okay but rebellion till gifting ivan some pressed flowers ??? would he like this gift 👉👈 maybe till will find a plant that is both edible and pretty and gift ivan a pot, like pansies or borage !!
“ ... ” ivan stared at the sheet of paper presented to him, with different kinds of flowers pressed into it and covered with a thin film to protect them and keep them in place. his expression remained devoid much of anything, though he inspected the gift for a long while. like he wasn't sure what to make of it.
manners dictated he says thank you but it felt heavy on his tongue. lying has started to feel a little too forced with till; in an unpleasant way. he looked up, searching for answers in the other's face and found none. only a shy, expectant boy. now, a grown man. his features were still as sharp and wild as ever, though just a tad tempered by age as well as experience. they'd never been on equal footing in ivan's mind, but now the gap seemed as big as ever.
till had become everything ivan had wanted him to be: strong, independent. free. and despite being in a position of power, it didn't seem like it had gotten into his head. yet. ivan wondered if it ever would, though it's been a few months since he'd been here, and he hadn't seen the man waver. he wondered where he got all that fighting spirit from, let alone for it to have survived for so long.
maybe that was why he'd always love him.
even if it seemed like there no longer was any place for 'ivan,' despite that once having been his deepest, darkest desire. still was, really. he just stopped chasing after it.
ivan looked back at the flowers. they reminded him of times that he'd argue were easier. filled with routine and things he knew. here, out in the wilds, it was much like his childhood: no day was guaranteed. there was no sense of stability. it drove him insane; slowly, but surely. maybe that was why he felt so bittersweet about this gift. he'd always despised flowers of any kind due to bad association, but now the memory was almost more sweet than bitter.
but it was from till. till who'd found his own life. till who guided many others. till who'd never stopped shining, despite the damage to his voice. till who still managed to find a bit of time to play with a doll of the system. so maybe he should be grateful. maybe he should stop being so selfish. this was already a lot more than he'd ever deserve; quietly, ivan wished till would have just left him rot in the studio instead.
“ ... thank you, ” he said after an excruciatingly long while, with a tone of voice that was hard to discern. there was that usual monotonous quality that ivan's voice possessed, one that spoke of words learned, rehearsed. but also a hint of something more genuine. something human. something that was trying. “ i'll keep them somewhere safe. ”
maybe they could try again.
