. “No,” she mumbled, looking down. “If he hasn’t until now, I’m pretty sure he won’t after this, either. At least not directly.”

Nobody seemed to have a response for that.

Mizi nodded knowingly, Hyuna closed the bathroom door after her, Till leaned back in his seat, and Sua returned to scrolling on her phone in silence.

And Ivan, although he was nervous that Luka could still choose to make a next move, couldn’t help but hope that perhaps the interview would bring an end to it.

The plane started rumbling beneath their feet as it started moving. Ivan absently turned out the window, to the flashing lights of the plane wing and the dark runway as they moved forward.

“Wanna play some music and ignore everything else for a while?” Till asked.

Ivan blinked back into the moment. When he met Till’s eyes, he was holding out one end of the earphone for him, as usual.

That made Ivan smile softly. “Couldn’t want something more,” he truthfully said.

He let Till choose the music and opened the last page of his journal where a pen was tucked in between. 

So soon, from the earphones, David Bowie’s voice started playing along with some guitar. 

With Till’s head on his shoulder, Ivan could almost relax. With his mind focused on the piece of fiction he was building up in his hands, he could almost relax.

He could almost ignore everything else. Even if it was temporary, he could.

. . .

Being a celebrity’s translator came in handy when you were in love with the said celebrity.

Ivan was watching Till from the mirror reflection of the hotel vanity. Since last night, he was feeling better thanks to the painkillers the doctors had prescribed for him. Right now, they were doing the job of the drugs for him. Maybe not as helpful or as strong, but they were helping with Till’s nausea and lack of appetite. When they returned to Korea, though, he had thankfully agreed to see a doctor and start new medication, whatever it would be.

Ivan didn’t know much about the recovery process. But whatever was awaiting Till, he was going to be there to face it with him. No matter how hard it would be, he would be there to hold his hand and keep him going.

Till gave a huff of boredom from behind Ivan’s back. He was staring at his broken phone screen as he tried to fix his hair. His black satin suit was meticulously tailored, designed just for him. It wasn’t as fancy as those outfits he wore in the previous events, but it had such composure that complemented his body, making it worthy of a photo.

“Quit trying to change your hair, Till,” Ivan said. “You look fine.”

“Isn’t this too usual, though?” Till asked. “Like, maybe I could’ve tried something different. Something more interesting. Should I get a haircut?”

Ivan took his cologne from the table and uncapped it. “No, pochemuchka ,” he said, putting the scent on. “You’re so hot and beautiful the way you are. No need to change any of it.”

At that inside joke, Till smiled. He threw his phone on the bed and walked up to Ivan. His arms got wrapped around his waist, sliding under the jacket of his suit. 

Ivan let him hold him. For a while, they stood like that in silence. 

Then, Till turned his head to kiss Ivan’s neck, but paused. “Hold on, you smell so good,” he said. “Can I use your cologne?”

Ivan chuckled, extending the bottle to Till over his shoulder. “Here.”

As his lover put on the cologne, Ivan took his phone off the charger. He opened the camera.

For the first time ever, he raised it up high and dared to take a picture of Till as he was leaning over the vanity. 

When the camera flashed, Till glanced over at him. A playful grin painted his face. “Hey!” he said teasingly.

Ivan sat on the bed and clicked on the photo to take a look at it. “What?” he countered. “It’s not my fault that you look so good.”

“Are you going to post it?” Till asked, half joking.

Ivan had never considered that. But now that he was thinking of it, their secret was out to the whole world now. He could post whatever he wanted, couldn’t he?

Everybody knew he was in love with Till, didn’t they?

Ivan met Till’s eyes, with his phone still in one hand. “Want to do something risky?”

Till froze with a smile of surprise. “Wait, you’re serious?” He walked over to the bed and sat down next to Ivan. So, Ivan opened his Instagram.

As soon as he did, more than a hundred notifications popped up. No doubt, their accounts were getting attention after the interview. He clicked on the notifications shortly. There were some supportive comments, but as his eyes slid lower on the screen, there were also negative ones that caught his eyes. Slurs and curses. Ivan ignored all of them, despite the discomfort in his chest.

Instead, he clicked on the new post symbol at the bottom of the screen. He pressed on the photo of Till where he was just standing in front of the vanity in an expensive suit, his face lit up by the golden hotel lights on the mirror reflection as he was putting on Ivan’s cologne. His expression of focus made Ivan smile. Truthfully, he looked hot, making Ivan wonder once again, what he ever might’ve done to be loved back by someone like him.

Without letting the secondary thoughts get a voice, he typed two heart emojis on the description box and pressed on share.

Then, he clicked the phone closed and looked up at Till. “There,” he said. “I posted it.”

Till’s face melted into the brightest smile Ivan had ever seen. He instantly wrapped his arms around Ivan’s neck and kissed him deeply, pushing him onto the bed.

Ivan smirked against Till’s lips. “We have just dressed up, Till,” he complained, though it was stifled by Till’s kisses.

“I don’t care,” Till said, kissing the corner of Ivan’s lips. “I love you so much.”

And Ivan knew that. He could feel that.

In every touch, every kiss, every breath; whether in silence and darkness, in clamor and blinding lights, he could feel it.

And he could feel it in every part of his body, that he loved Till, too.

. . .

In the limo to the red carpet, the anxious feeling hit Ivan again. He tried to breathe deeply every five seconds, slightly pulling on his collar to not feel its pressure on his throat. Till by his side was no less. His fingers were drumming on his knee, shoulder brushing with Ivan’s as if it granted him comfort.

In a few minutes, they were going to face a crowd of people, for the first time since the scandal happened.

“Calm down, you two,” Mizi said from across the seat. She was visibly uncomfortable in that luxurious black gown. She looked beautiful, that was for sure, but that dress was clearly not made for sitting. “What’s the worst that could happen?” she asked.

Till didn’t even budge. “Well, people might start throwing tomatoes at us and call us slurs, maybe Luka will show up with his army of Americans and reveal the talk show footage to everyone and then our careers will be entirely ruined and I will forever lock myself into my room. How about that?”

Mizi blandly stared at him. “They should give you an Oscar for being this dramatic.”

Till seriously nodded. “They should give me an Oscar, I agree.”

“Mizi is right,” Sua said then. Her eyes were on her phone.

“About the Oscar?” Till asked with a mocking smile.

“About calming down,” Sua clarified. “Because look at this.” When she extended her phone to Ivan and Till, both boys leaned in with curiosity.

It was Ravi’s Instagram story, where he had reposted a video. There were a lot of people gathered in the video, holding up rainbow flags. Ivan could assume it was from America, from the English chanting. 

“This,” Sua said, “is the support you guys are getting.”

Those words weren’t as easy to process.

For a second, Ivan didn’t know how to react. He was caught too off guard by the sight. 

Across the world, people were on streets ? They had made posters in means of support and painted their faces in vibrant colors. It hadn’t even been twenty four hours, but they had already accepted the truth, and were being supportive.

“Holy shit,” Till mumbled. “Is this for real?”

“Not only that,” Hyuna chimed in. “There are so many hashtags going on in Twitter. The support is immense, even in the Korean media. Though, there are bad comments here or there. Not something we can help, but as long as Luka is silent, it’s practically your win.”

Ivan really didn’t care about those bad comments. He didn’t care about what Luka might say to win the situation over. Because as much as there were haters, there were the supporters: loud and present. People out on a stride. People tweeting and posting all over the globe, in every possible language.

“Then,” Ivan said, shooting a sideways glance at Till. “We’re free to be?”

To be . To just exist. There was a word in Russian for that. Быт . In usual translation, it meant life . But it had a dual meaning, Ivan had always thought. It could also be translated as the way of life . The mundane action of just existing the way you are.

Till looked at him, hardly containing his smile. His green eyes were gleaming with an indescribable thrill. With some strong sense of affection. “We are fucking free.” 

To succeed was a fulfilling feeling. It was satisfactory. It was soothing. And to look at all these people who were in the same boat as them, to see these people supporting their freedom—it felt safe . It felt like… maybe they truly weren’t alone in this.

Maybe, despite all the lands and oceans that set people apart, all the country borders that set nations apart, and all the different languages that set minds and lives apart, humans were still human. And feelings were always something they could share in common.

The limo came to a stop in front of the red carpet venue.

Till’s hand closed over Ivan’s.

“Ready?” he asked, mimicking the way Ivan had yesterday, before the interview.

Ivan grinned. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The driver opened their door, and Mizi walked out first. There were fans beyond barriers, cheering as soon as the actress showed up. Sua got out of the car after her, going straight for her holy duty to fix the tail of Mizi’s dress as she walked along the carpet. Before following the two out, Hyuna smiled at the boys. 

“It’s your day, it seems,” she said.

Ivan raised a brow. “What?”

“Ivan.” Till grabbed his shoulder, pointing outside the car. “Look!”

The stride, it seemed, was not only in America. Fans in Beijing were gathered up behind the barriers, holding up banners in Mandarin, Korean, English. They were here to celebrate. 

They were here for them .

“Fuck off,” Ivan scoffed in a happy disbelief. “Is all of this… because of that interview?”

Till couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Come on!” he said, taking Ivan by hand. “I want to give out some autographs!”

As soon as they got out of the car, cameras flashed. People cheered. Fans squealed. And when Ivan’s eyes got used to the blinding lights, he was still holding Till’s hand. 

Nobody was here to tell him to drop it, anyway.

Mizi and Till gave out autographs and took pictures with fans for long minutes before they all moved to the red carpet, where loads of reporters were waiting. If Ivan looked carefully, he could see some of the photographers who called their names wearing rainbow badges on the collars of their suits.

Till must’ve caught that detail as well, because he burst out laughing in the middle of the carpet as they were posing. “God, I know it was exhausting and shit, but I’m going to miss this tour so fucking much!”

Was it the impulsive urge to smile in front of the flashing lights or just the reflection of Till’s laughter on his face, Ivan wasn’t sure. But he was smiling uncontrollably. When he wrapped an arm around Till’s waist, cameras clicked wildly.

“You know, there is a Chinese word for that,” Ivan said, leaning close into Till.

His lover turned to him with curious eyes. At that moment, Ivan once again became sure of what he had always believed: Till belonged under the spotlight. Because even as he only stared at Ivan intently, doing absolutely nothing other than standing on a red carpet, he looked majestic. “What is it?” he asked.

“ 捨不得 ,” Ivan told him. Shě bù dé . “It’s used when you let go of something reluctantly. Something that comes to an end. Something you’re going to miss.”

“ 捨不得, ” Till echoed. “Then this , I think, could be considered appropriate for that word.” He stopped walking on the carpet and looked up at Ivan. “So while we are still in that very specific moment, why don’t we do something that might eternalise it?” he asked.

Ivan didn’t need him to elaborate to understand what he meant by those words. He grinned in approval.

He wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, but the next second, his lips were on Till’s, the touch intense like breathing in the air. All the cheering sound and camera lights disappeared for a second. Instead, in that heavenly moment of silence, all Ivan could feel was Till’s heartbeats against his ribs.

He closed his eyes, giving his lover one deep, true kiss. One kiss in public, yet this time, it was okay for people to see it. It was okay for them to take pictures. It was okay for Till to hold Ivan’s hand.

It was okay for them to love each other.

Chapter Text

When Ivan put the polished manuscript of his new movie on the desk of his agent, he had only one demand.

“It’s either this, or nothing.”

His agent took the binded pile of papers, flipping through the pages carefully. Yet while she was only two pages in, she paused. She closed the script. Looked up at Ivan. There was some sort of rejection on her face as she pursed her lips, evaluating what she was going to say.

But Ivan had prepared himself for that. He had been preparing ever since he started writing it.

“This,” his agent said, “is going to be hard to pitch.”

Ivan didn’t even budge. “I don’t care,” he said with a shrug. “This is the script I’m sending.”

Still, his agent wasn’t convinced. She glanced once at the title page. Imagine the Stars . “Well, I understand your story—it really was the center of attention when it was revealed to the media around last year, but you need to understand that this is the film industry, Ivan.” She slightly pushed the script back to him on the desk. “If you only change the main characters—”

Ivan stood up from his chair. “No,” he said. “I’m not going down on that path again.”

“But Anakt Garden was a huge success at the box office, so maybe you should—”

“You wanted to see the final product, and here I am, giving it to you,” Ivan told her, taking his coat from the hanger. “As I said, it’s either this or nothing. No changes will be made in this script. This is what I want to send to the producers.”

“You will get rejections,” his agent warned.

But Ivan couldn’t care less about that. “I would rather get rejections on a story I want to tell than to get approvals on a story I don’t,” he said. “It’s not like either of us have anything to lose.”

His agent considered him with her hands clasped over the desk. Her eyes sized him up, brows furrowed, posture stiff. At last, “You’re a hard client to work with, Ivan,” she said like a chant of complaint.

That made Ivan smile, just a little bit. “But I bring you money, don’t I?” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat. “See you next time.”

“Don’t be shocked if no producer calls you back,” she called after him.

“Don’t be shocked if any of them do!” Ivan retorted as he left her office and stepped out into the busy streets of Seoul.

There was always a lot going on in this city: tourists on sprees, cars passing by, billboards here or there that changed every other week. Though, one could get used to it.

With the weight of this meeting lifted off of his chest, Ivan opened his phone to check the notifications.

Of course, there was one message from Till.

Till : Call me after your meeting?

Ivan smiled. Without a second thought, he clicked on call and brought the phone to his ear. It beeped only once before Till picked it up.

“So, how did it go?” he asked instantly.

Ivan sighed. “Could be worse,” he said. “She’s going to pitch it, but there’s a low chance of it getting picked up by a producer.”

“Low chance my ass,” Till said. “They will be fighting over it like gladiators.”

Ivan snorted at that. “Gladiators?” he echoed. “Where did that come from?”

“Well, that movie you put on last night was interesting,” Till admitted, making Ivan laugh more.

“I take it as a cue that you’re actually getting interested in history.”

“Living one year with you makes that the inevitable outcome,” Till said playfully. “So, are you coming home?”

“I am,” Ivan said, glancing up at a billboard he was walking by. Mizi’s new advertisement was everywhere in Korea these days. Returning to the call, “Are you hungry? I can stop by to buy us some lunch,” he said.

“No, I’m good,” Till responded. “Just come home. Be quick.”

“Clingy,” Ivan mused.

“Only for you,” Till said before hanging up the phone.

So, Ivan made sure to be quick and return home.

After Anakt Garden was released, both had earned thousands. It was more than enough money to buy a fancy apartment, right in the heart of Seoul, as Till had requested. Ivan couldn’t really complain: his constant visits to his agent’s office and Till’s early shooting hours had obliged them to live somewhere they could reach anywhere.

Ivan greeted the security in the lobby and took the elevator to the top floor, where he and Till lived. 

Maybe there weren’t always stars to see in the night sky of this light polluted city, but from the top floor of this apartment, the city lights seemed almost as good as the stars. It was some sort of a tradition for Ivan and Till now, to sit on the balcony at night and watch the city as if stargazing every now and then.

When the elevator dinged, Ivan walked out and directly went for the door of their apartment. He knocked three times before reaching to undo the ties of his shoes.

In barely five seconds, the door opened.

“Hey,” Till greeted him. Today was his off day, since his weekly shootings were done. So, as Ivan had gone to the office, Till had slept in. Even now, he was still wearing an oversize shirt of Ivan’s and the pair of shorts he wore to bed last night.

“Hey,” Ivan responded. As soon as he took off his shoes and stepped into the house, Till wrapped his arms around him. Ivan buried his head to the crook of his neck. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Till said. His fingers slid into Ivan’s hair. “Kind of hungry too, actually.”

Ivan pulled back slightly. “Till, you just told me on the phone that you weren’t hungry,” he complained.

Till chuckled. “I just wanted you to come home faster,” he said. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” Ivan said. He pulled away from the embrace to close the door and take off his coat. “You should get an Oscar for that.”

Till casually went to the couch and took his phone. “Honestly,” he said, opening up the screen. “The Motion Picture Academy seems to be thinking the same thing.”

Ivan halted. He turned to Till in confusion. “What?”

Till was grinning. He showed his phone screen to Ivan. “The Oscar nominations came out today,” he said excitedly. “And I’m nominated for Best Actor.”

Ivan forgot everything else. His expression melted into a smile as he leaped at Till for a hug. He wrapped his arms around his waist, lips finding his neck to give him small kisses.

Till was laughing. “Calm down!”

“This is the best thing I have ever heard in my life, Till!”

“I’m probably not winning, though—”

“But you’re nominated!” Ivan kissed his cheek. “For which performance?”

That brought another mischievous look to Till’s face. He scrolled down on his phone and showed the screen to Ivan once again.

The movie name was written in bold letters, visible under the nomination badge.

Anakt Garden . 

Ivan blinked, not knowing how to react. He looked up at Till. “What?” he senselessly said. “ Really ?”

Till nodded. “This proves that your movie is a success,” he said. “I told you, didn’t I? The producers will be fighting for that script like fucking gladiators.”

It was hard to not burst into laughter. After the office visit, he really needed this. He really needed life to slam it into his face that things did work out.

Till held him from the cheeks and pulled him into a kiss. One that shared his happiness in this very moment. Ivan savored his touch and taste. An entire year filled with Till’s kisses, yet Ivan still couldn’t get enough of it. Every time, his head went back to that moment on top of the London Eye, last year on tour. Every time felt as good as the first. At this point, Ivan doubted a lifetime would be enough to be with him. 

Once they parted the kiss, “I was thinking we could eat out today too, to celebrate the news,” Till whispered.

Ivan smiled, tipping his forehead against his lover’s. “My treat, then,” he said. “I just got paid for that one script I co-wrote, remember?”

“Oh yeah, I do remember,” Till said. “It was a mess before you fixed it.”

“I co-wrote it,” Ivan emphasized, laughing.

“You fixed it, Ivan,” Till said decisively, planting a small kiss on the corner of his lips. “Come on. Let’s go get dressed for lunch.” He took Ivan’s hand and led him to their bedroom to change into proper clothes, closing the door after them in the process.

. . .

Two months later, Ivan and Till were in Hollywood, Los Angeles; for the first time since the world tour.

Ever since Till found out he was nominated, he had been in contact with several designers, just to choose the perfect suit to wear for the event. And truthfully, it was worth the trouble. Because tonight, Till looked amazing. His white, satin shirt was in contrast with the flowy overcoat of his suit. It was meticulously adorned with pearls on the collar, ruffles on the sleeves. He had always hated wearing a bland tuxedo to events, and Ivan had to give him the right, because who would go for the basic option when he looked this stunning in a designer suit.

Well, of course, Till hadn’t let Ivan dress up in a basic suit, either. He was wearing a wide collared black button up and a similarly black velvet jacket with a peculiar engraving of roses on the sleeves. In these clothes, he felt like a prince.

But when he glanced over at Till, he was the real prince. As they were at the entrance of the venue, the sky was still bright blue. Till’s sunlit face was flawless—perfectly structured. His suit shone against the light, and his hair had so naturally fallen on his forehead that Ivan had to hold himself back from reaching up and threading his fingers through it.

“You’re staring,” Till mused playfully.

Ivan managed to blink away. “Yeah. It happens a lot when you’re dating someone hot.”

Till nodded austerely. “Oh I think I know how that is like.” He winked at Ivan before offering him a hand. “Shall we go?”

The Oscars could be the greatest event Ivan had ever attended in his show business career. The Dolby Theatre was huge, and truthfully, extremely crowded. Not only celebrities and their teams, but also dozens of security guards everywhere, fans and unlicensed photographers behind the barriers. If it wasn’t for their invitations that allowed Ivan and Till easy access, they certainly would’ve gotten lost here. 

The entrance to the theater was grand: there was the widest red carpet Ivan could ever imagine, filled with every famous person he spent his life admiring. Legendary movie stars he used to watch on television as a child, screenwriters he spent his high school years envying, producers he would give his everything to work with. 

That was when the realization came to him. He was here now. He had worked all his way to call these people his colleagues, and he was standing here right now.

He glanced at Till. He was standing here with him .

When he took his hand, Till’s eyes met his. 

He gave Ivan a smile of excitement. “I might just fucking die,” he said as they were walking past flashing lights and celebrities. “There are Oscar banners everywhere, and that huge Academy Award statue—this is real, Ivan, we’re here!”

Ivan laughed. “I know,” he said. His eyes shifted upwards, to the big, golden Dolby Theatre arch right behind the Academy Award statue. The grand, sparkling curtain was held on one side, inviting the actors inside. The adrenaline in Ivan’s veins had doubled ever since they walked in. This was going to be amazing.

“Oh my god, Till! Ivan!”

Both of them would recognize that voice anywhere. 

They turned in unison. “Mizi!” Till called.

Since last year’s tour, Mizi hadn’t changed much, save for her longer hair and slightly taller height—though, that could be the heels. Her dress was in shades of rose pink and white, the flowy sleeves making her look like a princess, added up with the chiffon tail of her skirt. And right after her was Sua, walking in a black, elegant dress. It didn’t outshine Mizi’s fancy outfit, but Ivan was sure that was on purpose.

Mizi hugged them both kindly. “What are you two up to these days? I saw you were nominated, Till. Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Till said, smiling. “Are you?”

“Oh no.” Mizi waved a hand. “Not this year. But I’m working on a new film, so next year, I might be!”

“I really hope you do,” Ivan said. “You deserve it.”

Sua, as well, came to hug them both, congratulating Till for the nomination in the process. “How is your work going, Ivan?” she asked.

“Nothing new,” Ivan responded. “You know how hard it is to have a green lit project in this industry.”

“You’re a talented writer, though,” Sua acknowledged. “I’m sure your work will get what it deserves. Both in the future, and well,”—she glanced up at the Academy Award statue with a soft smile—“maybe even tonight.”

The idea of that brought some hope into Ivan’s chest. “Thank you, Sua.”

“Come here, Till, let’s pose for the cameras a little!” Mizi chanted, dragging him along as they headed towards the photographers.

“Wait—does my hair look good?” Till asked Ivan.

Ivan couldn't help but laugh at that. “It always does, Till. Don’t worry,” he assured. 

“You’re biased, Ivan, it’s not helping!” Till complained.

That only made Ivan laugh harder. He watched him and Mizi pose for some pictures before they would walk beyond the golden arch and climb the red carpeted stairs to the ceremony hall to live the night of their lives.

. . .

Ivan was thankful for the seating chart, because the Oscars hall was way too huge to be able to find their seats on his own. Despite this being both his and Till’s first time attending a ceremony as huge as this, their seats weren’t bad. It was the fourth row from the stage, the edge seat reserved for Till since he was a nominee.

Every time Ivan turned his head, he saw another movie star. It was hard to remember he, as well, was a screenwriter and not a fan, but god, how could someone contain themselves?

“Ivan?”

He turned his back, not sure who could be calling his name in a place filled with such names.

But the person standing in front of him was no other than Hyuna. She was wearing a black blazer and matching pants, golden necklace draping perfectly above her low neck black blouse. She seemed to have bought a drink from the Dolby Theatre bar, holding the glass in one hand as the other was tucked in her pocket. “I haven’t seen you in so long!” she said, pulling him in for a half hug to not drop her champagne. “Ah, Till! You’re here too!” 

“Hey, Hyuna!” Till greeted her, going in for a hug. “You should’ve told me you were coming! I thought you were busy with a shooting this week?”

“I was,” Hyuna admitted. “But I didn’t want to let my invitation go to a waste. So, I’m returning to Seoul tomorrow morning, with the first plane. You know, work doesn’t wait. What about you, though? Are you two staying?”

“Take a wild guess,” Ivan mocked. “If you’re taking Till to Los Angeles, you can’t take him back without at least a week of vacation added in the package.”

Hyuna laughed. “Obviously.”

“Hey,” Till complained. “ You wanted to stay, as well. We both cleared our schedules for this.”

“Well, have fun, you two,” Hyuna said. 

Right then, someone walked past them, towards the front rows. Someone Ivan recognized at first glance, thanks to his fancy white suit and similarly light hair.

Luka .

His wavy hair was styled into the perfect form, the sleeves and the tail of his coat ruffled, making him shine like silver in the midst of celebrities dressed in formal black.

He didn’t stop to say anything. Only shot a sideways glance at Till before he kept walking to his assigned seat.

After the interview where Ivan and Till had revealed their relationship to the world, Luka hadn’t said a thing: neither online, nor in private. He and Till had never crossed paths, even. He didn’t attempt another scandal: just kept doing whatever he did. Host a talk show in New York, go to vacations in Florida, pose for magazines in Paris. He acted as if he had never met Till, despite the obvious hatred he nourished deep inside his gaze.

Till, as well, was never bothered about it. Instead, he owned Luka’s hatred. Wore it like a badge of honor.

When Till looked at Luka over his shoulder, the blond man turned away completely, towards his circle of white celebrity friends.

“That asshole,” Hyuna grumbled under her breath.

“Don’t even bother,” Till told her, waving a hand. “Let him do what he wants.”

Hyuna raised a brow. “Really?” she asked. “Are you forgiving him, after everything?”

Till grinned. “Who said I’m forgiving that prick?” he countered. “I’m here if he ever wants to pick a battle with me. You always have some rivals in the industry, after all.” He shrugged. “If not, then who am I competing against, am I wrong?”

The confidence in those words made Ivan smile. Yet still, “I hate that man so fucking much,” Ivan said, his smile not faltering.

“I know,” Hyuna said. “Keep on hating, he deserves it.”

At that, both Till and Ivan laughed.

It wasn’t like they were going to let Luka ruin tonight for them, anyway.

. . .

After a good hour, which Ivan and Till spent meeting every actor they loved, the ceremony started.

Ever since he was a kid, Ivan could remember watching the Oscars on the internet. But to see it live ? This was a whole other experience.

The performances were all from the soundtracks of the past year’s movies, in a way that reminded Ivan why he loved the art he was doing. It was like a concert he came to watch without paying. The music was familiar, since he and Till had seen most of them during their weekly movie nights. The performers were obviously global stars. Every time one showed up, Till gasped in enthusiasm, resisting the urge to take out his phone and record it.

After the opening performances, the host came up on stage to a huge applause. He was a middle-aged actor, a star of the previous generation. Ivan had seen several of the TV series he had starred in. And tonight, it seemed, he was going to be hosting the Oscars.

He opened up with an introduction, followed by presenting the Academy Awards. After long cheers and a well written welcome speech, it was time for the awards.

The ceremony was long: considering Till was nominated in the Best Actor category, and as customary in all award shows, the prestigious categories came towards the end of the night. Halfway through the winner speeches, Ivan was thinking of the order of the awards: and when he realized that Best Actor was the twenty first out of twenty three awards, they were still on the seventh award, unfortunately.

But time somehow passed quickly when one knew every person who stepped on the stage. Ivan listened to every speech with sincerity and admiration, not bored for a single second of the ceremony.

As the clocks were nearing ten, the Best Director award was given out to an American director, a man Ivan had met last year on tour, thanks to Hyuna and her networking abilities. After the man’s speech, everyone applauded his achievement. And so, he left the stage with his freshly awarded Oscar statuette.

The screen behind the host changed as the next award was revealed.

The Academy Award for Best Actor .

Till straightened in his seat when he saw that. He could easily understand it now, having improved his English in the past year, half thanks to Ivan’s constant use of the language and half thanks to the global jobs he kept booking as his fame rose higher. 

Now that he was staring at the huge award title, Ivan realized this was real . What if Till won the award but got tongue tied when he was supposed to give out a speech? Had he prepared a speech? Probably not. Ivan took a deep breath, though he wasn’t the nominee. But Till was, and what if he actually won?

“And now, we are about to give out the award for Best Actor in this year’s Oscars,” the host said, slicing through Ivan’s thoughts and bringing him back into the moment. The screen on the stage focused on the five nominees of the award, one of them being Till.

Between their seats, Ivan found Till’s hand. Till instantly held it back, squeezing tightly.

The host opened the envelope in his hands, where the winner’s name was written. He looked briefly at the name, then smiled with a nod, as if he agreed with the chosen actor.

He raised his head. Approached the microphone. And opened his mouth to call out the winner’s name.

“The Oscar goes to,” he said, making everyone in the hall hold their breaths, “Till, for his performance in the movie Anakt Garden !”

The next few seconds were blurry. People cheered and clapped, the screens focused on Till’s frame, and Till, as soon as he heard his name, stood up from his seat with a true amazement on his face. He looked at Ivan with wide eyes of happiness. So, Ivan, as well, stood up to envelope him in his arms.

“I fucking won ?” Till mumbled into his shoulder with a scoff.

Ivan patted his back. “Go up the stage,” he encouraged. “They’re waiting for you.” 

Till’s smile widened. With practically running steps, he went down the stairs in between seat rows. He composed himself and walked up on the glowing, marble stage. On the golden screen behind his back, his name was written. A moment that was going to be carved in Ivan’s head forever.

Till shook hands with the host as the man gave him the award. He proudly took the golden award, watching how it looked in his hands before he walked up to the microphone and raised his head to look at the crowd.

His eyes traced the spotlight above, shoulders rising with the deep breath he took. “About a year ago, I was so sure that my career was going to end because of a scandal,” he began in English without hesitance. “But people have proven to me that I was wrong. The fact that I get to stand here today is because of that.” He looked at the award in his hands again, before continuing, “This was my first nomination—the first Oscar ceremony I’m ever attending either, at the thought of that. Because just until a few years ago, I was nothing better than a college dropout. But I had something, which everyone here in this hall today has: the love for film. A passion for the art of acting, and a respect for cinema. I want to thank every actor who has come before me, for fueling my desire to tread the boards. For teaching me what it means to tell stories and to express myself loudly, proudly, and rightfully. Thank you for allowing me to have a voice here, at this moment, on this stage.” His eyes traced the crowd shortly. “I want to thank everyone who has taken part in the making of this movie, Anakt Garden , especially my co-star, Mizi—despite the way she called me a bad kisser on several occasions.”

That made the crowd laugh, including the host. Cameras shortly turned to Mizi for her reaction: she was just shaking her head as she tried to contain her chuckles, visibly proud of Till despite the mocking humor on her face.

“Not to mention how thankful I am for our director, Hyuna, who has proven to everybody in the industry that there is nothing stronger than a woman when she is determined to do her job.” 

That brought another clapping wave, this time, taking the focus to Hyuna, who was grinning as she applauded along with everyone else.

“And Sua,” Till went on, “the savior of the day, no matter on which occasion. Without her constant water support, I would probably die of thirst on the set, but we don’t talk about that.” The crowd laughing had made Till laugh to himself too. “But out of everybody, I want to thank someone who matters the world to me.” 

At that, his eyes found Ivan’s in the crowd.

Ivan smiled at him brightly, trying to keep his breathing regular as he watched Till. 

“Ivan,” Till said, and for a moment, everyone in this hall disappeared. The tone of his voice was casual as if he was just calling him into the kitchen on a Sunday morning. The look in his eyes was genuine, locked onto Ivan’s. “My boyfriend, who is also the screenwriter of this movie. Without you, I wouldn’t have quitted school and pursued acting. I wouldn’t have dared to confront my bad habits and change myself for the better. Hell, without you, I wouldn’t even be speaking English here.”

Ivan couldn’t help a scoff. He tilted his head affectionately as he kept on listening.

“And most importantly, I wouldn’t be holding this award right now if it wasn’t for you,” Till said. “Your story, your script and talent are the reasons I’m standing here. So, thank you for everything. Thank you for teaching me that words have power, ink has veins, and paper has feelings. Thank you for being there for me. For being with me.” He swallowed, and Ivan noticed on the screens that his green eyes were glinting with tears. “I love you, Ivan,” he said out loud. In front of three thousand people present in that hall. In front of millions who were watching this from their homes right now. He said it confidently, honestly; so much that Ivan had to blink quickly to not cry while dozens of cameras were recording them.

“That will never get lost in translation,” Till said. “No matter where we are in the world and what language we speak, that will always be known. That will always be my truth.”

With that, Ivan couldn’t argue. Because it was always going to be his truth, too.

. . .

Most people expected celebrities to have this effulgent life where it was party morning and night, with expensive margaritas and long nights in the most luxurious hotels or private pools of millionaires.

But sometimes, all celebrities wanted to do was to drive up to Mount Lee in the dead of night after an award show, and just sit there with their freshly won Oscar as they watched the illuminated Hollywood Sign gleam atop of Los Angeles.

The night was quiet, save for the owls afar and some soft rustles of the breeze.

Ivan and Till sat on a spot where they could watch the white sign. They were still in their designer suits—despite the way they were sitting on soil right now—and Till was still holding the award like it was going to disappear if he ever let go of it.

Breaking the comfortable silence, “Do you remember our first time here?” Till asked.

Ivan smiled. “How could I forget?” He wrapped his arms around his knees and laid his head on them, watching Till. 

He was beautiful. He always was, truthfully, but when he stood unaware of Ivan’s gaze, absently watching something else, he looked even more beautiful.

“That tour really changed everything, didn’t it?” Ivan asked. “For the better, I mean.”

Till looked down, tilting his award to see how it shone. “It did,” he said. “First of all, you’re mine now.”

“The biggest plus,” Ivan agreed with a nod, making Till laugh.

“Not to mention, I’m clean for almost a year now,” Till said. “Thanks to you.”

Ivan remembered. From the first moment he had known Till was using substances, to the final moment he had used them, he remembered.

After returning to Korea from that tour, Till had agreed to see someone to supervise his withdrawal process. It hadn’t been easy. There were a lot of arguments, a lot of sleepless nights, and a lot of tears.

But through all of that, Ivan had never left Till to face it alone.

And in the end, Till had let the addiction go.

“It’s not thanks to me,” Ivan said. He straightened and leaned towards Till to give him a kiss on the cheek. “You did it yourself.”

Till smiled. “I did it with you,” he said. Right then, his eyes widened as if he had just remembered something. “Oh my god.” He fumbled the pocket of his suit to take his phone.

“What?” Ivan asked, brows furrowed.

Till had already unlocked his phone and clicked on photos. “Do you remember the picture we took here? Right before the Hollywood Sign?” He was scrolling quickly, as if to find that photo from last year.

“I remember,” Ivan said, glancing at the landmark. “We said that we would come here again and take a picture when we won an Oscar. And look at you now.”

Till chuckled. He extended his phone to Ivan, having found that photo. They were on the exact same spot in the picture. Till’s black cap was on Ivan’s head, the Hollywood Sign behind them as they had posed for the camera.

Ivan took out his own phone. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s take a new photo now.”

“Now?” Till asked. “But you haven’t won your Oscar yet.”

“It’s fine,” Ivan said, opening the camera. “You won one. Isn’t that enough?”

“But that makes it unfair, Ivan!”

“I just want to take a picture, Till,” Ivan insisted.

“But I wanted both of us to—”

When Ivan’s phone started ringing, they both paused, glancing at the screen. The name of his agent was written on top of the screen, as an incoming call.

“What are you waiting for?” Till asked encouragingly, pointing at the phone with his eyes. “Pick it up.”

Without another moment of hesitance, Ivan answered the call and brought the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Ivan,” his agent’s voice sounded over the line. “I know it’s probably late in Los Angeles, but I just got a callback about your script and I wanted to let you know as soon as possible.”

Ivan straightened. “What? A callback?”

When he heard that, Till grinned. “I told you!” he whispered as if he had just won a bet.

“You heard right,” his agent said. “Congratulations. It has just been picked up by one of the biggest studios in Korea. We're still going to have to meet the producers for negotiations, as you know the process, but so far, I can say it’s green lit. Imagine the Stars is going to hit the silver screen sooner than we were expecting.”

Ivan burst into a loud, sincere laughter. He met Till’s eyes. “It worked,” he whispered to him. “It’s picked up!”

Those words were all it took for Till to pull him into a tight hug. “I knew it would,” he mumbled into his shoulder. 

Without a doubt, Ivan closed his eyes and allowed himself to drown in Till’s touch. His scent. The moment’s warmth.

As usual, there weren’t any stars visible in the night sky of Los Angeles. But Ivan didn’t care. 

He was already imagining them in his head.

Right now, this was better. It was better than an Oscar could ever be.