Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Why does Ivan need to highlight the whole damn page with that ugly neon yellow?

Is he trying to blind himself? Till sighed, dragging his own pencil a little too hard across the paper. And why is his shit always on Till’s side? He does this to be a bitch. He’s definitely doing this to be a bitch.

“Move your crap,” Till said, not looking up from his drawing.

Ivan didn’t glance over. “It’s fine where it is.”

“It’s on my side.”

“There are no sides. It’s a public table." He went on with highlighting, eyes not moving from the way-too-thick med textbook.

“My side of the public table. Move it.”

Ivan finally looked at him, his dark eyes flat. “You going to use my backpack for something? Drawing a portrait of it?”

“Maybe I will. Move.”

Something—amusement? Till’s not sure, this guy is a fucking paradox—crossed Ivan’s face before he went back to his textbook. “Let me know when you’re done. I’ll sign it.”

“Ivan!”

Someone was shouting before Till could even come up with a decent retort. There were hurried footsteps a little too loud for the library’s quiet. Mizi appeared at the end of the aisle, her pink hair a mess and her face flushed. She was in a dark grey hoodie that was at least two sizes too big for her. Till recognized it. It was the one Ivan practically lived in.

She skidded to a halt at their table, gripping the edge of it, her knuckles white.

“Ivan,” she gasped out, trying to catch her breath. “I’m cashing in the Yellow Card. Right now. I’m desperate.”

The effect was instant. Ivan snapped his textbook shut, all his casual focus turned to Mizi. “Shit. Okay. What’s the situation?”

Till looked between them. “The hell is a Yellow Card?”

Mizi didn’t take her eyes off Ivan. “Back in middle school, a girl asked Ivan to prom and he panicked and told her he was already going with me. I covered for him. I made him this yellow index card that says I can call in one no-questions-asked, save-my-ass favor anytime. This is that time.”

“Save-my-ass favor…” Till stared at her. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not dumb, it’s legally binding,” Mizi shot back, finally turning to him. “It’s Derek. From your basketball team.”

“Ah, that guy’s an ass,” Ivan nodded.

Till scoffed. “The guy with the hair? What about him?”

“He won’t leave me alone. He saw me and Sua making out in the chem lab last night.” She huffed angrily. “Now he’s threatening to tell the whole team and post about it online if I don’t go out with him. He says he’s ‘saving me from myself.’”

Ivan’s expression looked annoyed. “He said that to you?”

“Yeah. So I need a bigger, scarier guy to make him back off.” Mizi poked Ivan’s shoulder. “That’s you. You’re the bigger, scarier guy.”

Ivan leaned back in his chair, the plastic creaking under his weight. He looked at Mizi, then at the ceiling, thinking it over. “Okay. So you want me to talk to him.”

“No. Talking is what got me into this. I want you to be my boyfriend.”

Till’s pencil stopped moving. She’s lost her mind.

Ivan blinked. “What?”

“Fake boyfriend,” Mizi clarified, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world. She then glanced at Till. “If Till agrees, obviously.”

Till stared at her. “Why the fuck would you need my permission?”

“Because you’re his… you’re his person. He listens to you. And you’ll bitch about it for two weeks if we don’t loop you in first.”

“I’m not his person. And I’m going to bitch about it either way because it’s a stupid plan.”

“So is that a yes?” Ivan asked, his tone unreadable.

“Do whatever you want. Why do you care what I think?” Till shot back. “Just don’t expect me to be your audience.”

“See? He agrees,” Mizi said, turning back to Ivan. “If I’m already dating someone, and that someone is you, he can’t use the ‘I can save you’ line. It’ll completely undercut his whole… thing. You’re scarier than he is. Problem solved.”

Ivan ran a hand through his hair. “Mizi, I don’t think—”

“You owe me, Ivan! Yellow Card! No questions!” she insisted, her voice rising enough that the old librarian at a nearby table shushed her. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do you want Derek ‘The Hair’ Johnson telling everyone my business? Do you want him making stupid posts? Sua will murder him, and then she’ll get expelled, and it’ll be a whole mess.”

Ivan let out a long, slow breath. He looked at Till, as if for backup.

Till just shrugged. “Don’t look at me. This is your weird, middle-school-contract bullshit.”

“See? Even Till thinks it’s a good idea,” Mizi said, completely misinterpreting his indifference for support.

“I did not say that,” Till murmured.

“So?” Mizi pressed, turning her big, pleading eyes back on Ivan. “Will you do it? Please? Two weeks, max. Just until he gets bored and finds someone else to harass.”

Ivan looked from Mizi’s desperate face to his own highlighted textbook. “Yeah. Okay. Two weeks.”

Mizi let out a relieved sigh, her whole body slumping. “Thank you. Oh my god, thank you.” She grabbed his arm, already pulling him up. “Okay, first, we need to tell everyone. We have to make it look real.”

“Right now?” Ivan asked, letting himself be dragged from his chair.

“No time like the present! Come on!” She started pulling him towards the exit, Ivan’s abandoned books and backpack forgotten.

Till watched them go, his quiet sketching session thoroughly ruined. He looked at the mess Ivan had left behind.

Two weeks of that? Till tossed his pencil onto the blank page. They’re the two biggest morons on this entire campus.

Pointless. This whole situation. Ivan’s crap was still everywhere, the textbook left open, the highlighter uncapped and starting to dry out, the backpack gaping like a hungry mouth.

He just had to leave without it. Why would he take it? This is his life now—babysitting Ivan’s garbage.

With a grunt, Till started shoving things into the backpack. He didn’t care about creasing the pages or bending the cover. He jammed the highlighter into a side pocket without capping it. Let it ruin everything else in there. Serve him right.

“You forgetting something?”

Till glanced up. A library aide was standing there, arms crossed, pointing a thumb at the chair Ivan had vacated. It was still pushed out, blocking the aisle.

“Not my chair,” Till said, zipping the backpack with more force than necessary.

“It’s your friend’s.”

“He’s not my friend.”

The aide just stared him down. Till shoved the chair back under the table. “Happy?”

“Thrilled.” The aide walked off, shaking his head.

Till hoisted the backpack onto his shoulder. It was heavier than he expected, stuffed with all of Ivan’s useless pre-med bullshit. He could feel the weight of it digging into his shoulder already. Great. Now he’s become Ivan’s pack mule.

─────────────

He caught up just as Mizi was dragging Ivan through the union doors. Ivan glanced back, saw the bags in Till’s hands, and stopped short, making Mizi yank on his arm.

“Hang on,” Ivan said. He turned and walked back to Till. “Thanks.” He didn’t just take his own bag. He reached out and took Till’s too, slinging both over his broad shoulder like they weighed nothing.

Till just stood there, his hands now empty. Why would he do that? He’s putting on a show. Already doing the chivalrous, ’boyfriend’ act. Ivan was always doing crap like this, little things that made him look good and left Till feeling off-balance.

“You coming or what?” Mizi called, her voice tight.

The rest of their group was camped out on a worn-out couch in the corner. Hyuna was scrolling on her phone, Luka was leaning back with his eyes half-closed like a cat under the sun, and Sua was reading over her too-thick biology textbook.

Mizi pulled Ivan to a stop in front of them, her grip on his bicep tight. “Everyone! I have news!” she announced, her voice a little too bright.

Luka didn’t open his eyes. “You finally set the chem lab on fire for real.”

“No! Ivan and I are dating.”

“Yeah, no you’re not.”

“We are. We’re totally together!” Mizi insisted, her indignation sounding real enough. “Look!” She yanked on Ivan’s arm, stood on her toes, and pressed a quick, closed-mouthed kiss to his cheek.

Ivan jumped like he’d been shot three times.

Hyuna started clapping. “You just kissed your gay best friend. Congrats.”

Luka finally cracked an eye open. “I’ll give it two days before one of you cracks.”

From the corner, Sua didn’t look up from her readings. “Twenty bucks says Till loses his mind first.”

“What?” Till snapped, his focus snapping from Ivan’s stunned face to Sua. “Why me?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Sua shrugged.

Hyuna tilted her head, studying the still-frozen Ivan and the rapidly deflating Mizi. “You know what, I’ll be supportive. I bet they can actually pull it off for the full two weeks.”

Luka snorted. “Nah. I bet Till’s unresolved sexual tension blows the whole thing up before they even break up. Fifty bucks.”

“I give it three days before Mizi gets annoyed with Ivan and calls it quits,” Sua countered, finally looking at them. “His ‘listening face’ is incredibly condescending.”

“It is not!” Mizi protested.

“It’s a little bit,” Ivan mumbled, finally coming back to life.

“See?”

“We need proof of life,” Luka declared, sitting up fully. “A statement for the press. Ivan, what do you like about Mizi?”

Ivan blinked. He looked at Mizi’s pink hair, then at the ceiling, then back at Luka. “Her… hair?”

“Mizi? What do you like about Ivan?”

Flustered, she leaned in and sniffed Ivan’s jacket collar. “His… perfume?”

“You can’t smell shit,” Luka raised a brow. “Weren’t you complaining about your sinus last week?”

“I can smell!” Mizi protested, her voice cracking. “It’s… a very subtle scent!”

“I don’t wear perfume,” Ivan added, unhelpfully.

“Oh my god,” Till muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was even more painful than he’d imagined.

“Photo op,” Hyuna commanded, holding up her phone. “Sell it.”

Mizi seized the moment, wrapping her arms around Ivan’s waist and plastering her cheek against his chest, beaming. Ivan looked down at the top of her head, his expression the same one he used when studying a particularly complex diagram in his biology textbook. He managed to get an arm around her shoulders, his hand held stiffly in the air like he was afraid to touch her.

Hyuna took the picture. “Cute. You look like you’re being held hostage, Ivan, but it’s cute.” Her thumbs flew over her screen. “I’m sending it to you. Post it.”

Mizi pulled out her own phone, the screen lighting up her determined face. A few taps later, she showed the group. A post with the photo.

“There,” she said, with finality. “It’s official.”

mizimizu meet my boyfriend ❤️

“Alright, comment time. Make it look real,” Hyuna said, already typing on her own phone. “What do you want? Heart emojis? ‘So cute’?”

hyun.all.in finally! 😍

lukalikesyou it’s about time you two got your act together

sweetdream i see two people in this photo.

“Sua!” Mizi hissed.

“What? I do. I see two people,” Sua said, completely deadpan.

Luka leaned back, looking thoroughly entertained. “This is the best thing that’s happened all week.” His eyes slid over to Till. “Your turn, Scowly. Get your phone out. Comment.”

Till didn’t move. “No.”

“Come on,” Luka pressed, his smile sharp. “Don’t you want to support your two best friends? Or are you worried someone might think you’re jealous?”

Till’s jaw tightened. He yanked his phone from his pocket, unlocked it with a rough swipe, and found the post. His thumbs jabbed at the screen.

till.the.end great

Mizi looked at her phone, then at him, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “That’s it? Just ‘great’? Till, that’s so lame.”

Till looked at her face—the same pout she’d used when they were kids to get extra crayons in art class. He felt a familiar, stupid tug in his chest. Fine. Whatever. He tapped the edit button.

till.the.end looks nice i guess

He shoved his phone back in his pocket. Why did he do that? Because he’d had a crush on her in elementary school, that was why. It was the only explanation for why her pout still worked on him. Pathetic.

“Why am I friends with you people?” Till asked the ceiling. He genuinely wants an answer.

“Unresolved childhood trauma,” Hyuna and Luka said in unison.

“Go to hell.” Till was ready to be anywhere else.

He watched Ivan’s thumb tap the ‘like’ heart on every single comment, his face completely blank. He’s treating it like a lab assignment. Which, Till supposed, it was.

Luka stretched his arms along the back of the couch. “So, Till. Since your comment was so inspiring, what’s your type? You know, for when you have to pretend to believe in this.” He gestured at Ivan and Mizi.

Till glared at him. “My type is people who mind their own business.”

“So you’ve got a thing for Ivan, then,” Hyuna smirked. Why the hell were they grilling him on this. 

“Shut up,” Till snapped. He could feel the conversation closing in on him, a trap he hadn’t agreed to walk into. He needed to get out. Now. He stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Mizi asked, a flicker of real worry in her voice. “You’re supposed to be supporting us!”

Luka let out a low whistle, scrolling through the post on his own phone. “The comments are already fighting. Your fan clubs are at each other’s throats.” He turned the screen so they could see the rapidly updating list beneath Mizi’s photo.

ivans_girl_77 i don’t believe it. he’s literally my lock screen this is a joke right

hoopsfan23 she’s a decent cheerleader but she’s not even his type?? he always said he liked blondes

“Ivan doesn’t even like blondes,” Mizi muttered, crossing her arms.

“How do you know?” Hyuna asked, a little too innocently.

“I just do!”

mizis_bestie everyone back off! they’ve been best friends for years it was meant to be 😭💗

blondes4ivan this is a downgrade. he should be with someone like yujin from the volleyball team. now THAT’S a power couple.

art_not_sports finally a jock dating someone with actual talent and not just a pretty face. W for mizi.

anonymous_01 he’s just using her as a beard or wtv that idiom was everyone knows he’s totally gay for his emo roommate. they’re always tgt.

Who the fuck was ‘anonymous_01’? And what the hell was their problem? Till’s eyes stuck on that last comment. It was one thing for his dumb friends to make jokes, but some random person online? His fingers curled into his palms. Why drag him into it? And ‘emo roommate’? He wasn’t even Ivan’s roommate. They just shared a dorm wall. People needed to get their facts straight.

“Well,” Hyuna said, breaking the tension. “That escalated.”

“Two days,” Luka repeated, locking his phone with a definitive click. “I’m sticking with two days before this whole thing explodes in all your faces.”

“It won’t explode,” Mizi insisted, her voice less certain than before. She hugged Ivan’s arm tighter. “It’s going to be fine! They’ll get used to it.”

─────────────

This was stupid. Till was officially an idiot for agreeing to this.

He trailed a good ten feet behind Ivan and Mizi as they headed toward the campus cafe. Why did Ivan walk like that? His back was straight as hell, his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked constipated. And Mizi was doing this weird, bouncy little skip every few steps that she definitely never did normally. They weren't even talking. Who goes on a date and doesn't talk? This was the most unconvincing show he'd ever seen.

“Just hang around nearby,” Mizi had begged him after the disastrous group announcement. “Be a witness. In case Derek shows up. You can tell us if we look convincing.”

“Why don’t you just hire a fucking director?” But here he was anyway, because saying no to Mizi was not an option.

He slunk into the cafe after them. The place always smelled like burnt coffee and fake sweetener. He dumped his bag at the table right next to theirs, turning his chair with a screech so his back was mostly to them. He pulled out his sketchbook and slapped it on the table. Yeah, this was a real subtle cover for watching this shit. 

He heard the scrape of their chairs as they sat down. They still aren’t talking. Tiill focused on a random scribble in his margin.

“So,” Ivan’s voice cut, too loud and too formal. Till risked a glance over his shoulder. Ivan was holding his phone, staring at the screen like it had a script. It probably had a script. “Mizi. How were your… classes today?”

Mizi, who was fiddling with a napkin, looked up, startled. “They were fine, Ivan. How was… basketball practice?”

“It was good.” Ivan put his phone down on the table. “We practiced… dribbling.”

Till stared hard at his sketchbook. Dribbling. Of all the shit that happened at a two-hour practice, that’s what he led with.

Nobody said anything. Again. This one went on even longer. Till counted the seconds in his head. Was he really just sitting here watching two people not talk? This was a waste of his time. He was about to get up and leave when Mizi suddenly slammed her hands flat on the table, making the salt shaker jump.

“I LOVE YOU, IVAN!” she yelled. Her voice was way too loud for the small cafe. A few students at other tables stopped talking to stare.

Ivan flinched so hard he nearly knocked his chair over. His eyes were wide with panic. “I love you, too!” he shouted back, the words flat and way too fast.

It was the worst thing Till had ever heard. Without thinking, his hand snapped up and he smacked himself in the forehead. He kept it there, pressing hard. Maybe if he pushed hard enough, he could forget this ever happened.

“Okay, well!” Mizi said, her voice returning to a strained, conversational tone. “We should probably… order a drink or something.”

“Right. A drink.” Ivan stood up so fast his chair legs screeched against the floor. “What do you want?”

“Just a lemonade.”

“Lemonade. Got it.”

Till watched from between his fingers as Ivan practically fled to the counter. Mizi sat alone at the table, her shoulders slumping. She caught Till looking and shot him a desperate, wide-eyed look that screamed ‘How are we doing?!’

Till just shook his head slowly, letting his hand drop. This was a fucking disaster. Derek wouldn’t be convinced they were a couple; he’d be convinced they’d both suffered simultaneous head trauma.

Ivan returned a few minutes later, holding two drinks. He placed a lemonade in front of Mizi and set down a second, identical cup for himself.

Mizi stared at it. “Ivan. You got yourself a lemonade too?”

Ivan looked at the cup, then at her. “Yes. Is that… not correct?”

“You hate lemonade. You always say it’s too sour.”

“I do?” Ivan picked up the cup and took a cautious sip. His face immediately puckered, a genuine reaction he couldn’t hide. He forced a swallow. “It’s… good. I’m developing a taste for it. For you.”

Till had to look away. He was going to get a cavity from all this saccharine bullshit. He focused on his sketchbook, drawing a dark, angry storm cloud.

He heard more shuffling, then the sound of a phone camera. He glanced back. Mizi was holding her phone up, angling it for a selfie with Ivan. “Smile, honey!”

Ivan leaned into the frame, his expression completely blank. It was the same face he made when Till asked him what he wanted for dinner. Mizi snapped the picture.

“Let me see,” Ivan said, taking the phone from her. He studied the screen, his brow furrowed. “We look…”

“Like you’re about to be sacrificed?” Till muttered under his breath, too low for them to hear.

“We look fine,” Ivan decided, handing the phone back. He was such a liar.

Mizi started typing, her thumbs flying. A moment later, Till’s own phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. A new post from mizimizu. The photo of their dead-eyed cafe selfie.

mizimizu First date with my sweetheart ❤️ #lucky

He didn’t bother liking it. He opened the comments instead. Might as well see how this trainwreck was playing to the public.

ivans_girl_77 he’s not smiling?? is he okay?? is he being blackmailed??

hoopsfan23  first date at the student cafe? weak. should’ve taken her to a real restaurant.

Till scoffed. Yeah, because that would make it so much more believable

mizis_bestie OMG YOU TWO ARE SO CUTE TOGETHER MY HEART

anonymous_01 looks like someone photoshopped two homos together.

Till’s eyes narrowed. That was the same asshole from the last post. He was starting to really hate anonymous_01.

blondes4ivan i give it a week. he looks miserable.

art_not_sports W mizi W ivan ig

Then he saw a new one.

lukalikesyou amazing, so cute. keep it up 😄

sweetdream I only see one cup. who’s not drinking?

Luka was already here, stirring shit. Till could practically hear his smug voice. He kept scrolling. And Sua. Always zeroing in on the fatal flaw. Till almost smiled. She wasn’t wrong. There was only one lemonade in the shot. Ivan must have moved his. So much for "developing a taste" for her.

His phone buzzed again. He shouldn’t look. He really shouldn’t. He pulled it out.

hyun.all.in so proud of my besties 😭💕 remember that time in 7th grade he gave you a piggyback and then just dropped you because you were 'heavier than you looked'? look at them now!! #growth

Till choked. He’d forgotten about that. Hyuna was the worst kind of supportive—the kind that aired all the dirty laundry to make the lie look better, but just made it all look so much more pathetic.

He scrolled one more time.

ivans_number_one_fan OMG HE COMMENTED! HE SAID “IT WAS A GOOD DATE.”

Till clicked on the post again. Sure enough, right there under the photo, was a comment from Ivan’s account.

ivan.b It was a good date.

That was it. No emoji. No exclamation point. It had probably taken him five minutes to type.

Another notification popped up. A direct message from Luka.

lukalikesyou  He’s trying so hard. It’s kind of sad. You should go back and give him a pep talk.

He was about to shove his phone away and finally leave when a sound from their table caught his ear. It was Mizi. Laughing. Not her fake, high-pitched laugh, but her real one, a little snort at the end of it.

Curiosity, a stupid and traitorous thing, made him glance back.

Mizi was leaning her chin on her hand, a smile on her face. "You remember that? God, my elbow was scraped for a week."

Ivan had one arm draped over the back of his chair. His shoulders were finally less tensed. "You landed on me. I was the cushion."

"It's what you get for having a soft back."

"Watch it," Ivan said, but he was almost smiling too.

Till stared. This was different. The way they always were when they forgot anyone else was watching. The two lifelong best friends who actually liked each other, platonically, Till hoped. This wasn't the stiff, scripted bullshit from five minutes ago. This looked easy. A little too easy.

He watched as Ivan nudged her lemonade closer to her with a single finger. A simple, stupid gesture. Mizi took a sip without even looking, still talking about some other dumb thing from when they were all kids.

This was what they were supposed to be selling, right? So why did it piss him off so much to see it actually working? 

Chapter Text

The door to his dorm room was already unlocked. Till shoved it open, knowing exactly what or who he’d find.

Ivan was sprawled on his bed, flat on his back, taking up the whole damn thing. He had one of Till’s pillows smashed over his face.

“Get off my bed.” Till drops his bag by the door. “And get your sweat all over someone else’s pillows.”

Ivan didn’t move the pillow. His voice was muffled. “I don’t sweat.”

“You do. Doesn’t matter if you don’t smell, sweat is sweat. Do it on your own fucking mattress.” Till kicked the leg of the bed frame. “Up.”

Ivan finally pulled the pillow away, his hair sticking up in all directions. He didn’t look like a popular campus jock like this, he just looked like a weirdo who enjoyed suffocating himself with other people’s laundry. “It smells like your shampoo over here.”

“Why the hell are you sniffing my pillows? That’s creepy as shit.” Till grabbed his desk chair, spinning it around to sit backwards, putting the wooden backrest between him and the bed-invader. “If you’re going to keep using my room like a hotel, you need to start paying rent. Or at least bring your own fucking food.”

Ivan ignored him, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his hand. He looked thoughtful, which was always a bad sign. “Our fake dating is shit,” he announced.

“No kidding. I was there. What's your point?"

"My point is we look like shit." Ivan tossed the phone aside. "Mizi's counting on this. What do people in love even do? I don't know how to do this."

"Then google it. Don't ask me."

"You dated that girl in eighth grade, for three weeks too. That's more experience than I've got."

"Wow. Three whole weeks. I'm a fucking expert." Till barely even remembered the whole pathetic thing. "We held hands. It was sweaty. Then she dumped me for a guy who had a car. That's my entire romantic history. Congrats, you know everything I know."

Ivan didn't move. He just swiped on his phone. "Look. This one's better. From today." He shoved the screen in Till's face. It was a new picture. Mizi was leaning against Ivan's side, his arm around her shoulders. They were both looking at the camera. Ivan wasn't smiling, but he didn't look like a hostage this time. Mizi's smile almost looked real.

mizimizu My big scary boyfriend walking me to class 😵‍💫💪 #gentleman 

"See? Progress," Ivan had a small smile on his face. Till grabbed the phone. He needed to see the thing that had him smiling.

"Big scary boyfriend? You wanna go ahead and tag that jerk Derek in it while you’re at it?" 

It was so on the nose it was pathetic. Was that the best they could do? A direct reference to the exact reason for this whole shit show? They might as well have posted a sign that said 'FAKE COUPLE, PLEASE BULLY US.'

ivans_girl_77 why does he look like a bodyguard??

hoopsfan23 oh it’s kinda cute this time ngl

mizis_bestie AWWWW YOU TWO ARE SO SHY TOGETHER ITS CUTE

anonymous_01 boykisser. does he even know how to kiss a girl? or is he just practicing on his roommate?

Again, Ivan is not Till’s roommate. That fucker with his misinformation agenda was back again. Always lurking in the comments. “You should block this guy.” He shoved the phone back at Ivan.

Ivan glanced at the screen, then shrugged, giving it back to Till for review. “Why? If I block him, he’ll just say we’re trying to hide the truth. It’ll look worse.”

“It looks worse having him say this shit on every post.”

“Then people will think he’s obsessed. It’s fine.” Ivan dismissed it. He didn’t seem bothered at all.

art_not_sports W love this for mizi

sweetdream whose idea was the pose? it looks very…

lukalikesyou you two are so cute 🥰 makes me want to step all over this rs

ivan_or_riot take your hands off him mizi. he doesn’t belong to you🤬🤬

mizionly she can do so much better than him

Till scanned the comments. Just how many people were following this shit? There were some usernames he’d never even seen before. How popular were these two?

blackbears they’re just shy!! stop being mean!! it’s sweet!! 😩❤️

“They think we’re shy.” 

“Shy my ass.” Till scoffed, shoving the phone back at him. 

“You haven’t seen it yet?” Ivan asked, staring at him. “I thought you followed Mizi.”

Till looked at the wall. “I muted her. After the cafe post.”

“You muted Mizi. Really?”

“And you,” Till added, because fuck it. “And Luka. For good measure.”

“Why?”

“Because my phone was blowing up with your terrible acting and his condescending messages. It was annoying.” It was more than that, but he’d rather chew glass than explain the tight, itchy feeling he got watching the whole factory romance.

Ivan just kept looking at him. “Huh.” He didn’t seem mad. Just thinking. “Hypothetically,” he started. “What would you want? If someone was trying to… impress you.”

Why was he asking what Till wants? This was for Mizi. He scowled. “I’m not Mizi. Get her favorite drink, not mine.”

“I know what Mizi likes. I’m gathering a wider sample size. What’s your favorite drink?”

“Banana milk.” The answer was automatic. He regretted it instantly. “But that’s—“

“Alright, noted.” Ivan nodded. The bastard’s pretending not to know despite his theft of said thing from Till’s mini-fridge at least once a week.

“Why are you asking? You steal that shit from my bag like you pay for the damn thing.”

“I replenish your stock right after. When I remember.” Ivan went back to looking at his phone, the conversation apparently over. Till felt like he’d just given something away for free.

He decided to change the subject, gesturing vaguely at Ivan. “This whole Yellow Card thing. Did you actually go to prom with Mizi?”

Ivan didn’t look up from his phone. “Yeah.”

“And it wasn’t like this? Like how you two are now?”

“No. We just went. We danced. We weren’t actually as awkward as we are now.” He finally glanced over. “Why weren’t you there? I remember you said you were sick, were you really?”

He just didn’t want to go. All the noise, all the people. It sounded draining. But he remembered how it was back then. Mizi and Ivan always had their own thing. She’d lean on his shoulder when he was talking about some stupid bug, listening like it was the most interesting shit in the world. She never leaned on Till like that. 

No. That was stupid. Mizi was a lesbian. She and Ivan were nothing. She was exchanging spit with Sua in chem, which was the whole reason for this entire fuckery in the first place. He was being an idiot.

“I was sick,” Till repeated, the lie sounding weak.

Ivan just looked at him, one eyebrow slightly raised. Calling his bluff without saying a word.

“Fine,” Till grumbled, giving in. “I was being antisocial. Happy?”

“Yeah.” Ivan went back to his phone. “I am. Glad you didn’t go with that girl.”

“The three-week car girl?”

“Yeah. She was a bitch.”

“Harsh. She was okay-ish,” Till said, though he couldn’t really disagree.

He found himself staring at the way Ivan’s foot was bouncing slightly against his comforter. He was contaminating the whole bed. Why did he have to be here? He had his own room. Two doors down.

“Our main problem is physical… touching.” Ivan sat up abruptly. “We don’t look like a couple.”

“So hold hands. It’s a classic.”

“We need a better plan.” Ivan got off his bed. He stretched, his shirt riding up his stomach. “I’ll figure it out.”

Till’s eyes dropped straight to the exposed skin.  “Great. You can figure it out somewhere else. I’ve got work to do.” 

It was just a strip of his lower abdomen, but it was enough. Ivan was always so covered up. Till wondered, just for a second, what it would feel like to press his thumb right there. Would it be hard, like it looked? Or would it be a little soft? The thought was so stupidly thirsty and not him at all it pissed him off.

He was still just standing there, shirt up. Till couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved himself out of his chair, stepped forward, and grabbed the hem of Ivan’s shirt, yanking it down. “Knock it off.”

Ivan’s eyes narrowed, arms protectively covering his torso. “What?”

“Stop showing your stomach around. It’s distracting.”

“My clothes are loose. It’s not intentional,” Ivan said, his voice dropping.”You look like you want to undress me.”

“The hell I wasn’t.”

“You do. I have eyes.” Ivan took a step closer, not moving towards the door. “What, you like what you saw?”

Till’s face got hot. “Fuck you. I was just looking.”

“Think I’m fit?” Ivan’s mouth twitched into a smirk. He was being smug about it. 

“I think you’re a pain in my ass. Get out.” Till shoved at his shoulder, but Ivan didn’t move an inch.

“Going, I’m going.” Ivan finally stepped to the door, but his eyes stayed locked on Till. He opened it, pausing in the doorway. “You can look if you want. I don’t care.”

Till stared at the empty space. What the fuck was that? He looked at his rumpled bed, the indent still on the pillow. He got up and pushed the comforter straight, trying to erase the evidence.

─────────────

The next day, Till was halfway through a cafeteria sandwich when a cold carton was shoved directly into his line of sight, right next to his tray.

Banana milk.

He looked up. Ivan was standing there, his face unreadable.

“What’s this for?” Till asked, suspicious.

Ivan nudged the carton closer. “Practice. For Mizi.”

Till just stared at it. Then at Ivan. This was the weirdest offering he’d ever received. “Practice.”

“Yes. Was that the correct gesture?” Ivan asked with a slight tilt to his head. 

A correct gesture. He’d brought him Till’s favorite drink as a correct gesture. For a fake relationship he wasn’t even in. Till picked up the carton. It was properly chilled and wet against his palm. He hadn’t even had to ask. Ivan just knew he’d want it cold.

“Yeah,” Till said finally, his voice coming out gruffer than he intended. He stabbed the straw through the foil opening. “It’s… it’s fine. I guess. For practice.”

Ivan watched him take a long drink, leaning forward slightly as something in his posture seemed to loosen.

“Good,” he said. Then he turned and walked away, leaving Till alone with his sandwich and a carton of practice banana milk. Not even a damn goodbye. Just comes and leaves whenever he pleases.

It was just too fucking weird. Who goes, 'My fake relationship with my lesbian friend needs work, so I will buy my straight male friend a banana milk'? The logic was so broken it made his head hurt. Was he really straight though? 

He’d never really given it much thought. He liked girls. He liked Mizi. He’d dated a girl. That was the default, wasn’t it? And Ivan, what even was Ivan? The guy had never brought a girl around, or a guy, or anyone. He just brought himself, and most of the time, he brought himself directly into Till’s space.

It was later back in his dorm that Till found himself still staring at the empty carton on his desk. He hadn't thrown it out yet. Why hadn't he thrown it out? It was trash. Evidence of Ivan being a weirdo. He should chuck it.

The whole thing was so stupid. Ivan had looked at him back there, waiting for a grade on his "gesture," like Till was the fucking “dating professor.” But the banana milk was exactly what he wanted. And Ivan knew that. He’d gone and gotten it and called it ‘practice’ with a completely straight face.

The door opened without a knock. Ivan walked in and leaned against the desk, his eyes scanning its surface. “Forgot to do something—”

“Couldn’t you at least fucking knock?” Till snapped.

Ivan blinked. “I was just here.”

“What if I was busy?”

A small, cheeky smile tugged at Ivan’s mouth. “Oh,” he said. “Planning to jerk yourself off?”

Till stared at him, thrown. “Why? You gonna help?”

“Sure,” Ivan said, the smile widening just a fraction.

“Get out!” Till yelled, his face heating up. “I was joking, you creep!”

Ivan just chuckled, a low sound, but his eyes darted to the desk and landed on the banana milk carton. He pointed. “You kept it.”

Till’s hand shot out, snatched the carton and hid it under his pillow. “It was on my desk for five minutes. Don’t give it meaning.”

“You’re going to get ants that way.”

“Maybe I like ants.”

Ivan just hummed, that infuriatingly non-committal sound. Then he dug into his pocket and pulled out a brand new 2B pencil, placing it deliberately next to Till’s sketchbook. “Here.”

Till stared at it. “I have pencils.”

“You complain when the lead on your others breaks. This one is full.” Ivan said it as a simple fact. He pushed off the desk. “Okay. The drink was successful. I’ll proceed.”

“Proceed with what? Stop practicing on me!”

But Ivan was already at the door. “See you later, Till.”

He picked up the pencil. It was smooth, unmarked. 

Ivan used to steal his pencils all the time back in high school. He’d return them later, covered in bite marks at the eraser end, the wood all chewed up. Till would yell at him for being a fucking animal. Maybe that’s why this felt so weird. This one was new. No teeth marks. A full, perfect pencil, because Ivan knew he hated it when the lead snapped.

Why would a new piece of wood do this to him and his damn heart? It was a pencil. He was losing his mind over a pencil. He threw it onto the desk and it rolled toward the trash can. He watched it, waiting for it to fall in. It didn’t. It just sat there on the edge.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, snatching it back and shoving it into his pencil case. He was an idiot.

─────────────

The banana milk was just the beginning. It was like Ivan had opened a door in his own head and decided to live in the weird room on the other side.

Till was hunched over his sketchbook in the library, trying to capture the sharp line of a model’s jaw from his reference photo. He flipped a page and a small, folded square of notebook paper fell out. It landed right on his drawing.

“What the…”

He picked it up. The folding was terrible, all uneven and crumpled, like someone with no patience had forced it into a square. He unfolded it. 

  𝓨𝓸𝓾  𝓗𝓪𝓿𝓮  𝓐  𝓝𝓲𝓬𝓮  𝓥𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮  𝓦𝓱𝓮𝓷  𝓨𝓸𝓾  𝓐𝓻𝓮𝓷'𝓽  𝓨𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰  ᥫ᭡

Was that supposed to be a heart or a dick? An ass? Nah, definitely a tiny, flaccid dick. That made more sense. Who the hell even writes a note like this? And what did that even mean? His voice was fine when he wasn't yelling? What kind of backhanded compliment was that?

No signature. No context. He just knows this is Ivan’s doing. That blue ink and pretentious handwriting says it all. 

Till’s first instinct was to crumple it up and throw it at the wall. His second was to look around the silent library, half-expecting to see Ivan lurking behind a bookshelf. The place was empty. How long had that been in there? When did he even get to his stuff? 

He read it again. When you aren’t yelling. He was always yelling at Ivan. That was their default setting. So this note was basically saying, ‘I like it when you’re not being yourself with me.’ What kind of sense did that make? Was this more practice? 

What was Mizi supposed to do with this kind of note? ‘Hey Mizi, you have a nice voice when you’re not talking?’ It was useless.

"Till! Hey!"

He jerked, his pencil skidding across the page. Mizi slid into the chair opposite him, a small smile on her face. She was holding a similar note between her fingers. "Look what I just found tucked into my psych textbook.” 

  𝓣𝓪𝓴𝓮  𝓐  𝓑𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴,  𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓿𝓮  𝓑𝓮𝓮𝓷  𝓢𝓽𝓾𝓭𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰  𝓣𝓸𝓸  𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓭. 

It didn’t have that dumb doodle of a dick. There was also a ten-dollar gift card for a bubble tea place paperclipped to it. 

"Isn’t it really sweet of him? He's trying so hard to be convincing, it's kind of cute."

"Yeah," Till muttered. "Cute."

"He's a good friend," she smiled, tucking the card safely into her bag. "Going above and beyond like this."

Till just grunted in response. A good friend. Going above and beyond. One of them got a considerate note and a free drink. The other got a comment that basically told him he was better off mute.

Mizi headed off, presumably to cash in her gift card, leaving Till alone with the ruined sketch. Why give him anything at all? Why even bother?

─────────────

The door to his dorm swung open without a knock. He should really consider buying chains instead. Ivan stood there, already wearing his jacket. “We’re going out.”

Till didn’t look up from his game. “The hell we are.”

“I decided.”

“You decided wrong. I’m busy.” His character on screen took a hit.

Ivan walked over behind him. “You’re losing.”

“I’m not losing, I’m strategizing.” Another hit. Health bar flashing red.

“Your guy’s flat on his back. That’s a losing strategy.” Before Till could retort, Ivan leaned over and yanked the power cord from the wall. The screen died with a pathetic little whine.

Till launched himself out of the chair. “What do you want?”

“I need to practice, Mizi gets weird in crowds. I have to look like I know how to have fun in public. You’re coming.”

“Go bother Luka. He gets a boner from other people’s suffering, he’d love it.”

“Luka’s busy. You’re not.” Ivan snatched Till’s beat-up leather jacket from the floor and threw it at him. It smacked him in the chest. “I’ll buy you a hot dog or something.”

“You’ll buy me a shitty hot dog,” Till repeated, dead-voiced. 

“Think of it as a field trip. A practice run.”

“Don’t call it a practice run. It sounds like we’re training a dog.” Till shoved his arms into the jacket sleeves. Arguing was just a waste of breath. Ivan had already turned and was heading out the door, mission apparently accomplished.

“You’ll really buy me food?” Till asked.

“And tokens. It’s a date. A practice date.”

“I said don’t call it that. It’s weird.”

Twenty minutes later, they were inside the arcade. Ivan shoved a cup of tokens into his hand. "So," Ivan said, looking around. "What's the first move?"

"You see a game, you play it." Till walked to a racing game and sat down.

Ivan stood right next to him. "Which one gives the most tickets for the least tokens?"

"Just play a game." Till jammed a token in. "Why aren't you playing?" he asked, grabbing the wheel.

"I'm watching. To see how it's done."

"You're hovering. It's annoying. Play or get lost." Till hit the gas. He could feel Ivan's eyes on him and immediately swerved into a wall.

"You turned too early," Ivan said.

"Go away."

After Till crashed a few more times, Ivan got bored. He pulled Till over to a zombie survival game. Ivan’s eyes locked on the screen. He started muttering about barricade spots and ammo drops, planning while Till just shot at everything that moved.

"Would you just shoot something!" Till yelled, his character taking a hit.

"Hold on," Ivan said, completely calm. Then he started playing. And he was a goddamn machine. Every shot counted, every move was perfect. They ended with a record high score.

"Show-off," Till muttered, watching the victory screen flash.

Ivan just shrugged. They moved to the claw machine. Ivan studied it for a long moment, his head tilted. "The claw's weak. It drops if you go for the big ones."

Till stalked over to see the ugly, poorly stuffed animals. “This is a game that’s designed to make you lose. You can’t perfect this one. It’s all luck.”

Ivan put in a token anyway. He moved the claw with the joystick, and dropped it. It landed perfectly on a bright orange fox and carried it to the chute. 

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Still doubting my skills?” He retrieved the fox. It was even uglier up close. One of its ears was longer than the other. He looked at it, then at Till. He held it out. “Here.”

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

“It’s for you. A prize.”

“I don’t want your ugly prize.”

Till took the ugly fox. Its lopsided eyes stared back at him. He looked from the stupid thing to Ivan, who had just calculated his way through every game in this damn place. The fuck was this? A guy who could min-max a zombie apocalypse game couldn't figure out how to hold Mizi's hand properly? 

Till could smell the bullshit from here.

"You're good at this stuff," Till said, shaking the fox at him. "The games. The planning. So why are you so shit at the fake dating thing? I can tell something's off. You acting dumb on purpose or what?"

Ivan ran a hand through his hair. "Or what."

Till held the fox by one leg. "For a guy who's supposedly super popular, you're really bad at this. Pretending."

Ivan's eyes snapped back to him. "Only with you." He shrugged, his hands going into his pockets. "I'm usually... good at acting. This is different."

“How is it different?”

“Acting is saying lines. This is… trying to mean it. It’s harder.” That made Till stop.

Ivan had just said something that sounded like it came from his actual brain. He was looking at a kid having a meltdown because his token got stuck, not at Till.

"Mean what?" Till asked. His voice sounded weird.

"It means I suck at faking it for people I do give a shit about." He kicked at a crumpled ticket. "It's easy to be charming for strangers. It's harder to be real for someone you..." He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Forget it. Let's go. I'm done here."

Someone you? Why didn’t he finish that line. It was frustrating. Was he talking about Mizi? Or Till himself? He had to be talking about Mizi. All that awkwardness, that was because he actually cared about her? It made a twisted kind of sense. But then why the hell was Ivan looking right at him when he said it? It was making him delusional.

"Hey, you planning on living here?" Ivan waved at him from the door.

"No, wait up," Till murmured, shoving the fox under his arm and following him out.

The night air was cold. He looked at Ivan walking ahead, shoulders hunched against the chill, and felt the confusing pinch in his chest. 

"Ivan," he called out.

Ivan slowed down. "What?"

"You want something to eat?"

That made Ivan stop completely. He turned around, his face blank with surprise. "You're asking me?"

"Yeah. So what?"

"You never ask. You just complain when I take your stuff."

"Well, I'm asking now. Don't make a big deal out of it." Till pointed a thumb toward the convenience store down the block. "I'm getting shitty cup noodles. You in or not?"

Ivan stared at him for a second too long. "Yeah. I'm in."

They got the noodles. Till paid, slapping the money on the counter. They ate them leaning against the brick wall outside the store, the steam from the cups warming their faces. It was too salty and the noodles were rubbery. It was perfect.

"You're being weird," Ivan said between slurps.

"I'm not being weird. You're the one who's always weird."

"I'm not the one who suddenly decided to be nice."

"I'm not nice. I was hungry and you were there." Till scowled into his cup. "Shut up and eat."

Ivan finished first, crushing the empty cup in his hand. "Still hungry."

"Of course you are." Till finished his own last mouthful. "Go buy yourself an ice cream or something. My wallet's done."

Ivan disappeared back into the store and came out a minute later with two ice cream bars. He tossed one to Till. It was the banana flavor he liked.

Till fumbled with the wrapper. "Thanks," he grunted, feeling his ears get warm. It was a stupid reaction. It was just ice cream.

Ivan was already unwrapping his own, his eyes on Till. "Your face is all red."

"It's not. It's cold."

"Uh huh." Ivan took a bite, then, without warning, reached over and pressed the cold side of his own ice cream bar against Till's forehead.

Till jolted back. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Cooling you down." Ivan said, his face completely serious. "You looked like you were overheating."

"You're a dead man." Till swiped at him with his own ice cream, but Ivan dodged, a real grin finally cracking through his usual blank look.

They stood there for a second, halfway to a fight, holding their melting ice cream. Ivan was still smiling that stupid, rare smile. Till could feel the cold, sticky spot on his forehead. 

"Your ice cream is dripping on your shoe," Ivan pointed out.

"Shit." Till looked down. It was. He took a big bite to stop the mess, the cold making his teeth ache. When he looked up, Ivan was just watching him, the smile softened into something quieter.

"What?" Till asked around the mouthful.

"Nothing." Ivan took another bite of his own. "Just never seen someone blush over noodles before."

"I wasn't blushing," Till snapped, knowing full well he was. He focused hard on eating his ice cream. The banana flavor was exactly right. Ivan never got it wrong. Fuck him.

─────────────

Unmuting Mizi’s account felt like poking a sore tooth, but Till did it anyway. The first thing that popped up was a new post from five minutes ago.

mizimizu my personal transport 😎 no feet required #bestboyfriend

The photo was the piggyback ride. Ivan looked like he was carrying a bag of groceries, not a person. Mizi was grinning like an idiot.

He scrolled down. The comments were already a mess.

hoopsfan23 captain carrying the team as usual

lukalikesyou the way she’s holding on, so possessive ☺️

hyun.all.in love it. nice post 😍👍

sweetdream be careful.

anonymous_01 how much is he paying you to do this mizi? everyone knows he’s not into girls.

art_not_sports W

Till closed the app. His head felt hot. Why did that anonymous prick keep showing up? He didn't even know why he was mad. He got up and left his dorm, his feet taking him toward the main quad without his brain's permission. He wasn't going to see them. He was just going for a walk.

And there they were. Like a live-action version of the stupid post. Ivan was hauling Mizi across the grass, her pink hair bouncing.

Till sat on a bench nearby, not even pretending to sketch. He just watched. The whole thing looked too easy. That was the annoying part.

Then Ivan spotted him. His eyes, which had been squinting in fake exasperation at Mizi, locked onto Till’s. He didn't look surprised. He nudged Mizi and said something, tilting his head in Till’s direction.

Mizi twisted around, her face breaking into a wide grin. She waved both hands over Ivan’s shoulder. “Till! Till! Hey!”

Caught, Till raised a hand in a stiff, awkward half-wave. What the hell was he supposed to do? He dropped his hand and stared straight ahead, hoping if he didn't move they would just disappear. He heard Mizi’s laugh and Ivan’s low murmur after a while as they continued on their way.

He risked another glance. They were back to their dumb argument. Was this still part of the play? Ivan was definitely getting better at acting comfortable with her. 

He remembered the feel of the cold ice cream bar pressed against his forehead, Ivan’s rare, real grin. That had been dumb. Now here he was, being a different kind of dumb with someone else.

Should Sua be worried? They looked too convincing. But this had nothing to do with Sua. Why would he give a shit if Sua should be worried? If he was annoyed for her sake, that would mean he believed there was something real to be worried about. 

He was just annoyed. The whole thing just left a bad taste in his mouth. 

"Ivan! Captain!"

Till’s head snapped up. Derek was striding across the lawn, his focus entirely on the two of them. Till’s was on his feet before he even decided to move.

Ivan’s eyes immediately found his. He gave a quick shake of his head. Like he was telling Till not to get involved. Alright. Till sat back down. Let the bastard handle his own fake-dating mess.

"Cap." Derek planted himself right in front of them, finally flicking a dismissive glance at Mizi. "Got a sec? Seems like your girlfriend here has a hard time remembering who she's supposed to be with."

Ivan didn't even look at him. "What's it to you?"

"It looks bad, is what. For you." Derek’s voice was gaining a nasal, needling quality. "People are talking. They see things. They see her all over Sua one minute, and then hanging off you the next. It's confusing, man. Doesn't reflect well on the team."

"Don't worry about how I look," Ivan finally glanced over. He adjusted his grip on Mizi’s legs. "We're trying to get to class. You got a point, or are you just here to make us uncomfortable?"

"My point is she's using you!" Derek jabbed a finger toward Mizi, his composure cracking. "Open your eyes! She's a—"

"Finish that sentence," Ivan cut him off, his voice dropping into the low, steady tone he used during drills. "Go on. Say what you were gonna say about my girlfriend."

Derek’s bravado flickered. He glanced around, seeming to realize how many people were now watching. His voice dropped into a spiteful sneer. "That it? You just don't care she's probably cheating? Guess it's easier than finding a real girl, huh?"

Ivan had one eyebrow raised. "You wanna file a complaint? Take it to the coach. Tell him you're upset I'm carrying my girlfriend to class. See what he says."

Derek’s mouth opened, then closed. Pushing a rumor was one thing; officially questioning his team captain was a sure way to get benched. "I'm just saying... it looks bad. For the team. Our captain wrapped up in this…" He trailed off, out of steam. "Whatever, man. This isn’t over."

He tried to salvage some pride by shoving his shoulder hard into Ivan's as he passed. Ivan barely rocked back on his heels.

The second he was gone, Mizi let out a breath. “What a dick. You sure he’s not obsessed with you, Ivan? He was looking at you the whole time. Barely even glanced at me.”

Ivan shrugged. “Doesn’t make sense. It was the whole thing with you and Sua that set him off. He’s just fixating on the easiest target.”

Instead of walking away, Till found himself walking toward them. He stopped a few feet off, his hands still shoved in his pockets. “You okay?” he asked, the question aimed at Mizi.

“I’m fine. Just pissed off,” she said, brushing off her jeans.

Then to Ivan. “You?”

Ivan’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “You worried about me?”

“Yeah.” Because he was. “Some people might’ve heard. You two need to be more careful.” He wasn’t sure why he was giving them advice. It just seemed obvious.

Mizi pouted. “More careful how?”

“Maybe don’t make out with Sua in public for a while,” Till said flatly.

“Ugh. Fine. This is for Sua.”

Ivan slung an arm around Mizi’s shoulders, a practiced, casual move. He waved a dismissive hand at the few students still watching from a distance, a clear nothing to see here gesture. He was still selling it. Till had to give him credit for the commitment.

Mizi brightened, clapping her hands. “Okay! I’m buying lunch. My treat. For the trouble.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Till grumbled.

“Yeah, it’s all good.” Ivan nodded.

“I know. But I want to.” She grinned. “I’ll get my own thing. You two can share the couple meal. It’s cheaper.”

Till stared at her. “Why do we have to share the couple meal? You’re the one in the couple.”

“Think of it this way,” Mizi said, her grin widening. “It’ll be me and my boyfriend, Ivan, and his boyfriend, Till.”

“I’m not his goddamn boyfriend,” Till snarled. He was no one’s dumb boyfriend, least of all Ivan’s.

Ivan pressed a hand to his chest, his face falling into an exaggerated look of hurt. “You hear that, Mizi? He said we’re not special.”

“He’s so cruel,” Mizi agreed, shaking her head. “After all these years? What are we to you, Till?”

“I’m not cruel, I’m sane. This whole thing is insane.”

“The couple meal comes with extra fries,” Ivan added. The promise of more food was the one thing that could almost, almost make Till consider doing something stupid. The arcade tokens, the banana milk... it was all part of some weird, multi-step campaign. And the asshole was taking full advantage of it. He’d always known Till was a cheap date.

“I don’t care if it comes with a gold brick. I’m not sharing a plate called ‘Lovers’ Lunch’ with you.”

“Then I’ll just have to eat all the extra fries myself,” Ivan said with a shrug. “Your loss.”

“Fine. Whatever. Just get the damn food.”

“Excellent.” Mizi had that look of pure satisfaction on her face as she started walking. “My plan to corrupt you two with shared carbs is working perfectly.”

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and followed. He couldn't wait for the two-week duration of that stupid yellow card to end.

Chapter Text

Ivan’s legs were apparently a better seat than the actual couch.

Till watched, unblinking, as Mizi shifted from her perch on the armrest to settle directly into Ivan’s lap. Ivan didn’t even flinch, he just adjusted his phone in his hand, his other arm coming up to rest loosely around Mizi’s waist to anchor her. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like they did this every day.

“Comfy?” Ivan asked, not looking up from his screen.

“Your legs are softer than the cushion,” Mizi stretched from where she had sat on him.

They were at Hyuna’s apartment, the whole group was in her living room. Hyuna was on her armchair, Luka was draped over the other end of the couch like a discarded blanket, and Sua sat on the floor, leaning against Mizi’s legs. Till had taken the single wooden chair by the window, putting as much furniture between himself and the whole display.

Mizi held up a small, fancy box. “Look what I brought! Macarons from that place downtown.” She opened the lid to reveal perfectly round, brightly colored cookies.

“Aren’t you on that hellish cheer diet?” Hyuna asked.

“Yes, and it’s torture. Which is why I can’t eat them.” Mizi sighed, the picture of tragic sacrifice. Then she picked up a pale green macaron and held it directly to Ivan’s mouth. “Open up, honey! You need your energy for your game tomorrow!”

Ivan, still focused on his phone, obediently opened his mouth and let her pop the entire thing inside. He chewed, swallowed. “Thanks, babe.”

Luka, who had been watching them with a lazy, half-lidded stare, finally spoke. “You know, it’s weird. It’s like watching your gay emo cousin and his best friend successfully pull off a lavender marriage. It shouldn’t be this convincing.”

“I don’t know, I’m kind of loving it,” Hyuna said, a smirk playing on her lips. “My ‘two-week’ bet is looking solid. They’re committed to the bit.”

Sua’s glare was fixed on the back of Ivan’s head. “I regret my ‘three days’ bet. I should have bet on myself murdering him by day five.”

“You’d have to get in line,” Till muttered.

Mizi completely ignored them, shoving her phone toward Till. “Till, take a picture for my post! You never comment, so you’re the only one I trust to get a good, non-judgmental angle.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“It means Luka would take a picture of my double chin and Hyuna would filter us beyond recognition. Just take the picture.”

Grumbling, Till pushed himself out of his chair and took the phone. He pointed it at the two of them. Ivan, now looking at the camera, gave a small, close-lipped smile, his snaggle tooth peaking. Mizi beamed, tilting her head against his shoulder. They looked natural now. If he wasn’t already pissed off the days before, then this is definitely taking the cake. 

“Just take it,” Ivan said, his voice flat.

“I am, don’t rush me.” Till snapped a few quick photos. The screen lit up with the preview. It was a good picture, damn it. They looked like a real couple. He thrust the phone back at Mizi. “Here.”

Mizi's fingers flew across the screen. "Posting it now! Okay, everyone. Comment.”

Luka didn't look up from his phone. "Should I post a hate comment? I miss the gay Ivan and Mizi."

"Don't. Please be nice," Mizi said.

Hyuna was already typing. "I'm actually going to be genuine for once. You two look... weirdly good. It's almost disgusting." She showed her screen to Sua. “Look, cute.”

Sua scowled at the phone. "I want to block and report Ivan."

Ivan finally glanced up. "It's not even my account, Sua."

"Doesn't matter. I still want to."

Till pulled out his phone with a sigh. He pulled up the post. He can already feel the people lurking in the comments.

mizimizu My favorite place to be 🥰

"Add some heart emojis!" Mizi said, nudging Sua.

Sua didn't look up from her phone, her expression flat. "No."

"Come on, lighten up! You know I'll always come home to you." Mizi aimed a pout at her. 

Sua's fingers finally moved. 

sweetdream 💀💀

"Close enough," Mizi sighed.

Till watched over her shoulder as the other comments came in.

ivan.b with me?

hyun.all.in okay this is actually giving. have all the hearts my keyboard has 🩷💛💙🩶💔❤️💚💜🤍❤️‍🔥💕💗🧡🩵🖤🤎❤️‍🩹💞💖💝💘

lukalikesyou I rate this an 86/100 it lacked that awkward tension i liked 

He typed his usual bare minimum. He hit post.

till.the.end looks fine.

Luka glanced from his screen to Till. "You're even more obvious than Sua. You look like you're trying to pass a kidney stone typing two words."

Ivan snorted without looking up from his phone. "He always looks like that."

"Hey!"

"See?" Ivan said.

"It's a picture. What do you want me to say, nice lap sitting?"

Mizi winced. "Sorry, Till. I know this is kinda putting you in a weird spot."

Till stared at her. What was she even apologizing for? "For what? It’s all good. No weird spots here."

She just waved a hand, her attention already caught by new notifications. "Nothing, never mind. Look, people are loving it!"

ivans_girl_77 HE'S SO WBDWHDBH??? 

hoopsfan23 captain's new warm-up routine

art_not_sports WWW MIZI

Then new ones popped up.

blondes4ivan i hate how cute they look

anonymous_01 He sleeps on some other guys dorm every night. Why do you think he never goes back to his own room? Ask him.

“What the… him again.” That was new. How did they even come up with that? Mistaking Till for a roommate he can forgive. This guy knew things. He knew Ivan practically lived in Till's dorm, that his own room was just mostly just a storage locker at this point. This was some next-level stalker shit. Someone was watching Ivan close enough to know his fucking sleeping arrangements. Did that mean they were watching his door, too? Did some creep know when he came and went?

"Hey," Till called out.

Ivan looked up. "What?"

"That anonymous_01 creep. He's back." Till pointed at Mizi's phone. "He knows you sleep in my dorm. Specifically."

Mizi read the comment too, her smile completely gone. "That's... specific alright."

"And you're really just gonna sit there?" Till demanded, his eyes locked on Ivan. It’s not the usual random homophobic comment about Ivan anymore. This was some freak knowing where they both were at night.

Ivan didn't even flinch. "What's the alternative? I told you already, blocking won’t do anything. If I block him, he makes a new account and it starts over. This way, I know which account to ignore."

"Ignore? He knows where you sleep!" Till's voice rose. Why the hell was he brushing it off? "This isn't some kid in the comment section. This is a guy who's probably watching our building. You."

"Or he's just guessing," Ivan said, his tone flat. "He saw me leave your place one morning and made an assumption. You're giving him exactly what he wants."

"I'm giving him—" Till cut himself off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He couldn't even finish the sentence. How was being pissed about a stalker 'giving him what he wants'?

The rest of the group was staring at Mizi's phone now, reading over said comment.

"Okay, that's legit creepy," Hyuna’s usual smirk wasn’t there. "That's not normal hater stuff."

"Who even notices that?" Mizi asked, her voice small. "I didn't even think about it until he said it."

Luka leaned forward, his analytical side taking over. "It has to be someone on your team. Who else would know his habits that well? Maybe that freshman, Sein. He's always following Ivan around like a lost puppy."

Sua shook her head. "No. Sein has a pretty obvious crush on him, he's not subtle. He'd just fight it out with Till. This is sneakier. It's probably someone from your bio class, Ivan. Someone who's always in the background. That Acorn guy, I don’t like him. Maybe it’s him."

“What did the poor guy ever do to you?” Till sighed.

"Or it's some random guy from the library who has a weird fixation," Hyuna suggested. "You get a lot of looks. It could be anyone."

Till listened to them toss out names—a guy from the gym, a rival player, some quiet kid from the student union—and every guess was wrong. They were all missing it. It was someone who wasn't just obsessed with Ivan, but ticked off at him. Someone who felt entitled to his attention and was furious he wasn't getting it. Someone who saw Till as the reason why.

Ivan just sat there, letting them talk. He was going to just take it. He was going to let some psycho watch him and write down his routines and do nothing, because in his messed-up head, that was the 'smart' move. It wasn't smart. 

"Whatever," Till snapped, dropping back into his chair. "Don't blame me if you wake up to some freak in your barely-used dorm sniffing your shit."

Ivan's face of indifference finally cracked. "You worried about my boxers being sniffed at?"

"Fuck off. I'm worried about having to play witness when they find your body in a ditch somewhere."

"Right." Ivan was enjoying this. The guy didn't give a shit about some stalker, but he gave a shit that Till was getting pissed about it. 

"Aw, he cares," Luka drawled, not even looking up from his phone. “Cute. I should post this on my notes.”

"I don't care! I don’t! I just don't want the hassle!"

"Sure you don't," Hyuna said, a small smirk returning before turning back to the dark haired man with a more cautious look. "But he's got a point, Ivan. That's some next-level creep behavior. Maybe don't just ignore it."

"Ivan, if you die, can I have your PS5?" Luka asked. "The one with your Final Fantasy save. I need to be ready when part 3 comes out."

"You just want to see Sephiroth. You freak.” Ivan said.

"Fuck no," Luka shot back, though the corner of his mouth twitched. "I have my own reasons."

"Then, fuck no to you, too. I’m not dying, calm down. It’s not a death threat." Ivan was now looking at Till with that stupid, infuriating look. He wasn't taking it seriously at all, but he'd clearly gotten the message. Till was paying attention. And for some reason, that seemed to be all Ivan cared about.

"Just block the guy," Till mumbled, crossing his arms and looking away. 

He wasn't going to argue about it anymore. But if he saw some weirdo lurking near his door, he wasn't above throwing a punch first and asking questions later.

─────────────

Till scowled at the back of his head. Ivan was planted at Till’s own desk, in Till’s own chair, using Till’s own high-speed internet to stream some pre-med lecture, all while his shit was scattered over half the floor. 

His laptop screen flashed with an incoming video call. The contact name “MOM” filled the screen. He sighed and slammed the lid fully open to accept it.

His mom’s face, framed by the same grey hair he had, filled the screen. “Till! You’re alive. I was starting to think you’d finally joined a cult.”

“Hey, Mom.”

“Is that Io?” Ivan’s voice came from the desk. He didn’t turn around, but he paused his video.

“No, it’s the Pope,” Till shot back.

Ivan’s chair swiveled smoothly. He leaned into the camera’s view, a way too friendly smile already in place. “Hello, Ms. Io.”

Io’s eyes lit up. “Ivan! Perfect. I was hoping you’d be there. Tell me it’s not true! You and Mizi?”

Ivan’s polite mask didn’t slip. “Yes, Ms. Io. It’s true.”

Io let out a long, dramatic sigh, slumping her shoulders. “Damn. I had money on you finally making a move on my son by graduation.”

The can of soda Till had just picked up slipped from his hand, hitting the edge of his bed and spraying brown fizz all over his sheets and the floor. He sputtered, choking on nothing. Ivan didn’t move. He just sat there, his smile stuck on his face.

“MOM, WHAT THE FUCK?” Till finally managed to yell, soda dripping from his chin onto his shirt. He wiped his face with his sleeve, his entire body burning up.

On the screen, Io didn’t even blink. “What? It’s obvious. He’s literally always there. I’m surprised he’s not in the frame when I call you from the bathroom.”

“He’s using my desk! That’s the only reason!”

Ivan, who had been still, finally relaxed back into his chair. A much easier smile touched his lips. He was way too damn comfortable with this. “His desk is better, Ms. Io. You raised a son with a great table.”

“Don’t you try to sweet talk me,” Io said, but she was smiling. “Aren’t you supposed to be dating that lovely Mizi girl? Shouldn’t you be… I don’t know, on a date? Not camped out in my son’s room on a Tuesday night?”

Till pointed an accusing finger at the screen. “Yes! Thank you! See? Even she gets it! It’s weird!”

Ivan just shrugged, completely unbothered. “We’re taking it slow.”

The way he said it, so calm and vague, made Till’s eye twitch. Was he even talking about Mizi still? 

Io laughed, a short, sharp sound. “I’ll bet you are. Well, don’t let me interrupt your night of… whatever this is. I’ve got a shift. Ivan, try to actually take your girlfriend out somewhere. Till, stop having a coronary.”

“I’m not—”

“Love you two, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she said, and the screen went black.

Till could hear the soda soaking into his comforter. He stared at the blank screen, his ears ringing. His face felt hot. Did she really just say all that? Out loud? To both of them?

He risked a glance at Ivan. The guy was still frozen in his chair, staring at the space where Io’s face had been. His knuckles were gripping the armrests.

“Your mom,” his voice strained. He cleared his throat. “She’s very… perceptive.”

“SHUT UP,” Till barked, launching himself off the bed. He grabbed a handful of napkins from his desk and started dabbing uselessly at the soda stain, just to have something to do with his hands. “She’s not perceptive, she’s insane. She’s been saying crazy shit since we were kids.”

“She has a betting pool,” Ivan stated, still not moving.

“She does not have a betting pool!”

“She said she ‘had money on it.’ That’s a bet, Till.”

“It’s not a bet! It’s… it’s my mom being a weirdo!” He threw the sodden napkins at his trash can and missed. He could feel Ivan watching him. He wouldn’t just drop it. He never dropped anything. “What the hell does that even mean, ‘making a move’? What move? There’s no move to make.”

Ivan finally swiveled his chair back to face Till fully. The frozen look was gone, replaced by something more calculating. “I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the one she was talking about.”

“She was talking about you! You’re the one who’s always… I don’t know, here?” Till gestured around the room, at Ivan’s backpack by the door, his jacket on the bedpost, his stupid pre-med textbook on the desk. “She sees you lurking in the background of every call! Of course she‘s going to get the wrong idea!”

“The wrong idea,” Ivan repeated, his tone flat.

“Yes! The wrong, stupid, insane idea!” He hates this conversation. It was making his heart do that stupid thing against his ribs. Against his will. This was stupid. This was so stupid. Why was he still talking? He should just shut up. “Just forget she said anything. She was just messing with us.”

Ivan just watched Till pace for another moment before slowly turning back to his lecture. The video unpaused. The sound of Ivan’s professor with the too boring voice filled the room again. It was awkward. Awkward as hell. And Till was stuck in it with Ivan, who was very deliberately not looking at him, and all he could think was, what the fuck was his mom playing at?

Ivan paused his lecture again. The sudden quiet was louder than the talking had been. “So,” he started. “The arcade was a bust.”

“What?”

“With Mizi. I took her yesterday.” Ivan gestured with his chin toward the ugly orange fox still sitting on Till’s shelf. “She said the games were a scam and the prizes were trash, so I ended up not getting her any”

He hated that fox. It was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen. But it was his ugly thing. “So? She has taste. It’s hideous.”

“I know,” Ivan said, swiveling his chair back and forth slowly. “So I need a new idea. A better date spot. Somewhere less… loud? And less ugly.”

“Why are you asking me? I’m not her pretend boyfriend.” 

“You have opinions. Loud ones. Where would you want to go?”

The audacity of this guy was astronomical. His mom had just implied Ivan wanted to climb him like a tree, and now he was being grilled for date ideas like nothing happened. Was he trying to give him a stroke?

“I don’t know. A movie. You don’t have to talk,” Till grumbled, going back to his futile cleaning.

“Too dark. We won’t be seen. Public, but not too public. Somewhere we can talk, but the talking doesn’t have to be good.”

“Jesus Christ, just go to the observatory hill. Everyone goes there to make out. It’s quiet, it’s public-but-private, and you can just stare at the stupid stars if you run out of things to say.” The suggestion was out of his mouth before he could stop it. It was a decent spot. It was, in fact, a spot he’d considered once, a lifetime ago, for someone definitely not Ivan. Shit.

Ivan went still, stopping his chair’s slow pivot. He looked at Till, his head tilted. “The observatory hill.”

“Forget I said it.”

“No. That’s… not bad. What would you do there?”

“I wouldn’t be there! I’d be here, enjoying the silence while you’re gone!”

“Hypothetically.” Ivan pressed, his dark eyes fixed on Till. “If someone took you to the observatory hill. What would you want to happen?”

Him and his damn hypotheticals. Till’s brain was wracking itself inside out. If someone took you. He couldn’t help but imagine sitting in a car on that hill, the city lights spread out below, but the person in the driver’s seat had dark hair and didn’t know how to stop asking stupid, direct questions. 

No. God, just no. Why the fuck is he imagining going there with Ivan? His face felt hot again. This was a bait. This was all a giant, stupid shiny too-colorful fish tackle of a bait, and he was just walking right into it like some dumb sunfish.

“I’d want them to shut the hell up and look at the stars,” Till snapped, throwing the wet napkins down in defeat. “That’s the whole point. You just… sit there.”

Ivan considered this, a faint line appearing between his brows. “Just sit there.”

“Yes! God! Are we done? Don’t you have a real room to go be weird in?”

Ivan stood up, and Till instinctively took a half-step back. Ivan didn’t seem to notice. He started gathering his things, shoving his textbook into his backpack with a quiet efficiency. 

He slung his bag over one shoulder and walked to the door. He paused, his hand on the knob, and looked back at Till. “I’m going to the library.”

“Good. Great.”

Ivan’s gaze swept the room, landing on the empty banana milk carton in the trash. He didn’t say anything else. He just opened the door and left, pulling it shut behind him with a soft click.

Till let out a breath. Finally. Silence. Space to think without those black eyes watching his every twitch.

He stared at the door for a full minute, half-expecting it to open again. It didn’t. He turned to survey the damage—the sticky bed, the napkins on the floor. His eyes caught on his nightstand.

A fresh, cold carton of banana milk sat there. It hadn’t been there before Ivan left.

He walked over and picked it up. Still cold, again. Taped to the side was a torn piece of notebook paper. 

𝓦𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓼𝓵𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓸𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽⋆. 𐙚 ̊

So now he decides to break out of his habit? Till crushed the note in his fist. The bastard. He gave him an out. He gave him space to unravel, to pace, to scream into his pillow about perceptive mothers and stupid, persistent jocks who brought him drinks and wrote him notes. He was giving him privacy to have the mental breakdown he so clearly needed.

And he was doing it by leaving another goddamn banana milk.

Till slammed the fresh carton down on the nightstand. He wouldn’t drink it. He was going to throw it right in the trash.

Later. Not now.

First, he had to figure out how the hell he was going to get through the night alone in his room with nothing but his own thoughts for company and no Ivan to scream at. 

─────────────

It was all just still sitting there on his desk, staring at him.

Till slumped in his chair, his sketchbook forgotten in his lap. His room was finally, blessedly quiet. No Ivan. No Mizi. No group chat pings. 

His brain, free from of Ivan’s presence, started connecting dots he’d been actively ignoring. The empty banana milk carton. The stupid, crumpled note about his voice. The ugly orange fox from the arcade.

First, the banana milk. Ivan had asked him, point-blank, what his favorite drink was. Not Mizi’s. His.

The notes. He thought about the one Mizi had shown off, the polite, perfectly written one with the bubble tea coupon tucked inside. Then he looked at the one on his desk. No coupon. Just a backhanded compliment, a compliment nonetheless. 

The arcade. Ivan had dragged him there, saying he needed to ‘practice having fun.’ He’d won that hideous fox and given it directly to him.

A frustrated noise escaped him. He snatched the fresh banana milk Ivan had left, ripped the straw off the side, and stabbed it through the foil opening. He drank half of it in one angry gulp. It was just cold milk. It shouldn’t feel like anything else. “Damn him.”

A knock at the door made him jump. It wasn't Ivan's knock—Ivan doesn't know how knocking works. Who the hell was at his door this late? The anonymous commenter? The one about Ivan sleeping here. Was it just some creep online, or were they outside his room right now?

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

"Who is it?" he called out, his voice tighter than he intended.

"Sua."

The relief was so instantaneous he can hear his own sigh. "It's open."

"Hey," she said, her voice flat.

"What do you want?"

"Sulking. Your room seemed like a good place for it." She actually walked in, her eyes scanning the space. She stopped, looking at the carton in his hand. "Is that banana milk?"

"Yeah."

She stared at it for a second too long. "Can I have one?"

Till blinked. "No. It's the last one. Get your own."

"Where'd you even get it? The only vending machine by the CICS building’s been broken for a week."

"I don't know, Sua. It just appeared. Maybe the banana milk fairy left it."

She gave him a long, unimpressed look. "The banana milk fairy."

"Fuck off. It's from Ivan, okay? Happy?" He took a loud, defiant slurp from the straw.

Sua’s expression didn't seem to change. She wandered over to his shelf, poking the ugly orange fox. "This is also new."

"Gift from your girlfriend's boyfriend," Till muttered.

She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. "He has terrible taste."

"You're telling me."

She put the fox down and her gaze drifted, landing on the thick textbook on the floor. "‘Principles of Human Anatomy.’" She looked from the book to him. "You switching to pre-med?"

Till frowned. "What? No. That's..." He trailed off. He didn't own that book. He looked at the cover. It was definitely Ivan's. He’d been so sure Ivan took all his stuff when he left. He missed one.

Sua’s eyes did a slow sweep of the room, then stopped. "Is that his jacket?"

Till followed her gaze to the post of his bed. Draped over it was the red jacket. Ivan's red jacket. The one he was practically sewn into. Till hadn't even registered it was still hanging there. 

"You know," Sua said, her tone completely deadpan. "For a guy you can't stand, you have a lot of him here. His drinks. His prizes. His textbooks." She nodded at the bedpost. "His favorite jacket."

"He just forgets his shit everywhere," Till snapped, tearing his eyes away from the red fabric. "It's a pest problem. I can't help it if he's a pest that sheds."

"Pest." She picked up a pen from his desk, one of the cheap ones with the university library's logo. "His pens, too?"

"Get to the point, Sua. Why are you really here?"

She put the pen down. "Mizi's busy. With Ivan."

"So? They're fake dating. It's their job to be busy."

"They're at the library. 'Studying.'" She made air quotes. "He brought her another note. And bubble tea."

"Great. Good for them," Till took another swig of the banana milk. He could care less about bubble tea. Too sweet for his liking.

"He writes her these... very normal things. 'Take a break.' 'Good luck on your exam.' It's weird."

"It's called acting. He's playing a part. He's got a script to make it all believable."

Sua's gaze wasn't buying it. "Right. A script. So which one is more convincing? The guy who writes polite, generic notes to his fake girlfriend? Or the guy who..." She gestured at the banana milk carton in his hand. "...memorizes your specific interests and gives you a note that's just a weird fact about you?"

"The second one is just him being him."

"Is that what it is?" Sua asked. "He just happens to also know your mom's work schedule by heart? Spends his summer break on your couch? He probably sees her more than his own parents."

Till shifted in his chair. "That's just... he hates his house. You know that. He's always just been there."

"He's always just been there," her tone was flat. She was definitely making a dig at him. "And now he's decided to practice all his boyfriend stuff on you. The drinks, the notes... all the weird, specific things he does for you."

"It's a coincidence." It sounded weak even to him. "He's just using me as a convenient guinea pig because I'm around."

She looked at the anatomy textbook, then back at him. "You think a guy who plans his life out in fifteen-minute increments does things just because they're 'convenient'?"

"Maybe he's just a freak," Till shot back.

"He's a freak with a purpose. He doesn't do random shit."

And fuck, she was right. The asshole never did anything random. Till’s brain started throwing evidence at him like bricks. Ivan showing up with that specific shitty soda after a bad day. Ivan knowing the exact brand of disgusting noodles he bought. Ivan being able to tell his mom all about his art project because the bastard had been planted in his room watching him sketch for three fucking hours.

He’d never bothered to name it before. It was just Ivan. Annoying, persistent, ever-present Ivan.

"That sneaky son of a bitch," Till muttered, the words tasting like realization.

Sua just watched him, her head tilted. "And?"

"And what?"

"And what does that make all this?" She gestured at the carton, the note, the fox. "If he's not practicing for her, what's he doing?"

"He's... shit." The truth felt like a punch to the gut. "He's doing it for me."

"Finally," Sua nodded with a small, proud smile. "Took you long enough."

A harsh, disbelieving laugh got stuck in Till's throat. "Oh my god. I wasn't going insane. There was actually something to be insane about."

"Congrats," Sua said, her voice flat. "You're gay. Or bi. Or whatever. The point is, he's into you."

"I'm not—" Till started, then cut himself off with a frustrated wave of his hand. "That's not the point right now."

Sua raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it? The point is he's doing all this for you. So are you into him or not?"

"That's a hell of a leap," Till deflected, his face heating up. "The guy's been messing with my head for years and your first question is about my... my whatever? Maybe the point is he's a manipulative bastard."

"Sure. So, is it working?"

"I'm blaming you for this, by the way," he said, running a hand over his face, the crushed banana milk carton still in his grip. He completely ignored her question. "You just fed my delusions."

"You can't have delusions about nothing," Sua countered, her voice dry as dust. "It means you were already thinking about it."

"Your presence is manipulative." He pointed the crumpled carton at her. "Get out."

She turned and left without another word. The door clicked shut.

Till was alone. The "practice" was just the same obsessive shit Ivan had always done, now with the volume cranked to eleven.

He stared at the crushed banana milk carton in his hand. He hadn't just missed the signs.

"Holy shit," he whispered to the empty room. He’d been blind for thirteen years.

Chapter Text

Till slammed his dorm room door shut. “Okay. We have a problem.”

Luka was already lounging in his desk chair, having let himself in with the key he definitely wasn’t supposed to have. Sua perched on the windowsill like a crow, and Hyuna sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping from a thermos.

“Is the problem your floor?” Luka asked, toeing a wrinkled sweatshirt on the floor. “That’s the same shirt Ivan wore from Tuesday. It’s starting to grow on the carpet.”

“Mind your own business,” Till snapped. The mess was Ivan’s fault anyway. “The problem is that anonymous guy.” He shoved his phone toward the group. “Look at this shit.”

Hyuna leaned forward slightly. “The creep Ivan has a boner for ignoring? What about him?”

“It’s gotten worse,” Till started, but Luka’s phone chimed.

“Speak of the devil,” Luka said, looking at his screen. “Mizi just posted.”

Till quickly pulled up the post himself.

mizimizu He said he’d never do a peace sign… for anyone else 😉 #gotcha #softboy

The photo showed Ivan with a pink bow perched neatly in his dark hair, giving a deliberate, surprisingly cute peace sign to the camera. He looked like he was in on the joke, a small playful smile on his lips.

“He looks adorable,” Luka said, peering at the screen. “I almost want to adopt him. Look at that little smile. It’s disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Sua glanced over. “You’re just jealous he’s cuter than you.”

“I’m way cuter than he is,” Luka stated, fixing his blond hair with mock offense.

Hyuna squinted at him. “In certain lighting. From a distance.”

Till scrolled down past the supportive comments.

art_not_sports W

ivans_number_one_fan HE’S SO ADORABLE I CAN’T

hoopsfan23 Captain’s got a new celebration gesture? 

Then he got to the messy part.

blondes4ivan okay but why does he look like he’s actually enjoying it? kinda sus

mizis_bestie @blondes4ivan SHUT UP HE’S BEING A GOOD BOYFRIEND

anonymous_01 He likes it. Looks natural on him. I see the way he looks at other guys in the locker room. Always watching. Always staring. disgusting fag.

Till’s grip on the phone tightened. “See this? He’s talking about the team locker room now. He’s watching him there, too.”

Luka pointed at another thread. “And look, people are noticing. Others are defending Ivan, but the shit sticks.”

ivans_girl_77 @anonymous_01 YOU’RE A DISGUSTING STALKER GET A LIFE

anonymous_01 @ivans_girl_77 Ask him why he takes the long way back from practice just to walk past that art freaks rear window every night. 

blondes4ivan okay why would he do that

Till stared at that last comment. Ivan did that. He really did. Till had seen him from his window a few times, just walking past, looking up. He never mentioned it. Why would he? It would fuel his already burning delusions. But this guy had seen it, too.

“He’s not just talking shit,” Till said, his voice low. “He’s following him. He knows his routines. And Ivan’s ‘ignore it’ plan is complete shit. We’re figuring out who it is.”

“It’s Acorn,” Sua stated.

Till’s eye twitched. “Why the fuck do you keep saying Acorn?”

“That squirrel that lives outside the science building. He’s always watching. He’s jealous of Ivan’s nuts.”

Hyuna took a slow sip from her thermos without looking up. “Compelling theory. Though I question the motive. Continue, Till.”

“It’s someone on the team. I’m pretty sure it’s Derek.”

Luka swiveled the chair side to side. “The homophobe? Why? He’s got a girlfriend. Or three. And Mizi.”

“He confronted them in the quad. Mizi said Derek barely looked at her. He was staring at Ivan the whole time. Like, staring staring. That comment about the lockers. And the account’s name is anonymous_01. Derek’s jersey number is 1.”

“That could all just be a huge coincidence but damn it, you have me sold,” Hyuna conceded, finally looking at him. “Motive though?”

“How the fuck should I know? Maybe he’s pissed Ivan’s a better player. Maybe he’s just an asshole.”

“Or,” Luka drawled, a sharp glint in his eyes, “maybe he’s got a crush so violent it curdled into hate. It’s always the quiet, religious ones. Trust me.”

Till stared at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I agree with you,” Luka said, waving a hand. “It’s most likely him. So what’s the plan? Do we tell Ivan his number one fan is a guy who calls him slurs online?”

“No,” Till said immediately. Did fucking Ivan really think he could just ignore a problem until it went away? He's treating it like some annoying fan mail. Except this was a guy keeping tabs. “He’ll just do his stupid ‘it’s not worth it’ routine. We need proof first.”

“We?” Sua asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, we. You’re all here, aren’t you? I need at least one other person.”

“Sign me out,” Luka said.

Hyuna finally looked up from her phone. "Mizi owes me fifty bucks from last semester. I'm not doing shit until she pays up."

Sua just shrugged. "I'm bored."

Till stared at Hyuna. "Are you fucking serious? This is your priority right now?"

"She said she'd pay me back after her first cheer stipend. That was six weeks ago. This is about principle.”

Till ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Fantastic. So our team morale is being held together by boredom and a complete lack of giving a shit. Perfect. We’re still doing this. We need to catch him in the act. See him watching them or something.”

Hyuna nodded slowly. “Alright, a stakeout? Ivan and Mizi have a ‘date’ at the bubble tea place tomorrow after classes. There's that coffee shop across the street.”

“A stakeout?” Luka’s face lit up. “Do we get code names? I call ‘The Phantom’.”

"No one gets code names," Till snapped.

"Fine," Sua said, shrugging. "I'm going."

"The hell you are. You said it was boring," Till shot back. "I only need one person so it doesn’t look obvious. Hyuna, you're doing it."

"Why me?" Hyuna was taking another sip from her thermos.

"Because you can actually throw a punch. If Derek shows up and shit goes down, I don't need Luka’s shitty commentary or Sua being Sua. I need someone who can crack a skull."

"Charming," Luka said.

"I'm going," Sua repeated, her voice flat.

"No, you're not."

"She's my... Mizi. It's my business if some asshole is stalking her. I'm going."

"It's not about Mizi, it's about catchi—"

"I'm going."

He scowled. "Hyuna."

"I'm busy tomorrow," Hyuna said, not looking sorry at all. "Sua can handle it. She's more observant than you think. And she's less likely to start a fistfight in a coffee shop than you and me are."

"See?" Sua said.

"Fuck no."

"Yes," Sua said, already heading for the door. "Three o'clock. Don't be late." She left, shutting the door behind her.

Luka grinned. "This is already better than getting a free PS5."

"Eat shit and die," Till shot back, kicking his trash can again for good measure. The plastic bin wobbled pathetically.

"Tempting, but I'd rather watch the show." 

Hyuna gave Till a look that was somewhere between pity and amusement. "Don't let her stab anyone. And try not to get your ass beat by a homophobic jock. Call me if it happens.”

Luka stood and stretched. "Try not to get arrested. I'd have to find new people to watch, and that's effort.”

It was going to be a long fucking day. He had a bad feeling about this. A Sua-shaped bad feeling. But at least he had a plan. Now he just had to make sure Ivan didn't wander into a stalker's crosshairs before three o'clock. Which basically meant he had to go babysit a six-foot-tall jock who thought he was invincible. Fuck his life.

─────────────

They were in that coffee shop across from the bubble tea place Hyuna recommended. Till slumped in a chair by the window, a pair of ridiculously large, cheap sunglasses pinching the bridge of his nose.

“This is pathetic,” Sua stated from the seat opposite him. She refused to wear a disguise. 

“You’re the one who insisted on coming,” Till grumbled, not taking his eyes off the bubble tea shop’s entrance.

“I’m here for Mizi.”

“Yeah, well, you’re also the one who said it was ‘Acorn’,” he sighed, adjusting the sunglasses. “I need a paranoid weirdo on my side. You fit the bill.”

“Point taken.”

They sat in silence for another minute before she spoke again, her tone utterly bored. “You would've sat here and outed yourself with those ugly sunglasses.”

“Oh, fuck off. You'd sit here looking for Acorn.”

“He has beady, knowing eyes.”

Before Till could retort, Sua took a slow sip of her water. “Okay. Subject A: Normal guy, waiting for drink. Subject B: Girl taking approximately her fortieth selfie. Subject C…” Her voice, for the first time, lost its monotone. “Till, bingo. You got your stalker. Two o’clock. Bench by the tree.”

Till fumbled with his phone, zooming in with the camera. He was fucking right.

Derek. Wearing a grey hoodie pulled up despite the warm afternoon, hands shoved in his pockets, and his entire body angled toward the bubble tea shop’s window. He was watching. With an even more obvious disguise than Till, how had he never seen him after all those dates.

“Got you, you creepy bastard,” Till whispered, his thumb hitting the camera button repeatedly. The shutter sound was off, but the motion felt good. Like collecting ammunition.

Sua was squinting from her seat. “He’s not blinking. That’s not normal. People blink.”

Till’s phone buzzed on the table. 

lukalikesyou status report. till break any public property yet?

Till’s thumbs stabbed at the screen.

till.the.end we saw him. he’s here. 

hyun.all.in so it really is derek.

till.the.end yeah

lukalikesyou What’s he doing? taking notes? crying? jerking his—

He was not reading that shit. Till locked his phone and slammed it face down. “I hate him.”

Inside the bubble tea shop, he could see the vague shapes of Ivan and Mizi in a booth. Ivan was saying something, and Mizi threw her head back and laughed. Her hand reached across the table and patted Ivan’s arm. It looked friendly. Normal. It was fake but seeing it from this angle, with Derek’s intense stare fixed on them, he's sure he'd think it wasn't fake. 

“Their acting look good to you too?” Till muttered.

“Is it?” Sua asked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They look like friends. Which they are. It’s not romantic, but it’s believable for an outsider. Didn't we already establish he likes you?”

They did. Till didn’t want to answer that. He watched as Ivan nodded at something Mizi said. Derek shifted on the bench, leaning forward. His posture was stiff as hell.

“Think he’s convinced?” Till wondered out loud. “If he thinks they’re dating, he should be giving up.”

Sua didn’t look away from the window. “People like that don’t give up. They just find a new target. He was focused on Mizi because she was an easy mark. A girl dating a girl? Simple, for his tiny brain. But this?” She gestured vaguely toward the shop. “Ivan choosing someone else, even fake, is a personal insult. It’s not about Mizi. Even I could tell.”

Till’s phone buzzed again. He ignored it. Luka and his weird text again.

“He’s not even looking at her,” Till said, the realization clicking into place with ugly clarity. “He’s only looking at Ivan.”

“He is. He’s got that nasty love-sick look for him. I don’t like the way he side-eyed Mizi at all.” Sua nodded. 

After twenty more minutes of watching Derek just sit and stare, Ivan and Mizi finally got up to leave. They walked out, and Mizi linked her arm with Ivan’s. As they turned to walk down the street, Derek stood up abruptly, his bench scraping on the pavement. He took two steps to follow them before stopping himself, his fists clenching at his sides. He watched them until they turned a corner and disappeared.

“Show’s over,” Sua said, standing up and stretching. “He’s got the stalker part down, I’ll give him that.”

Till looked down at his phone. He had a dozen blurry photos of a guy in a hoodie sitting on a bench. It felt useless and stupid. “So what do we do with this?”

“We have confirmation. Your hunch was right. Now we know he’s unhinged enough to spend his Saturday afternoon watching people drink tapioca balls.” She started walking toward the door. “Though we'll need something more incriminating to blackmail him if he pulls some shit.”

He finally looked at his phone. Luka had sent three more stupid memes. Hyuna had written, Bring the evidence. We’ll review it.

Till shoved the phone and the stupid sunglasses into his pocket. Strategy. Right. Because what they really needed was for Luka to make more bets on his love life while a psycho in a hoodie was fixated on his best friend.

He pushed out of the coffee shop, the bell on the door jangling. The afternoon sun was stupidly bright. He could still feel those stupid sunglasses on his nose. He was about to head back to his dorm to suffer through the group meeting when his phone vibrated again. A direct message.

ivan.b saw u across the street. the sunglasses is a choice.

Till froze on the sidewalk, his head snapping up to scan the surroundings. He spotted them half a block away, standing by a crosswalk. Ivan was looking right at him, phone in hand. Mizi was waving, a little too enthusiastically.

till.the.end fuck off.

ivan.b were u worried about me?

till.the.end i was bored.

ivan.b sua bored too? why bring her?

till.the.end none of your business.

ivan.b trying to find our stalker?

Till gritted his teeth. So he'd noticed Sua too. He probably saw the whole pathetic operation.

till.the.end sua said it was acorn

ivan.b still dont get her beef with him

till.the.end it’s derek, be careful

ivan.b that or he just happened to be there too

till.the.end i know what i fucking saw

The crosswalk light changed. Ivan didn't move. He just kept looking back at Till, waiting.

ivan.b gonna do something?

till.the.end dont tell me what to do.

ivan.b wouldnt dream of it.

Mizi tugged on Ivan's arm, and he finally turned to cross the street. Till watched them go, a tight knot in his stomach. Ivan knew they were being watched, knew Derek was there, and he’d just sat there. Drank his tea. Let it happen. He played the part of the oblivious boyfriend perfectly.

He knows he and Sua were watching too. Perceptive bastard. Was any of this real, or was everyone just acting for a bit?

His phone buzzed again. Another direct message. 

mizimizu just so u know

mizimizu he just smiled at his phone like an idiot after your text

mizimizu it was super gross

Till stared at the screen. He could feel his ears getting hot. He typed a response, deleted it, then typed another.

till.the.end  tell him to focus on not getting stalked.

mizimizu alr, will do

mizimizu see u later till! tell sua i said hi <3

Till shoved his phone back into his pocket, grimacing. Smiled like an idiot. Yeah, sounds like Ivan alright. 

─────────────

The locker showers were empty this late, just the drip of a leaky faucet and the faint smell of minty body wash. Till leaned against the cool metal of the stall, arms crossed. He was being a stalker for a stalker. He felt stupid. But after seeing Derek just sitting there, watching, something in his gut had refused to leave it alone.

Footsteps. Not the quick, purposeful ones of someone heading out, but slower, hesitant. Till peered through the crack in the stall door.

Derek. He stood near the entrance, looking around like a lost kid.

Ivan walked out of the steam, a white towel slung low on his hips, his hair dark and wet against his forehead. He stopped dead when he saw Derek. "Derek. Locker room's closed."

"I know." Derek took a step forward. "Needed to talk to you. Without your… girlfriend."

His thumb hovered over the record button on his phone. His first instinct was to burst out and tell Derek to get lost. But then he remembered the blurred photos from the coffee shop, the lack of real proof. He needed to wait. He pressed the button. Just get him saying something. 

Ivan’s expression didn’t change. "We have nothing to talk about."

"Yeah, we do." Derek’s voice was low. "This fake dating shit. It's an insult. To the team. To me."

Ivan let out a short, dismissive breath and turned to leave. "Get over yourself."

It happened fast. Derek’s hand shot out, grabbing Ivan’s bare bicep and spinning him back around. The towel slipped, and Ivan had to grab it to keep it from falling completely. Till’s own hands clenched into fists, the phone almost slipping from his grip. Shit. Okay, that’s assault. He needed more words. A confession.

"Let go of me," Ivan’s voice dropped.

Derek didn’t let go. His grip looked tight. "You don't get it. I did all of this for you." His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "I went after that dyke friend of yours to protect you. To scare her away so you wouldn't be associated with that… And that fag disgusting little emo bitch. I was saving your reputation!"

The fucking bastard was calling him and Mizi slurs. He was going to break his face. He forced his breath out slowly, just a little more. Get the confession. Something to report. 

"And you just… you just look right through me," Derek continued, his voice cracking. "You always have."

Ivan’s impassive stare only enraged him. Derek shoved him hard. Ivan’s back hit the lockers. The towel finally fell, puddling at his feet. Derek pinned him there, one hand splayed on Ivan’s chest, and leaned in close, his mouth hovering near Ivan’s neck. 

His fucking towel was on the ground. On the disgusting, wet floor. And this piece of shit had his face all over his neck.

"You should be thanking me," Derek whispered, sickeningly close to his skin. "I'm the only one who sees you. The real you. The one who's just as sick and wrong as I am."

Till didn't think. Fuck thinking. Fuck recording. He just exploded from the stall.

He moved fast, crossing in two strides. He grabbed a fistful of Derek's hair, yanking his head back and away from Ivan's neck. Derek yelled, his hands coming up to claw at Till's wrist.

"The hell—"

Till didn't let him finish. He swung. His fist connected with Derek's face with a wet, cracking sound. It wasn't clean, his knuckles probably ground into his bone and cartilage. Derek stumbled back, blood immediately pouring from his nose, splattering dark red on the wet floor and his grey hoodie.

"You—you fucking psycho!" Derek snarled, clutching his face. Blood streamed through his fingers. "I'll kill you! I'll fucking end you, you fag!"

"Try it," Till snarled, stepping forward. "Come on."

Derek looked from Till's furious face to Ivan, who was still leaning against the lockers, watching silently. "He attacked me! You saw it! You're a witness!"

Ivan pushed himself off the lockers. He still looked pale, but his voice was steady, cold. "I didn't see anything." 

"Shut up," Till spat, his breathing heavy. He didn't advance. He stood his ground and yanked his phone from his back pocket. He held it up, the screen clearly showing it was recording. "You're done. It's all right here. You grabbing him. You saying that sick shit about him. You putting your fucking mouth on him."

Derek froze, his bloody hand still pressed to his face. His eyes locked on the phone, the fury draining into pure fear. "You... you can't..."

"I can. I did." Till took a step closer, pointing the phone right at him. "Now get the fuck out. And if you ever come near him again, if you so much as look at Mizi, this goes straight out. I'll make sure everyone knows what a pathetic fucking loser you are. Get out."

Derek’s eyes widened, fixed on the phone. The blood from his nose dripped onto his shirt, a steady pattering. "You... you set me up!"

"Out. Before I decide a broken nose isn't enough."

He scrambled, slipping on the wet floor, and practically ran for the door, one hand still clamped over his nose. The door swung shut behind him, leaving behind only the sound of dripping water and the faint smell of the fucker’s blood.

Shit, Ivan, he was still leaning against the lockers, completely exposed, one arm braced against the metal. His breathing was ragged. He looked actually shaken. Till had never seen that look on his face before.

"Hey," Till muttered. He looked away, then back, his own anger receding and leaving behind a messy, awkward urgency. He shucked off his black hoodie and shoved it at Ivan. "Put this on."

Ivan looked at the hoodie, then at Till. His voice was rough. "I'm all wet. I'll ruin it."

"I don't give a shit. Just… cover up."

Ivan took the hoodie. His hands weren't quite steady. He pulled it over his head, the fabric swallowing his frame, the sleeves hanging way past his fingers. He looked small. It was wrong. 

Ivan wasn't supposed to look small. He was 6’1 for fuck’s sake.

"You didn't have to do that," Ivan's voice was muffled by the fabric.

"Stop saying that. Yes, I did." Till’s own heart was still hammering against his ribs.

"I was handling it."

"By letting him put his mouth on your damn neck?!" 

Ivan didn't flinch. He pushed off the lockers and walked over to his gym bag, which was sitting on a bench. He moved stiffly. He pulled out his phone, his wet fingers leaving smears on the screen. He tapped it a few times and held it out for Till to see.

It was a folder. Screenshots of comments from anonymous_01. Timestamps and photos of Derek lurking in the background of places Ivan had been. And at the bottom, a voice recording file, its timer still running.

"I was gathering evidence," Ivan said, his tone even. "I have enough here to get him benched and maybe expelled. I was waiting for him to cross a line." He finally looked up at Till, his black eyes unreadable. "I guess he just did."

Till stared at the phone, then back at Ivan’s face. The guy had been shaking earlier, his hands unsteady when he took the hoodie. But now, as he showed the evidence, Till saw it. The shaking wasn't from fear. It was from having to hold still. He’d walked into that shower knowing Derek would follow. "You… you were using yourself as bait?"

"It was the fastest way."

"You're a fucking lunatic." 

A weak, breathy sound escaped Ivan. It took Till a second to realize it was a laugh. Ivan ran a hand over his face, the oversized sleeve of Till’s hoodie flopping down over his fingers. "Yeah. Maybe."

"Maybe? You let that psycho corner you in a shower for a fucking voice recording?" Till’s anger, which had been aimed squarely at Derek, now swiveled with nowhere else to go. "You couldn't have just... I don't know, beat him up the moment he got handsy? This was your big plan?"

"It worked.”

"Worked? He was all over you!" 

The image of Derek leaning in, his mouth too close to Ivan's skin was all he can think of. "You got your screenshots? Great. Add my fucking video to the folder while you're at it. It's got the shove. It's got all that disgusting 'sick and wrong' crap. And it's got me breaking his nose." He shoved his phone toward Ivan. "There. Now you've got a whole goddamn movie. Good enough?"

Ivan’s eyes drifted from Till’s face down to his hands, which were still clenched into fists at his sides. "Why did you do it, Till? Really." He took a step closer. "You presented your ‘card’ before I could present mine."

Till’s face felt hot, but he didn't look away this time. The adrenaline was fading. "Because he was hurting you," his voice was rough. "I saw it. So I stopped it. It's that simple."

Ivan just looked at him. He was thinking. Probably figuring out another angle, another way to get inside Till's head. The guy's mind never stopped working.

"Stop standing there in a wet hoodie," Till grumbled, turning away and grabbing his own bag. "You're gonna get sick, and then I'll never hear the end of it. We're going back to my dorm. I'm making you that instant soup before you catch a damn cold."

A faint shiver ran through Ivan's frame, as if he'd only just registered the chill of the room. He looked down at the oversized sleeves covering his hands. "Okay," he said, his voice quiet.

"Good. Then shut up and come on."

The walk back to Till’s dorm was a silent. Ivan had pulled on jeans and a t-shirt from his gym bag, but his hair was still plastered to his forehead, dripping down his neck. That stupid towel was probably lying soaked on the locker room floor. Till’s hoodie was the only dry thing on him, and even that was getting dark patches from his wet hair. Ivan trailed a half-step behind, swallowed by the black fabric. 

Till unlocked his door and shoved it open. “Sit. Don’t touch my shit.” He tossed his bag onto the floor.

Ivan hovered near the bed. He looked like a drowned rat. A damp spot was already forming on the hoodie’s shoulder from his hair.

“And get out of that,” Till said, waving a hand at him. “You’re dripping on my floor.” He stomped over to his dresser and yanked open the bottom drawer, the one that had become a closet for Ivan's clothes. He dug past the jersey shirts and a bunch of mismatched socks until his fingers closed on familiar soft fabric. He pulled out a heather grey sweatshirt and threw it at Ivan. “Here. Yours.”

Ivan caught it. He looked at the sweatshirt. “You kept it.”

“It was in my laundry. It got mixed in,” Till said, turning his back to look for soup packets. His ears felt hot. He didn’t need this. He just needed the guy to stop shivering.

He heard the rustle of fabric as Ivan changed. When Till glanced back, Ivan was pulling the grey sweatshirt on. It fit him right. He looked normal again. Good.

Till focused on the boiling water from the kettle, ripping the foil off a powder packet and sprinkling it on a bowl. 

Behind him, he could hear the rustle of fabric as Ivan shifted on the bed, followed by the soft, rhythmic tap of his finger. He was probably scrolling through his phone with his other hand, already moving on from almost getting assaulted like it was just another item on his to-do list.

“I don’t want soup,” Ivan said from the bed.

“Tough. You’re eating it.”

“I want ice cream.”

Till turned. “What?”

“Ice cream. The banana bars from the convenience store. The last time we went.”

“The last time we went, you swiped that thing on my face. So, no. You’re getting soup.”

“The soup is shitty.”

“It’s what I have!” Till shot back. The kettle clicked off. Steam billowed up as he poured. "You don't get to be picky after you let that bastard get all up your damn neck."

"He wasn't doing anything," Ivan said, his voice low. "He was just talking."

"Just talking?" Till turned around, the soup forgotten. "He was confessing his fucking love for you."

Ivan looked up from the bed. A slow, knowing look was spreading across his face. "You think that was a love confession, Till?"

Till's hands clenched. That tone. Ivan was doing it again. "Don't."

"Don't what? It's just interesting. You're the one who called it that." Ivan's head tilted. "You seem really sure about what he was feeling."

"I'm going to throw this soup at you."

"You'd have to care a lot to waste food." Ivan's eyes were fixed on him, dark and amused. "So. You think Derek's in love with me?"

“Yes!” Till slammed the kettle down. “And you just stood there and let him do all that!” He stirred the soup on the bowl so hard it slopped over the side. He carried it over and shoved it at Ivan. “Here. Your shitty soup.”

Ivan took it. His fingers brushed Till’s. “You’re the one shaking now.”

Till pulled his hand back. “I’m pissed off.”

“I know.” Ivan took a sip and grimaced. “It’s too salty.”

“I don’t care.”

Ivan set it on the floor. He dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out the bent yellow card. He held it out.

“Here.”

“What?” Till asked, though he knew exactly what it was.

“A Yellow Card. I need a pen.”

Till stared at him. “You don’t have a pen? You’re pre-med.”

“I have a pen. I want a blue one.”

“What the hell does the color matter?” Till turned and rummaged on his desk, shoving aside sketchbooks and empty chip bags. He came up with a chewed-up pencil. “Here. Use this.”

Ivan looked at the pencil, his nose wrinkling. "I can't write a formal contract in pencil."

"It's a fucking index card, not a contract!"

"Those are my teeth marks, from eighth grade." Ivan pointed at the grooved wood near the eraser. “You kept this.”

"Yeah, and? You want a pen so bad, go back to the showers and find one.”

"Not letting that go, huh."

"Whatever." He yanked open his desk drawer where all the random university pens Ivan left to die were. He dug past takeout menus and broken pencil leads, pulling out a handful of cheap, logo-stamped pens. "Here. Blue, black, red... just pick one."

Ivan sorted through them with a critical eye. "This one's dried out. This one bleeds. This is... green."

"It writes, doesn't it?"

"I wanted blue."

"This is a blue!" Till snatched one of the pens back. It was a faded navy with the university crest peeling off.

"That's midnight navy. I want cobalt."

This idiot remembered the specific shade of blue he wanted to use on a fucking index card but walked into a shower trap knowingly. Till shoved the entire handful of pens at Ivan's chest. "Just take them all. I don't care. Write your damn card."

Ivan picked the blue pen, uncapping it with a click. He carefully positioned the card on his knee, his tongue peeking out as he wrote.

"Jesus, just write the damn thing," Till muttered, crossing his arms. "It's a favor, not the Declaration of Independence."

"I'm making it legible," Ivan said without looking up. "This is important."

Finally, Ivan held it out. The index card was slightly warm from his hand. Till looked down at the perfectionist, blue scrawl. 

𝓞𝓷𝓮  (1) 𝓕𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓻.

“This is the second dumbest thing I’ve ever seen.” The first was Mizi’s middle school card. He flipped the paper over. Nothing. Just the same cheap, lined yellow index. 

He turned it back. The words didn’t change. One (1) Favor. That was it. No hidden message, no instructions. Just two words and a number in Ivan’s shitty handwriting.

“What am I even supposed to do with this?”

“Whatever you want.” Ivan leaned back on Till’s bed. He was already looking more like himself, the asshole. “Anything at any time you want. No questions asked.”

Anything. Anytime. This stupid piece of paper was a lot more dangerous than it looked.

Chapter Text

“Move your fat ass, Till,” Luka poked him in the shoulder. “I need, like, three more inches of space.”

“I literally can’t,” Till grumbled, shoving back against the pressure. “I’m already fused to the window. Get another chair.”

“You can sit on my lap,” Ivan offered, his voice low from beside him.

Till’s head whipped to glare at him. “I’d rather chew my own arm off.”

“See? Problem solved,” Luka said with a grin. “He chews his arm off, we get more room, and Ivan gets a lapful. Everyone wins.”

“I’m going to stab you with a fork,” Till promised.

They were all cramped at the campus diner booth, and Till was already regretting agreeing to this. He was next to the window, with Ivan’s knee pressing against his leg because there was literally nowhere else for it to go. He refused to move it.

Mizi clapped her hands together, beaming. “Okay, announcement time!”

“Let’s all pretend we don’t know what this is about,” Luka drawled.

“With Derek officially suspended and pending a full investigation after someone—” she side-eyed Ivan, “—filed a very detailed report with timestamps and everything, Ivan and I are now, officially, publicly, BROKEN UP!”

“Wow,” Sua said, her voice utterly monotone. “So shocking.”

“Didn’t see this coming at all,” Luka added, placing a hand over his heart.

“Congrats,” Till grunted, because finally. It was over. 

Hyuna pocketed her phone and held her hand out, palm up, across the table. “Touching. Now pay your debts, plebs.”

Luka sighed, pulling out his wallet. “I’m just disappointed. I had a whole speech prepared for Till’s inevitable crash-out.” He slapped a fifty into Hyuna’s waiting hand.

Sua, from the other end of the booth, slid a twenty over without a word.

“They made it the full two weeks. I lost,” Sua stated flatly. “I thought for sure Mizi would dump him in a ditch somewhere after he organized her pens by color.”

“I lose bigger,” Luka added, pointing at the fifty. “I bet Till’s ‘unresolved sexual tension’ would blow the whole thing up before the breakup. Not this… weirdly functional thing he had going on. Breaking a guy’s nose, really? You couldn’t have kissed Ivan in front of him to assert dominance?”

Hyuna neatly stacked the cash. “I win. I told you the sheer pettiness of publicly humiliating Derek would fuel them. Easy money.”

Till slammed his hand on the table, making the salt shaker jump. “Can you all shut up about the fucking betting pool for five seconds? We’re in public.”

“No one here would care about another stranger’s life in public, Till,” Luka said, waving a dismissive hand. "I say we make another bet. How about on when you’d finally get together and bone?"

Hyuna shook her head, already pulling out her wallet. "A week. They're the definition of slow-burn."

"Twenty-four hours!" Mizi cheered. “They’ve got this, easy.”

Sua looked from Till to Ivan. “Three hours. They’ll get straight at it in Till’s dorm.”

Till’s face heated. He glared at Ivan. “Do something.”

Ivan, who had been quietly stirring his melting milkshake, looked up. “Like what? My fake relationship is over. My authority here is gone.”

“This is why I didn’t want to come,” Till grumbled, slouching lower in the seat.

“You don't have a choice,” Mizi smiled a little too toothily. “It’s a group tradition to toast over major life events. My fake breakup is a major life event.” She pulled out her phone, her thumbs flying across the screen. “Ah, right. Gotta post the official statement.”

A few seconds later, Till’s phone vibrated. He pulled it out.

mizimizu It was fun while it lasted 💔 Wishing you all the best, Ivan! #singlelife #bestfriendsforever

The photo was a selfie of her pouting, with a blurry Ivan in the background looking confused, probably from when she’d spun around and snapped it without warning.

He scrolled down. The comments were already rolling in.

art_not_sports F

ivans_number_one_fan NOOOOO MY SHIP 😭

Mizis_bestie @ivans_number_one_fan REAL WHYYY MOM DAD COME BACK WE'LL DO BETTER NOOO

ivans_number_one_fan I’ll miss mama mizi

Mizis_bestie same but for pops 💔

hoopsfan23 Does this mean he’s free for homecoming?

Mizi gasped, clutching her phone. “Ivan, look. Our daughter in the comments is devastated!” She shoved her screen in his face. “She’s begging us to get back together!”

Ivan didn’t even glance at it. “Tell her I get full custody of Bong-ho.”

“You can’t have Bong-ho! He’s my emotional support frog! You’d just forget to feed him!”

“I’m more responsible than you are. I wouldn’t lose him in the chem lab.”

“That was one time!”

Till stared at them. “You two are the weirdest fucking people I’ve ever met.”

“Stay out of this, Till,” Mizi said, pointing a fry at him. “This is about our fictional child’s well-being.” She turned back to Ivan. “Fine. You can have the frog on weekends. But I get holidays.”

"Deal."

Till stared, a specific, ugly memory resurfacing. "Wait. What the hell is a Bong-ho? I thought you didn't get her anything from the arcade." He looked directly at Ivan, remembering the dumb fox he'd won for him.

Mizi’s face lit up. "Oh, no. He didn't! Don’t get the wrong idea! It was me! I bought Ivan the frogs to remember our very real, very passionate and very fake relationship. He kept the big one. I kept the little one. Bong-ho and Bong-hee."

Ivan, for his part, looked utterly unrepentant. "They were a two-for-one special. Mizi said it was cheaper that way."

"You bought your fake boyfriend a consolation frog." 

"Emotional support frog," Mizi corrected. “For this inevitable break up, yes.”

"Yeah," Ivan nodded, taking a sip of his milkshake. "It's different."

Sua, who had been quietly observing, spoke up from the end of the booth. "Why didn't I get a frog?"

Mizi blinked. "What?"

"You bought him a frog. You didn't buy me a frog." 

"It was for the bit! The fake relationship bit!" Mizi explained, waving her hands. "You're my real... you know. You don't need a frog."

"I want a frog," Sua said.

"I'll get you a frog later," Mizi promised.

"A better frog."

"Fine, a bigger, better frog."

Luka, who had been scrolling on Till’s phone, let out a low whistle. "As touching as this amphibian redistribution is, you might want to look at the next comments on your post, Mizi. We’ve got a new homophobe on the loose."

Till snatched his own phone back up and scrolled.

blondes4ivan called it. knew it was just for clout.

void_walker_01 Finally. That pink-haired bitch is gone. Now we need the twink out too.

ivans_girl_77 @void_walker_01 WHO EVEN ARE YOU?? GET A LIFE

void_walker_01 @ivans_girl_77 He doesn’t need any of you. He only needs to be seen for what he truly is.

“It’s Derek,” Till sneered. That guy’s the only one shameless enough to type all that.

Sua shook her head. “Acorn.”

“It’s not fucking Acorn,” he snapped. “You literally took Derek’s photos with me.”

“Derek’s suspended, probably banned from Instagram. Not him.”

“He’s got a broken nose and a disciplinary hearing! He has more free time to focus on his grudge.”

“How convenient.” Sua yawned, clearly ignoring him. 

Till nudged Ivan. “Tell her.”

Ivan, stirring his milkshake, looked between them. “I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

“It’s not Acorn!” Till insisted, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “It’s literally Derek.”

Ivan just shrugged, taking a sip of his milkshake. “Let him be.”

“You’re not even a little bit pissed? That guy is still out there saying shit, even on suspension.”

“Not really.” Ivan’s knee pressed more firmly against Till’s under the table. “I have a bodyguard now.”

Till kicked him in the shin. Not hard, but enough to make Ivan grunt.

“What was that for?”

“Not your bodyguard.”

Luka leaned forward, his pale yellow eyes glinting. “So, with the fake-dating officially over, what’s the new dynamic? Do we have to pretend we don’t all know you two are f—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll really really stab you with a fork,” Till interrupted.

“He was going to say ‘friends’,” Hyuna eyed the blond. “Weren’t you, Luka?”

Luka’s smile was all teeth. “The best of friends. The kind that have sleepovers, share a normal amount of body heat and each other's hoodies.” He looked pointedly at the oversized black hoodie Ivan was still wearing. Till’s hoodie.

Ivan had given it back, washed, but it had somehow found its way onto Ivan again. The guy owns a ton of other clothing but somehow now decided he preferred Till’s.

“It was cold this morning,” Ivan said, as if reading his mind.

“I didn’t say anything,” Till shot back.

“You were thinking it really loud.”

Mizi sighed, a dreamy look on her face. “I’m just so glad our breakup could bring you two together.”

“We’re not—!”

“So,” Sua cut in, her first word in minutes. She was staring at Ivan. “If you hurt him, I’m telling Till’s mom you failed the brachial plexus practical.”

Ivan looked genuinely offended. “I identified eighty percent of the structures. That’s a B.”

“She doesn’t need to know that,” Sua replied, a threat.

“Why the hell are you bringing my mom into this?” Till snapped. 

“She’s the only one he’s scared of.”

“He’s not scared of my mom!”

“He uses honorifics with her. He straightens his posture on video calls. He’s scared.”

Ivan opened his mouth, then closed it, apparently having no counter-argument. The bastard really was scared of Io. Till filed that away for later use.

“Whose side are you on?” he demanded.

“Mizi’s,” Sua answered immediately. “Consider yourself a package deal. Anything Ivan-related is on my bad side.” She stood up, sliding out of the booth. “I’m leaving. And Luka’s right, it’s boring now that you’re not having a gay crisis every five minutes.”

"I am not having a gay crisis! I'm not even gay!" Till insisted, but Sua was already walking away.

The table went quiet for a second.

Hyuna slowly raised an eyebrow. "Famous last words."

"Right before 'we're just friends' and 'it was just one time'," Mizi added, nodding sagely.

Ivan just looked at him, a small, infuriating twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Okay, Till."

"It's not okay. I'm not!"

Luka stood up too, stretching. "Well, this was fun. Let's do it again when you two have your first real fight over his sexuality. I give it a week." He followed Sua out.

Hyuna gathered her things, including her newly acquired cash. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." She paused. "Actually, do. It'd be more interesting. Later." She left, leaving Till, Ivan, and Mizi in the booth.

Mizi gave them a wide, knowing smile. “Well! I have a very real, very not-fake study date with Sua.” She leaned over and pecked Ivan on the cheek. “Bye, honey!”

“Bye, babe,” Ivan replied casually, not even looking up from his milkshake as he took another sip.

She hopped up and practically skipped out of the diner.

Till was alone with Ivan. It was quiet. Really quiet. The kind filled with all the shit they hadn't said.

Ivan finished his milkshake. “So.”

“Don’t,” Till warned.

“I was just going to say, my treat.” Ivan pulled out his wallet and tossed a few bills onto the table.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” Ivan slid out of the booth and looked down at him. “You coming?”

Till scowled. Where the hell else would he go? “Yeah, whatever.” He got up, his mind already a mess, the stupid yellow card he was trying to ignore in his pocket feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. 

─────────────

His room was too small. The walls were closing in, and the yellow card in his hands was staring at him. It was just a dumb piece of paper, but it was making him think. Thinking was bad. He could still hear the diner chatter, Luka’s shit-eating grin, the weight of Ivan’s knee against his under the table.

He snatched his phone off the charger.

till.the.end  hey. meet me at the observatory hill. now.

The reply was almost instant.

ivan.b the makeout spot?

ivan.b why

Till’s thumb slammed against the screen.

till.the.end  it’s not the makeout spot

ivan.b that’s what everyone calls it

till.the.end  i don’t care what everyone calls it, It’s a hill

ivan.b with a reputation

till.the.end  are you coming or not?

ivan.b are you armed

till.the.end  WHAT

ivan.b just checking. last time you summoned me somewhere private you threw a textbook at my head

till.the.end  that was in 10th grade! Just get over here.

He didn't wait for another reply. He grabbed his keys and the yellow card, shoving it deep into his pocket like he was hiding a weapon.

─────────────

The hill was quiet, just the sound of the wind and the distant hum of the city below. He leaned against the hood of his car, the metal cool through his jeans. It didn’t take long for Ivan to show up, hands in his pockets, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed and into that same black hoodie. 

“You planning to murder me and dump the body?” Ivan asked, stopping a few feet away. “Seems like a lot of effort.”

“Shut up,” Till said. “We’re here to… look at the stars. Or something.”

Ivan’s mouth quirked. “Right. The ‘you don’t have to talk’ spot.” He moved to stand beside Till, their shoulders almost touching. He tilted his head back. “You can’t even see the stars today. It’s overcast. You could’ve picked tomorrow. The Orionids are supposed to be good.”

“The what?” Till asked, scowling at the sky.

“Orionid. Meteor shower. Bits of space dust hitting the air and burning up. Looks like shooting stars.”

“I don’t need the five-year-old version.”

“You asked.”

“We’re not here for that.”

“Then what are we here for?” Ivan asked, his voice dropping the teasing note.

Till shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “I don’t know. Just shut up for a minute.”

“I’m single now, Till.”

Real subtle. Way to ease it in. Till grunted, shoving his hands deeper into his own pockets. “I know. I was there.”

They stood like that for a few minutes, just staring at the scattered lights of the city. 

“This is stupid,” Till announced to the night sky.

“Yeah,” Ivan agreed.

“Your ‘practice’ was shit, by the way. So obvious.”

“It got you here, didn’t it?”

Before Till could think of a comeback, his phone started ringing in his pocket. He ignored it. It rang again, insistent and obnoxious. He yanked it out, ready to throw it into the bushes, and saw the caller ID: MOM.

Why now? Of all the times for her to check in, she picks this moment. It was like she had a sixth sense for when he was about to do something stupid.

“You gonna get that?” Ivan asked.

“No.”

“She’ll just keep calling.”

With a grunt, Till pressed the answer button and switched to video. His mom’s face, brightly lit and curious, filled the screen.

“There you are! Why are you outside? It’s dark. Are you smoking?”

“No, I’m not smoking, Mom. What do you want?”

“I just saw Mizi’s post! She and Ivan broke up!” Io’s voice was a little too dramatic for his liking. She was acting oblivious, thinking he wouldn’t notice. “Now’s your chance—”

“I'm not hearing this,” he scowled at the screen.

She stopped, squinting. “Wait. Is that a tree? Where are you? Turn the camera around.”

Till’s grip on the phone tightened. “Why?”

“Just do it, Till.”

He sighed, a heavy, put-upon sound, and reluctantly panned the camera. It landed on Ivan, who was standing a few feet away, looking politely into the middle distance.

Io’s voice went flat. “Oh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Till snapped.

“Nothing. So. You and Ivan are on a hill. In the dark. Right after his very public breakup.”

Ivan chose that moment to step into the frame, offering a small, polite wave. “Hello, Ms. Io.”

“Hello Ivan. Are you two finally dating, or are you out there using my son like some rebound?”

Till’s face went hot. “MOM. WE’RE LOOKING AT THE STARS.”

“Mmhm. The stars. Right.” She leaned closer to her camera. “So, when are you coming over for dinner, Ivan? I’ll make your favorite.”

Ivan, the traitor, actually smiled. “That’s very kind of you, Ms. Io. I’m free this weekend.”

“Perfect! I’ll get the extra futon ready for you.” She paused, her eyes glinting. “Unless you two don’t need it? I can just make up Till’s bed for both of you.”

“WHAT?” Till choked out.

“We wouldn’t want to impose,” Ivan said smoothly, as if they were discussing anything else but Till’s own fucking bed. “The futon is fine, for now.”

“Of course, of course,” Io said, waving a hand. “No rush. So, are you official? Do you have a timeline? Are you thinking weeks, or are you jumping straight to moving in? I need to know if I should start clearing out the garage for your stuff.”

“MOM.”

“We’re taking it one step at a time, Ms. Io,” Ivan said, his tone perfectly diplomatic. “But I’ll be sure to keep you updated.”

The specific questions. The timeline. She was digging for intel. “You’re betting on us, aren’t you?” he accused. “This is for your betting pool with your weird friends. You’re trying to get inside information.”

Io’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Don’t be ridiculous, sweetie. A mother is just concerned. So, first kiss? Has that happened yet? I need to know if it’ll be before the weekend. Not for a bet.”

“No! I'm ending this.”

“Wait, not yet—“

Till ended the call with a violent stab of his thumb. He shoved the phone back into his pocket like it was on fire. He turned to on Ivan. “What the hell was that? ‘For now’? ‘Keeping her updated’?”

Ivan just shrugged, the picture of innocence. “She asked a question. I answered.”

“You were putting words in my mouth! You were basically telling her we… we’re…”

“Taking it one step at a time?” Ivan supplied.

“No, we aren’t!” He couldn’t look at Ivan. His own mother was a traitor, and Ivan was her fucking co-conspirator.

“So,” Ivan said after a moment.

“Don’t,” Till warned, staring hard at a crack in the pavement. 

“She has a point.”

“What do you want me to say, Ivan?”

Ivan took a step closer. “I want you to say if the banana milk, the note, the ugly fox, and you nearly breaking my teammate’s nose for me actually worked or if I’ve just been making a huge ass of myself.”

All the lazy humor was gone from his voice. He was serious. Till stared at him. Fuck. Hot. His face felt too hot. He crossed his arms, looking away again. “I’m thinking.”

“Well?”

“Shut up, I’m thinking.”

“Still thinking?”

“Yes!”

Ivan waited, the silence stretching out. “You’ve been thinking for a while, Till.”

“It’s a complicated question!”

“Is it?”

“Yes! Shut up!”

The wind picked up, rustling the leaves. Ivan didn’t say anything, just stood there. He really thought standing around looking like that was a valid argument? His face was still burning. He could feel his own stupid heartbeat.

“So? I can’t wait forever, y’know,” Ivan prompted, his voice quieter. 

“So, what?” Till huffed. Why was Ivan getting impatient now? He’d been perfectly happy to stand there saying nothing a second ago.

“Did it work?” 

Did it? All he could see was the locker room. The steam. Derek’s face right there on Ivan’s neck. His gut twisted. His fingers curled. His teeth were grinding. That was the moment he knew. When he wanted to rip Derek’s head off for even breathing in Ivan’s direction.

“Well?” A slow smirk spread across Ivan’s face. “What are you thinking about right now?”

“Nothing,” Till snapped, his voice tighter than he meant it to be.

“Didn’t look like nothing.”

“I said nothing!”

“Did. It. Work.”

He’s not going to leave until he talks. “It worked, you asshole!” Till burst out, finally looking at him, exasperated and flushed. “Is that what you wanted to hear? That I lost my shit because he was touching you?”

A slow, infuriating smirk spread across Ivan’s face. “Yeah. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

“Fuck you.”

“You were jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” Till snapped, his voice too loud. He was definitely jealous. “I was pissed off. There’s a difference.”

“Sure.”

“It’s a difference!”

“So you weren’t jealous.”

“No!”

“Not even a little?”

“Fine! Yes! Whatever! Are you happy now?!” Till shoved him, a hard push to the chest that didn’t even make Ivan stumble back a step. It was like shoving a wall.

Ivan’s hand snapped out, not to shove back, but to grab Till’s wrist. “Yeah. I am.”

“Let go.”

“Why? You just admitted you were jealous.”

“I admitted nothing! You’re twisting my words!” Till tried to yank his arm back, but Ivan held fast. His other hand came up, fingers hooking into the collar of the hoodie Ivan was wearing—his hoodie. “And give this back. You don’t get to wear my clothes and… and…”

“And what?” Ivan tugged Till closer by the wrist.

And look like that in them. He gave another useless pull. “And trap me with stupid questions!”

“You’re the one who texted me,” Ivan pointed out, his thumb shifting against Till’s pulse point. “You asked me to go here. This is all you.”

Till’s face was on fire. He was trapped, his wrist in Ivan’s hand, his own fist tangled in the hoodie. He was close enough to see the faint red around Ivan’s stupid dark eyes. “It wasn’t jealousy. It was… property damage.”

Ivan’s eyebrows went up. “Property damage.”

“He was touching my—” Till cut himself off, horror dawning. My. That implied Ivan was his. My Ivan? That sounded so wrong. “My friend! He was touching my friend! That’s it.”

The smirk that spread across Ivan’s face was fucking triumphant. He slipped up so damn bad. He’d heard the stumble. “Your friend,” he repeated.

“I’m going to punch my friend if he doesn’t let go of me.”

Ivan finally released his wrist, but the smirk didn’t fade. His hand lingered on the side, his fingers just brushing against Till’s knuckles. The city lights below were doing nothing to hide the fact that this was, in fact, the makeout spot. A couple was going at it near the trees, and Till pointedly looked anywhere else.

“So,” Ivan’s voice was a low rumble. “Are you ever going to use that card? Or are you just gonna keep it in your pocket and glare at it.”

Till’s hand instinctively went to the back pocket of his jeans, where the stupid yellow card was digging into his ass. Right, because Ivan is borderline omniscient and knew he had it on him. The guy noticed everything, especially things that made Till look like an idiot.

“Maybe,” Till grunted. “What’s it to you?”

“Just wondering. It’s a limited-time offer. Might expire. Get soggy. Blow away.” Ivan gestured vaguely at the hill. “We’re at a prime location for favors. Look at that couple over there. I bet one of them just cashed in a pretty big favor.”

Till followed his gaze to the entwined couple. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying. The atmosphere is right. If you were gonna use it…”

“I’ll use it when I want to use it,” Till snapped, his face getting warm. This was the whole problem. Ivan just stood there, looking like that, in his hoodie, and expected Till to form coherent sentences. He was setting a trap. A stupid, obvious trap with banana milk, ugly foxes, and now that card as bait.

“Okay,” Ivan said, infuriatingly calm. He shifted, his shoulder bumping against Till’s. “Just checking.”

Till took a sharp breath. Fuck it. Fuck the plan, fuck his pride, fuck the entire concept of talking about feelings. He was better at doing things. Actions. He yanked the crumpled yellow card from his pocket and shoved it hard against Ivan’s chest.

“I’m cashing it in.”

Ivan looked down at the card, then back up at Till, his expression unreadable. “Okay.” He plucked the card from Till’s fingers. “What’s the favor?”

This was it. The words felt like rocks in his mouth. “You have to be my… you know.” He made a vague, circular gesture with his hand between them.

Ivan stared blankly. “No, Till. I don’t know.”

“The… you know. The thing.”

“The thing.”

“Yeah. That.”

Ivan’s head tilted. “My… personal trainer?”

“What? Are you a dog? No.”

“My designated driver?”

“No!”

“My… academic tutor? We don't even take the same classes.”

“Fuck no!” Till snapped, his face heating. This was torture.

“You’re going to have to use your words, Till. It’s a big favor. I need details.” Ivan’s voice was flat, but his eyes were doing that annoying, knowing glint thing.

Till gritted his teeth. “The… boyfriend thing.”

Ivan blinked, slow and deliberate. “...The boyfriend thing.”

“Yeah.”

“...Are you asking me to be your boyfriend or…?”

“Yeah.”

“Pretend or…?”

“Yeah.”

Ivan’s lips twitched. “Yeah to which one?”

“Just… yeah.”

“So, ‘yeah, pretend’? Or ‘yeah, not pretend’?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you eat dinner?” Ivan asked, his tone shifting completely.

“Yeah,” Till grunted automatically, still stuck in the ‘yeah’ loop.

“Are you just saying ‘yeah’ to everything I say now?”

“Yeah.”

Ivan’s smirk was outright visible now. “You want us to be friends with benefits?”

“Yeah—” Till’s brain caught up with his mouth a second too late. “WAIT, NO! I WANT TO BE MORE THAN THAT, YOU ASSHOLE!”

Ivan let out a low chuckle. “Knew you were spacing out. So, not friends with benefits.”

“No.”

“But more.”

“Yes.”

“So.” Ivan took a small step closer. “You want me to be your boyfriend.”

Till felt his soul try to crawl out of his body and flee into the night. He managed a jerky nod. “Yeah.”

Ivan’s voice was quiet, all the teasing gone, replaced by something more serious. “Pretend or…?”

Till looked at the ground, then at the stupid couple still making out, then back at the crack in the pavement near his foot. “Not pretend,” he muttered, the words barely audible.

“What was that?”

“NOT PRETEND!” Till shouted at the pavement, his ears on fire. “ARE YOU DEAF?!”

Ivan looked at the card in his hand, then back at Till. He was definitely smirking now, the full, triumphant, shit-eating grin. “Okay, yeah,” he said, his voice low and final. “I’ll do it.”

Till’s brain, which had been braced for more arguing, stuttered. “You… you will?”

“I said I would.” Ivan tucked the yellow card into his own pocket. “But I need a clarification on the favor. For the record.”

“What clarification?” Till asked, suspicion immediately swamping his relief.

“The parameters. You said, and I quote, ‘the boyfriend thing’. I just need to know what that entails. Specifically.” Ivan’s expression was way too innocent. “So, does this ‘boyfriend thing’ mean I have to, like, hold your hand in public?”

Till’s face scrunched up. “I guess? Yeah.”

“And I have to sit with you at the student union? Even on days you’re being extra grumpy and listening to that screamy music?”

“It’s not screamy, it’s—yeah, whatever, yeah.”

“And I get to keep borrowing your hoodies?”

“You already do that without permission!”

“So that’s a yes.”

“YES.”

Ivan nodded slowly, ticking off imaginary boxes in the air. “And I assume this includes… kissing. Or is that a separate favor?”

Till’s entire head felt like a furnace. “NO! I mean, YES! It’s included! It’s part of the whole deal! Don’t make me say it!”

“Just verifying,” Ivan said, his eyes glinting. “So, to be absolutely clear, the favor you are cashing in is for me to be your actual, not-pretend boyfriend. Which includes hand-holding, shared meals, hoodie theft, and kissing. Correct?”

He’d laid it all out, every stupid, obvious, embarrassing detail. There was no room for “whatever” anymore. Till was cornered.

“Yes! Okay? Yes. That’s the favor. Now shut up about it!”

“Okay,” Ivan nodded, his voice dropping into something lower, more deliberate. “Then consider it done.” He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned in a little closer, his head tilting. “But just one last thing. For the contract.”

Till’s patience was thinning by the second. “What?”

“This boyfriend thing,” Ivan started, his tone deceptively casual. “Does it include, like… the weird stuff?”

Till’s brain screeched to a halt. “The… the what?”

“You know.” Ivan’s eyes were practically glowing with amused malice. “The other stuff. Do I have to let you bite me?”

Till stared at him, utterly horrified. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m just asking for the parameters. Some people are into that. You seem like you might have some… unresolved urges. With all the yelling.”

“Why the hell would I want to bite you?!”

“So that’s a no on the biting? Noted.” Ivan nodded sagely. “What about feet?”

“Get the fuck away from me.”

“I’m just trying to be thorough! It’s a legally binding yellow card! I need to know if I have to send you goodnight pictures of my—”

Till shoved him, hard, both hands slamming into Ivan’s chest. It was like shoving a brick wall. “The favor is for you to be my normal, regular, not-insane boyfriend. No fucking biting! No feet! No pictures!”

Ivan finally broke, a loud, genuine laugh escaping him. He grabbed Till’s wrists, not to fight him off, but just to hold them. “Okay, okay. Normal boyfriend. I can do that.”

“You’re the worst,” Till snarled, trying to yank his hands back and failing.

“But I’m your worst,” Ivan said, and the fucker had the audacity to wink. 

“Can you be a normal boyfriend now?”

“Sure, but I do need one more logistical clarification. For, you know. The schedule.”

Till eyed him warily. “What logistical clarification?”

“Well,” Ivan said, his thumb rubbing a slow, distracting circle on Till’s inner wrist. “The… positioning.”

“Positioning for what? Sitting on the couch?”

“Not exactly.” Ivan leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I mean, who bottoms?”

Till blinked. The word meant nothing to him. It was just a sound. “Who what?”

“Who. Bottoms.” Ivan repeated it slowly.

Bottoms? Till’s brain rifled through possible meanings. Was it a sports thing? A gym thing? “I don’t know what that means.”

Ivan’s eyes widened with pure, unadulterated glee. “You don’t—? Seriously?” He let out a disbelieving chuckle. “Till. For two guys. In bed. There’s usually a top and a bottom. It’s about who puts his—"

“OH.” His voice came out as a strangled croak.  The explanation clicked into place. Till’s entire body went stiff.  “OH, YOU MEAN—THAT…THAT POSITIONING!”

“Yeah. That positioning.”

Till’s face was so hot he was surprised the night air wasn’t steaming around him. He finally wrenched his hands free. “What the fuck kind of question is that?!”

“A practical one!” Ivan said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “We’re planning our future here!”

“We’re not planning that! And it’s not a scheduled activity!” Till raked a hand through his hair, utterly mortified. Then, because his brain was now permanently broken, it supplied an answer. A loud, defensive, stupid one. “And for the record, I could bench press you! easily!”

Ivan’s eyebrows shot up. A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. “Oh. So that’s your answer. Noted.”

“That’s not—I didn’t—I was just stating a physical fact!” Till sputtered, realizing too late how that sounded.

Ivan was full-on grinning now, looking unbearably pleased with himself. “A physical fact. Got it. Loud and clear.”

“I hate you,” Till groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“No, you don’t,” Ivan said, his voice fond and annoyingly sure. He pulled Till’s hands away from his face. “You just want to bench press me. I understand. It’s very romantic.”

Till was about to argue, to deny everything, when Ivan’s expression shifted back to that contemplative, planning look. It was a trap. Every single time.

“But, just to be fair,” Ivan continued, his tone way too reasonable for the subject matter. “Maybe we could switch who bench presses who on off days?”

Till’s brain was getting fried. “Switch?” 

“You know. The positioning.” Ivan gestured vaguely between them. “We could take turns. For equity.”

“For equity?!” Till exploded, shoving Ivan back a step. “Is this a fucking group project to you? Are we gonna put up a rota?!”

“It’s about shared responsibility!” Ivan insisted, his eyes sparkling with unholy amusement. “It’s only fair! I don’t want to be a dictator about it.”

Till felt like his head was going to pop off. He jabbed a finger into Ivan’s chest. “You don’t get to schedule this! You sound like you’re going to put it on a fucking calendar with little star stickers!”

“Why not? I have a color-coded system for my biology labs. This is more important."

“It’s not a lab, you lunatic!”

“So that’s a no on the alternating?” Ivan asked, feigning disappointment.

"Yes! No? I don't know." Till raked a hand through his hair. "I'm not deciding that right now. Maybe, I'll think about it. But we are not discussing this ever again tonight."

Ivan reached out and ruffled Till’s hair, which was even more infuriating. “Okay, okay. No schedule. We’ll just be spontaneous and normal.”

“Normal,” Till repeated, seething. “You don’t know the meaning of that word, do you?”

“I’m learning,” Ivan said, still grinning. “From my very, very flustered boyfriend.”

A loud, obnoxious sneeze shattered the quiet. It was immediately followed by a shoving sound and a hissed, “Luka, your elbow is in my rib.”

“Stop hogging all the space, then.”

“It’s itchy back here.”

Till and Ivan broke apart just as the others tumbled out from behind the scraggly bushes. Mizi practically fell out first, beaming. Luka followed, brushing off his jacket. Hyuna stepped out, phone already recording. Sua came last, picking twigs from her sleeve.

"You have got to be kidding me." 

They'd been hiding in the fucking bushes. What the hell were they doing here? Had they followed them? These parasites clearly had nothing better to do.

Mizi clapped her hands. "He picked 'not pretend'! I read his lips! I told you guys!"

Luka immediately turned to Hyuna. "Pay up. Fifty. He used the card."

Hyuna kept her phone trained on them. "Didn't think he had the balls. Fine." She didn't sound upset about losing.

Till's face burned. They saw the whole thing. The card. His stupid, fumbling confession. Everything. "You were all in the bushes? The whole time?"

Luka gave a lazy shrug. "We had a bet on whether you'd use the card or just stand there until sunrise."

That was the last straw. "I'm going to break your face," Till snapped, taking a step forward. But Ivan's hand shot out, pulling him up short by the waist.

Ivan leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur. "So. 'Not pretend'?" he repeated, his breath ghosting Till's ear. He was doing this on purpose, the bastard. Dragging it out.

Till couldn't get a single word out. He just gave a sharp, furious nod, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere past Ivan's shoulder.

Ivan's smirk was audible. "You sure? You want to be my... boyfriend?" He said the word like he was testing it out, and Till wanted to die.

"Shut up," Till gritted out. “Now you're just repeating.”

"Just making sure I understand the favor."

"They're still watching," Till hissed, acutely aware of four pairs of eyes on them. Mizi was practically vibrating.

"So?" Ivan's thumb rubbed a slow circle on his wrist. "Let them watch."

"Just—shut up and do something so they'll leave," Till finally burst out, humiliation and frustration boiling over. “I don't care, just make them go away."

Ivan's smirk widened into a full, shit-eating grin. "You asking me to kiss you, Till?"

"I'm telling you to get rid of them!"

Ivan’s smirk was instant. “Gladly.”

He didn’t wait. He ducked his head and kissed him.

His mouth was on Till’s, and it was warm. A little chapped. And it was definitely moving. Till’s brain stuttered, stuck on a loop of oh shit, oh shit, he’s actually doing it. Then he felt it—a brief, wet pressure against the seam of his lips.

Tongue. Ivan just tried to slip his tongue in his mouth.

When Ivan broke the contact, Till jerked his head back an inch. "Hey not yet—"

But whatever he was going to say was drowned out by their audience immediately losing its collective mind. Mizi squealed loud enough to scare birds out of the trees. “YES! FINALLY!”

“Sua, that’s another twenty,” Luka announced. “They definitely used tongue.”

Sua didn’t even blink. “We bet on the confession. The make-out session is a separate gross wager.”

Hyuna zoomed in with her phone. “I’ll cover the twenty. The angle suggests tongue was definitely involved.”

Till shoved Ivan back. “I will throw every one of you off this hill!”

“But it’s just getting good!” Mizi whined.

Till scanned the ground. An empty banana milk carton. He grabbed it and launched it at the bushes.

It flopped onto the grass, not even close.

Luka tutted. “Weak throw, Scowly. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Ivan glanced at the sad carton. “You missed.”

“I wasn’t aiming for him.” Till snarled. “Yet.”

Ivan’s grin widened. He finally turned to the others. “Show’s over. Get lost.”

Hyuna gave a nod before herding the rest with her. “You heard the man, show's over. Let's go.”

“Boo,” Luka said, already turning to leave. “Call us for the wedding. I give it six months.” He wandered off down the path.

Sua looked at Mizi. “You owe me a frog. A better one.” She left without another glance.

Mizi beamed at them, backing away. "See you later, babe! Have fun with your boyfriend!" she called directly to Ivan. She blew a kiss and skipped away after Sua.

The hill was quiet again. Till could still feel the stupid press of Ivan’s mouth on his. It was just a thing that happened. His head felt messy.

Ivan’s shoulder bumped against his. “So. Boyfriends.”

Till grunted, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Don’t push it.”

"You'll have to say it eventually."

"I'll say 'go fuck yourself' more often."

"Same difference." Ivan nudged him again, then started walking toward the path. "I've got banana milk in my fridge. The good kind from the convenience store."

Till didn't move. "You think you can bribe me with that?"

"I'm not bribing you. I'm telling you where my good banana milk is." Ivan glanced back over his shoulder. "My boyfriend could have some, if he wanted."

Till stared at his retreating back. This asshole. This manipulative, banana-milk-offering asshole. He took a deep breath.

"You're my boyfriend," he muttered to the ground.

Ivan stopped walking. "What was that?"

"You heard me, dickhead."

"I don't think I did."

Till kicked at a pebble. "You're my boyfriend. Now where's the damn banana milk?"

Ivan's grin was visible even in the dim light. "Right this way.”