the Ivancest guy

the petals drop from the stem, in pieces. the edelweiss was too imperfect to remain complete.

it's like a bucket of cold water has been thrown on till. (pack it up nothing to smile about in your life till get up wake up from this dream 👎

it would be such a shock for him. he never even imagined ivan liking someone else (they were a pair) let alone ivan not being by his side anymore. it's just something he never considered, like an answer to the easy question teachers include on exams just so you won't get a round zero.

he'd known ivan from ever since they were small. he just bothered him so much it'd be impossible to forget him. even when he'd be aging, and specially then. he imagined them sitting side by side on the porch, gently moving back and forth on their rocking chairs, ivan poking fun at till for having gray hair sooner than he did and till shooting back that ivan's pointed fang had finally fallen from his mouth after talking so much trash throughout his life. ivan would use his cane to poke till and blame their ten inches tall dog for it. till would complain they wasted money on the waterbed—my back pains remained the same, if not worse!

well.

they were meant to grow old together.

his world would be in shambles. ivan, who'd be dying, would fairing much better than him.

till would beg on his knees, completely desperate, for ivan to give up on whoever this person is. screw begging, actually, he'd be demanding it. they don't deserve ivan's life. they don't deserve his well being. they don't fucking deserve him at ALL. he's too important to lose. as a last resource, till would be gripping ivan's shirt, trying anything to make him change his mind—hanahaki was once such a magical concept for him, but now, he just wanted to kill each and every person involved on the romantic movies that had ever fascinated him. how dare them?

that would only make ivan madder. mm /rubs chin in contemplation an ivan who's so done with life that he's just hitting till over and over, in tears, because how the fuck can he say that. how come you didn't notice it was you? are you taking me for a fool? why do you care NOW???

he'd be so tired of taking so much pain in silence. it wouldn't be pretty at all. it'd be ugly, and till would have no other choice than to face it.

till would feel a tight squeeze on his chest—he'd argue with ivan under normal circumstances, he was already close to snapping "how did you expect me to notice?!" but he couldn't get his mouth to open when he looked at ivan. the words jumble up on his tongue, his throat closes in itself.

ivan, who had grown even taller than him as years passed; ivan, who had broad shoulders and a small pudgy belly because he couldn't get enough of eating; ivan, who styled his hair like a prince.

and the ivan in front of him, thin, skin pale, messy hair and looking so, so, so small.

It’s one of the things he admires most about Till. His unpredictability, his complicated-ness. The fact that Ivan could never make sense of him, that he would always be confused and awed and taken by him. Till was unknowable to him, maybe to anyone, but Ivan wanted to take in as much of him as possible.

The solid fact of it, that he wanted Till, all of him or just as much as he could get, was buried deep in his bones, unmovable and heavy, dragging him deeper and deeper until he drowned. It was no longer something he could ignore, hadn’t been for years, but facing his own want directly on never failed to make his throat tight.

He entertained the idea that Till was telling the truth. That he had written an entire painful, raw song about his desire for someone other than Mizi. It seemed ridiculous. Till wasn’t close enough to anyone else to have developed such feelings, especially in such a short time.