#sangsorrow

listen i had a vision

shitty, shitty drawings. | ACCEPTING // @sangsorrow

// i fear ivan doesn't fully reciprocate lu guang's surprisingly good results 😔

"... And yet I allowed myself to be dragged on a date with you," he says neutrally. He's not mad about it. He's actually not even sure what to feel about it. At least Ivan has treated him kindly thus far, not to mention seems to have spent a ridiculous amount on dinners that make Lu Guang's stomach turn in both utter gluttony and guilt.

A sigh. He puts down the card. Considers Ivan at length. "Why is the 'proactive' box half marked, anyway? You've not been that passive with me."

ivan isn't skilled enough in handmade crafts, so he needed to get this commissioned. he went through several people to ensure the end product was perfect. it just had to be. and even though he himself was satisfied with the result, he still lacked the confidence to say that till would like it. or even care to begin with. it was a guitar case tailored specifically for that old, half-falling apart guitar that till somehow kept clinging to. ivan didn't understand the materialistic attachment, but if it was important to till, then it clearly held some value.

the case itself was black, decorated with custom bright-colored embroidery from some doodles he's been secretly asking till to draw and then confiscated in order to keep the design; ranging from flowers, stars, lightning bolts, to some more abstract shapes. inside, he's hidden a few more random things that he's bought and gathered over the last few months that he's observed till showing some interest in. specifically, a packet of crayons and a blanket that could be colored in.

the final hurdle was figuring out how to actually present this to him. every scenario that he's played out in his head felt pretty awkward to him, or just too impersonal. he didn't want till to think that he was doing this out of obligation. well, partially, yes, but that alone was fuelled by the overwhelming feelings he had for the other.

he doesn't bring it up first thing in the morning. if anything, he just waits and observes, curious about if till would be any sort of whiny about not getting proper attention on his "special day." ivan took it upon himself to prepare breakfast, but even that wasn't anything particularly out of the ordinary.

“ stay put for a while, ” he says as he takes their empty plates to put them in the sink. he supposes now is as good time as any. he briefly leaves the room to fetch his gift, not wrapped in any meticulous fashion, save for a little decorative bow around the neck of the guitar case. “ that old, rotten guitar of yours is kinda an eyesore. so i figured you could keep it in this. ”

“ happy birthday...? ”

ivan isn't the only one who has a complicated relationship with his birthday. though till actually has one, the last time it was properly celebrated was the last year his mother was alive. he was six, too young to know he should be recording it for later years as io sang for him in her hospital bed.

till never forgets when his birthday is, but he also doesn't feel the same giddy excitement he did when his mother was still around. or even during the early years with his father. those were the worst; the hard crash from excitement to disappointment when urak didn't acknowledge till's birthday at best, or beat him for being annoying about it at worst. one year, when till's grades were up because his teachers didn't give enough of a shit to fail him, urak left him a grocery store cupcake in the fridge with a note saying, 'keep it up.'

of course, he didn't.

maybe if he were a better kid, urak would have given him more attention on his birthday. the others in his class certainly got a lot of it, surrounded by smiling faces and candles, their parents planning elaborate parties that till wasn't invited to. (not their fault; he was a known troublemaker.) but till himself was too rotten for any of that. he didn't even eat seaweed soup on his birthdays, though it would be easy to seek out — the taste reminded him too much of his mom. ironic, perhaps, given that that was the whole point of eating it on your birthday, but. whatever. he always thought tradition was stupid.

as he grew bolder in his late teens and early twenties, he'd use his birthday as an excuse to get blackout drunk on other people's dime and sleep with strangers, letting anyone use his body how they wanted and forgetting about it the next day. by the time he and ivan got together, all that was left of his feelings on the matter was a lingering hollowness.

in a way, they're both rediscovering sentimentality.

of course he didn't expect ivan to actually get him anything. he'd rather not burden his partner with the thoughts that plague him today either, so he's abnormally quiet at breakfast, his eyes far away. does make an effort to give ivan a kiss in gratitude, though. when he's told to stay put, there's no protest or follow-up questions. he just says sure, and tries not to tremble at being left alone with no distraction from his thoughts. it's not like he's allowed to light up a cigarette or a joint inside, but ivan told him to stay put, so he can't go on a walk to get drugs either. do they still have soju in the house? maybe he should finally get a vape.

he's so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn't even notice ivan opening the door. it's only when he approaches, something in his arms, that till looks up from the middle distance with a start. the bow catches his eye first, immediately alerting him to what's going on; the remnants of schoolyard bullying cause a knot of anxiety to twist in his gut before he reminds himself that he isn't a kid anymore. ivan wouldn't do something like that to him. right?

once his head is clear, till can focus on the guitar case being presented to him. it's new, sleek and black and sized perfectly for his instrument — did ivan get it custom-made? when did he take till's guitar out of the house? — and scattered with brightly-colored embroidery patches that look startlingly familiar. till's art. sometimes, over the last few months, ivan would sidle up next to him and ask for a doodle, either something of till's choice or a random symbol. he thought ivan was just hoarding them. but here, they've been arranged in a scattershot pattern across the black canvas, like crazy multicolored stars in the sky.

it must have taken a hell of a lot of work to have this made. not to mention that his guitar is his prized possession, the one thing he managed to cling to throughout his childhood that urak couldn't destroy ( and he tried. till gave him a deep scar across the back of his hand for it. he'd learned by then how to distract his stepfather into hurting him instead of something or someone else; it was only his stupid awful body, after all. ) it's more than anyone has ever done for him. it's certainly more than till deserves. he looks at the case reverently, fingertips catching on the raised edges of the patches before working their way across the surface. fuck. how does ivan expect him to stay composed when he did something like this?

❝ ivan— ❞ his voice is strangled by the lump in his throat, tears streaming down the sides of his neck before he can stop them. with a shuddering inhale, he flings his arms around his boyfriend's neck and pulls him in for a hug. it awkwardly squishes the guitar case between their bodies, ivan's arms along with it, but till doesn't care. ❝ fuck. what the hell... no one's ever done somethin' this nice for me. you didn't have to- ... but... thank you so much. i love you so much. ❞

  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓  𝐒𝐔𝐀’𝐒  𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒  𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃  𝐎𝐍  𝐇𝐈𝐌,   her  stomach  dropped.  There  he   stood,  stuffed  into  her  favorite  blouseㅤ—ㅤone  she’d  gone  out  of  her  way  to  keep  pristine.  It  was  clinging  for  dear  life  across  his  broad  shoulders,  seams  pulled  taut,  the  frills  stretched   and  would  tear  if  he  breathed.  Her  voice  came  out  high  and  thin,  almost  a  squeak. 

❝ㅤivan  -ㅤ  That’s  my  favorite  blouse!  Do  you  have  any  idea  how  hard  it  was  to  find  something  this  cute  ?  plus  mizi  helped  pick  this  out  !!    ❞   She  could  already  hear  the  stitches  straining.  ㅤ

❝    if  you  stretch  it  out,  it’ll  never  fit  me  the  same  againㅤ—ㅤ  You’re  going  to  ruin  itㅤ withㅤ your  behemoth  figure!  If  even  one  thread  tears,  so  help  me  godㅤ-  I’m  raiding  your  closet  and  I’m  never  giving  anything  back.  especially  that  one  hoodie  i  really  liked.  ❞  She  let  out  an  exaggerated  huff.   Her  voice  tilted  higher,  almost  petulant.   was  she  being  dramatic…?  probably  -

" Hey, Ivan! Do you have a second? " a jubilant voice matches it's bubblegum person as Mizi snags Ivan's sleeve, tugging him, a little childish in what is a common role for her, ever-charming, and anyway, it's better to grab them before they run, usually. Not like he will, anyway. — Or, Mizi doesn't think he will. Galvanic eyes glimmer up at him, mischief hidden in the curve of her lashes, always something hidden.