Archive of Our Own ^beta

“What the fuck is this supposed to be?” Till asked, narrowing his eyes at the two hair clips Ivan had in his hand—a green stem with a red anemone—outstretched towards Till.  

Ivan faux-pouted. "No need to be so crass, Till. These are friendship hair clips.” 

“And what in the world are ‘friendship hair clips’ supposed to be?” Till sighed, rubbing at his temple in annoyance. 

Ivan fell backwards onto Till’s bed dramatically. “Forget it. Clearly you don’t care about us as much as I do,” he bemoaned. 

“You should get into acting,” Till sniped as he got up from his computer chair, grabbing his hair clip from Ivan’s enclosed fists as Ivan’s smile grew readily. “Why did you get us these?”

“I found these at an accessory kiosk at the mall. I’d never seen anemone merch before,” Ivan explained as Till scrunched his eyebrows at the phrase anemone merch. 

“So that’s why you bought them? Because… I like anemones?” It was true. Till’s favourite flower was indeed the anemone, the red one, to be specific. 

Ivan hummed in confirmation. “By the way, why do you even like them so much?” He asked,  his eyes slightly skirting towards Till’s window, the view stretched out to the neighbourhood. 

“Well, I always thought they were pretty,” Till murmured, lost in thought, “but like, that was before I'd assigned any meaning to them and all that.” 

Ivan nodded, well aware of the flower journal Till kept with pressed petals and deeply winded annotations. “Did its meaning make you like it more somehow?” 

“Yeah, it reminded me of you,” Till blurted before flushing slightly, embarrassed at his admission.

Ivan’s eyes widened. “Elaborate,” he said, crimson pupils imperceptibly flaring. 

“In Greek contexts, they’re often associated with deep passion, or love.” Ivan made a certain strangled noise. Till didn’t bother questioning him at the time, too engrossed in his spiel. “They bloomed from Adonis’ spilt blood for his lover Aphrodite. However, they could also refer to the breeze, hence, the ‘anemos.'” 

Ivan smirked, but there was something weirdly wonky about it. "So when you think of passionate love, you think of me. Good to know.” He winked at the end, causing Till to sigh. 

“I mean, when I think of you, I think of your eyes, and there’s no flower that captures that intensity quite as much as this one,” Till admitted as Ivan blinked rapidly. “I think you’d be really passionate when it comes to what you love. It would be all-consuming, just like everything else you like,” Till said earnestly. 

Ivan swallowed audibly, looking straight at the fuzzy blue carpet under his feet. “I see.”

Taking it as a cue to continue, Till barrelled on, “Although, it has certain other connotations I don’t really agree with.” 

“Oh?” Ivan looked back up. “And what would those be?”

“Nothing important,” Till insisted. “I’m just—”

“And what about edelweiss?” Ivan had interrupted, as Till’s brows furrowed.

“Did you stumble upon it for the first time recently or something?” Till rebutts, confused.

“Sort of,” Ivan mumbled, “They looked delicate, sort of tragic. The name sounds German,”

“That’s because it is,” Till said, as he recollects the page he had adorned with the flower, remembering how much money he’d coughed up to obtain one from the florist, “They’re very romantic, for one— for the most courageous of lovers, some would say, a sacrificial sense of devotion,”

Till’s frown deepened as he connected the two flowers’ connotation at that moment, “Wait, they—”

Ivan interrupted with loud coughing fits, seemingly choking on air despite the fact that they seemed rough. Till shot up and was next to Ivan in an instant, patting his back. Ivan’s eyes were slightly watery, as if he were trying to hold something back. 

“Where’s your inhaler?” Till asked, grabbing Ivan’s bag.

Ivan snatched his bag back. "I didn’t bring it," he said in between his fits of coughing. Till glared at Ivan, at the bag he seemed so intent on hiding the contents of. 

“Seriously? Dude, you were diagnosed, like, months ago. You’re supposed to carry that with you everywhere,” Till groaned. He grabbed the water he’d set specifically for Ivan’s fits on his nightstand. “Drink,” he instructed. 

Ivan acquiesced, gingerly taking the glass from Till’s hands before drinking the water. Eventually, his fit subsided, and Till felt like he could breathe again. 

“I’m not letting you into my house next time if you forget your inhaler, by the way," Till said, grabbing Ivan by the collar. “Take your life seriously, got it?” 

Ivan stared into Till’s eyes, and Till tried not to let it rattle him. “Yeah, sure,” Ivan said. “Anyway, don’t forget to wear the hair clip, especially when I’m not around, 'kay?” 

“Not around? What are you? Dead?” Till asked, incredulous. “And I’m not wearing that unless you are too. I’m not embarrassing myself alone!” 

Ivan huffed. “Figured you’d say that.” He pulled out another anemone hairclip, with a white stem instead. “Happy?”

“Not yet, I’m not,” Till grumbled before pushing Ivan flat onto the bed again as Ivan gasped. Till grabbed the pin, crawling on top of Ivan to look for the best place to slide the clip in. Till found unruly strands of Ivan's parted hair; Ivan looked at him, bewildered— Till swiftly, gently, pushed it back with the clip, before he peeked down at Ivan. 

Ivan stared back up at him, his face completely and utterly red. “Did you need to push me back to do that?” He asked with a shaky chuckle. 

Till rolled his eyes. “Yes? How else was I supposed to get an aerial view?” 

“An aerial view.” 

“You'd better wear that every day too. If we’re going to be weird, we need to be weird together,” Till concluded, levelling Ivan with a look. 

Ivan’s snaggle-tooth peeked out of his grin. “I can accept your terms.”

⊱✿⊰

High school has its fair share of tumultuous obstacles, most of which Till is not oblivious to: the endless piles of homework, the pre-calculus practice workbooks, art assignments, and assigned reading– Not to mention the social life you're expected to maintain on top of it all. 

Quite frankly, Till is impressed by the fact that he remembers to apply sunscreen in the mornings, much less keep track of his mental and physical state most days. He has to attribute most of that to his mother and, well, Ivan. 

They're currently sitting on the ratty bench atop the school’s roof, with Till unboxing the bento his mother packed for him this morning, whilst Ivan unwraps the samgak kimbap he bought at the convenience store on their way walking to school in the morning. 

He's used to them eating in silence most of the time. Till will sometimes play some music—whatever alternative rock band whose discography he’d decided to scour over that week—and Ivan will bat his eyes expectantly as Till sighs, passing over his right-wired earbud as Ivan’s eyes shine, scooching even closer to Till, resting his head atop the shorter boy’s shoulder. 

“I’ll be absent next week, by the way,” Ivan says, suddenly. Till pauses the song, his thumb staying pressed against the two parallel lines. Ivan hasn’t missed more than a single day of school a year for as long as Till has known him (far too long), and that's over his annual dental checkup. 

“Why?” Till asks, not knowing what else to say. 

Ivan shrugs against his shoulder. “Eh, recovery period.” 

“Recovery period?” Till blinks, the slope of his raised brow decreasing exponentially, negative. “For what?” 

“Surgery.”

No shit. 

“What fucking surgery, moron?” Till shrugs Ivan off his shoulder, resulting in Ivan pouting obnoxiously. Not that it matters right now. 

“You wouldn’t know,” Ivan says. “It’s over a condition, mostly foreign. Japanese, to be specific.” 

“What the fuck?” Till asks. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this? What condition?” His worldview’s axis starts to shift, ever so slightly. 

Ivan says nothing, his gaze fixed on the sprouting daffodils in the rooftop’s planter. Till rips his earbud out, taking Ivan’s with it.

“Ivan. If you don’t tell me, I’m going to look up every single Japanese condition known to mankind, so don’t try weaselling your way out of this shit,” he snaps, his glare icy. Ivan gives it another few minutes.

“Hanahaki,” Ivan mutters, eventually. 

Hanahaki? Till thinks he remembers seeing something relating to the term in a manhwa store. “What exactly is it?” he asks, frustrated at Ivan’s lack of meeting his gaze as the other boy continues staring at the goddamn daffodils. 

“It’s a Japanese condition.” 

“Fuck you and your bullshit, Ivan. Be straight with me for once in your life!” Till hisses, grabbing Ivan by his blazer’s collar to force him into making eye contact. Ivan continues to keep his gaze elsewhere, focusing on Till’s ruffled grey hair. “What. Condition.” 

“Flowers grow in my lungs, and I end up choking them out. They have been for about a few years now. Father finally noticed, so he’s forcing me to get them removed.” Ivan huffs, hollow laughter ringing through Till’s ears like an ear-piercing church bell. 

“F-flowers? For a few years?” Till stammers, in disbelief. How did he not notice literal flowers spill from Ivan’s mouth? Or notice his suffering, or–

“You asshole! You told me you had fucking asthma!” Till realises, his palms moving before he could control them, cupping Ivan’s chin harshly, forcing him to look. Ivan, however, is somehow incapable. He continues his silent game, observing how the wind plays with grey strands, toying them about, stringing them along. 

Till comes to another slow realisation as he continues staring into Ivan’s eyes, hesitant. “So, why are you telling me?” 

Ivan hums in question as Till clarifies, “You wouldn’t tell me if it didn’t have something to do with me. You never tell me shit. So, clearly, this is going to affect me in a way you can’t hide. Out with it.” 

Ivan’s eyes imperceptibly widen, and the notion makes Till feel insulted in ways he didn’t think were possible. He is somewhat accustomed to Ivan’s bouts of self-deprecation, but did he seriously think this lowly of their relationship? That Till wouldn’t catch the fuck on over some of his most obvious patterns?

“It’s…” 

Crimson finally snaps onto teal, wavering.

“The surgery removes the root of the growing plant, ergo, the root of the emotion it stems from. The… Sensation,” Ivan says the word sensation like it's incomplete, like he's unwilling to accept it. Or, like it's meant to be another word entirely; Till isn’t sure. Unfortunately, he can never be sure when it comes to Ivan. 

“The sensation,” Till repeats, hollow. “So, what you’re telling me is that with the removal of the flowers, it’ll get rid of some kind of feeling?” 

Ivan shakes his head slightly. “Well, sort of. Specifically, though, the memories are associated with this feeling. It removes the source almost entirely.” His pupils tremor. Fear, Till realises. This is the first time he’s seen what it looks like on Ivan

Till doesn’t say anything; the sight of Ivan’s emotion temporarily numbs his thought process. Shockingly, Ivan speaks. 

“Till,” he starts, breathlessly, “we won’t be the same after this. I can’t guarantee anything. I don’t know anything.” 

Till’s brows furrow. “What? What does this have to do with us, Ivan? What are you talking about?” 

Till attempts to rack his brain as Ivan fails to provide clear context. If hanahaki is a shoujo manhwa trope, then that means it has to be romantically inclined, doesn't it? If the emotion has something to do with love, if removing it means removing the source of that emotion along with it, and if that source happens to have something to do with Till, then…

“Ivan…” Till’s eyes widen, dimineundo, and Ivan’s soften as he witnesses the sensation’s dawning. “Are you serious?” Till whispers, disbelief colouring his tone. 

“I know,” Ivan chuckles.

“Ivan, I’m so–”

“No.” Ivan’s gaze suddenly turns sharp. “Don’t be sorry over something you can’t control. It’s my fault, if anything. I genuinely never intended for you to ever find out, but you’ll need to know why I might not be there to pick you up from your house every morning to poke at your cheek." Ivan laughs bitterly. 

“Wait.” Till pauses, trying to halt the millions of thoughts running through his mind desperately. “You weren’t going to do the surgery until Unsha fucking found out?!” 

“I was being careless,” Ivan replies, his own brows furrowing with discontent. “I didn’t think he was home. I didn’t think he’d listen in on me in the bathroom–”

“Ivan!” Till shakes Ivan’s shoulder. “That’s not the point! I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I should be thanking your sorry excuse of a father right now because, for some fucking reason, he’s the one in the right here.” 

“Like fuck he is,” Ivan blurts. Till’s jaw loosens in mild shock, as it always does when Ivan cusses. “I don’t think you understand how important you are to my psyche, Till. If I lose you, I don’t know if I’ll even be me anymore,” he stresses, as if it’s an objective fact. 

The world spins too fast, like when an eager child finds a globe on a teacher’s desk, violently striking it, bordered nations blurring into a jumbled mess of blue and green.

“Fuck off,” he says, finally. “You’ll be fine. You have other things, Ivan. I’m not your only thing," Till says, unable to define what exactly that 'thing' represents. Maybe it is everything, but Till doesn’t wish to think about it too much at this moment. 

As if a switch has been flipped, Ivan does not stop gazing at Till, while Till is the one to skirt away. 

“This might be good for you, though,” Ivan says, his voice gentle, as if each word doesn't tear into Till’s arteries. “You won’t have to deal with this burden for much longer. It’ll pass.” 

“You’re not dead,” Till manages, his voice hoarse. “We'll still be us.” 

For the first time, Till feels waves of terror shake through their profound silence. 

“Yeah?” Ivan asks, allowing for naivety to bleed through his tone, if but for a moment. Till thinks about all the sides of Ivan he never thought he’d be privy to, never thought were possible, all revealed to him today. The first and last day they might be. 

Till swallows, harsh. “Of course.”

⊱✿⊰

Till tries not to let his mind wander too far over Ivan’s absence. He sent Ivan’s cousin—Sua, he thinks—with cans of Ivan’s favourite peach soda along with his mom’s homemade jjinppang, the kind she makes in large batches just because she knows Ivan adores it. 

Will Ivan even recognise Till's mom anymore? Till gnaws at the end of his pencil, at the flimsy sheet of metal tethering eraser to lead. Till has long since decided that it might be best to observe Ivan cautiously at first. The urge to visit him in the hospital was primate, yet knowing that he's the source being weeded out caused him to hesitate. Will Ivan even want him there?

Till spends the week mindlessly doodling. It starts off with the usual: edelweiss, anemones, drifting into messily scribbling in a circular motions before drawing out smooth lines tangentially, thick strokes underneath. Till realises exactly what he's drawing. 

Eugh. 

⊱✿⊰

“Till, you should visit Ivan. He’d like that,” his mom says, sliding a bowl of bibimbap over as she sits across from him. Till thanks her for the meal before picking at it aimlessly with his chopsticks, mulling over her suggestion."

He hasn’t told her about the exact things they said that afternoon on the rooftop. Not really. He doesn’t think it's worth bringing up. All she knows is that Ivan is sick and that he'll get better, that he might forget things. That he’ll probably forget Till. (He decides not to say that last bit out loud.)

“What if he doesn’t remember me?” Till says. “I don’t know if I could handle that," he admits shyly. 

She hums thoughtfully. “It would be better to gauge how much he remembers before school starts, wouldn’t it? That way, you’ll know what to say to help bring him back up to speed, and you’ll know what to expect.” 

She has a point. Till is just a coward. 

“Besides, he’s your best friend. How much could he possibly forget?” She chuckles, as if her words don't strike him like a bullet shot right through his rib cage.  

“Right,” He says, his words strained.

“I could send you over with some of those cookies I baked yesterday. That boy has quite the sweet tooth,” she continues, oblivious to Till’s turmoil. 

“Eomma, you’re spoiling him.”

Till sighs as his mother tuts disapprovingly. “Nonsense. That poor child just went through surgery, Till. If I had it my way, I’d smother him with homemade lunches and treats until he felt better.”

They continue chattering over dinner despite Till’s mind clearly being elsewhere. His mother picks up their empty bowls as Till tries grabbing them back.

“I’ll wash them,” he insists as she shakes her head. 

“I need to pack Ivan that box of cookies, anyway. Go put your shoes on.” 

Till heads to the front door with a sigh as he tugs his sneakers on. Io hands him a glass container filled to the brim with red velvet cookies, along with an umbrella. “Forecast says it might rain,” she says, and Till nods before heading out 

The walk to Ivan’s mansion is pretty quick, all things considered. Till just has to take a few turns, climb up a hill or two. It's basically muscle memory at this point—despite the fact that he’s only been to Ivan’s abode maybe twice in his life. Ivan typically never likes spending time there. 

Till knocks on mahogany, bracing himself for whoever's going to answer the door. 

“Till?” 

He stares blankly ahead. “Ivan? Shouldn’t you be resting or something? Where are your, uh, in-home nurses or whatever?”

Ivan shakes his head, albeit slowly, as if slightly confused. “I don’t have those. Uh, not to sound ungrateful or anything, but is there a reason why you’re here exactly?” Ivan flashes Till a smile as if to alleviate any potential rudeness in his question. 

A smile. Not his smile. 

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” Till asks, testing the waters. 

Ivan furrows his brows. “I mean, we’re just classmates, and you’ve already sent me jjinppang and peach soda.” 

Oh. Right. Ok.

“My mom heard about your surgery, so she wanted to bake you more stuff,” Till says, blandly, pretending like what Ivan had just said didn’t fill his body with insurmountable levels of agony. He hands over the plastic bag to Ivan, whose eyes widen a little as he explores its contents. 

“Ah, red velvet cookies. That’s very sweet of her. Thank her for me, would you?” Ivan requests, politely. Politely. Till thinks the last time Ivan’s been polite to him was when– Well, never. 

We'll still be us. 

Till glances away. “So, uh, how are you holding up?” 

Ivan flashes another one of those smiles, and Till thinks he wants to punch his lights out. “I’m holding up pretty well. Thank you for asking. However, it might be difficult to catch up with everything I’ve missed, not to mention my student council duties, haha. Ah, I’m rambling. I should stop,” Ivan says, his voice carrying a charming lilt to it. Maybe if Till were literally anybody else, this ‘endearing’ behaviour might get him to swoon. 

Till, however, doesn’t say anything in response to this which causes Ivan to awkwardly scratch his head.

“Anyway, thanks for stopping by, Till. I’ll, uh, run into you at school, yeah?” Ivan asks, in a way that screams 'I need this conversation to end.'

“Yeah, okay.” Till swiftly turns around. He doesn’t bother saying goodbye, doesn’t bother with anything. Ivan closes the door, before he steps foot out of his driveway. 

Sorry, Ivan. I can’t do this. 

I’m too selfish to pretend.

⊱✿⊰

“Dude! You were gone for, like, the entire week! What gives? Did your cat die or something?” Obnoxious laughter permeates through Till’s earphones as he rolls his eyes, continuing to pretend to work on his simultaneous equations worksheet. 

6x + 2y = -3

“Had to get my tonsils out. You know how it is,” Ivan says, like they know how it is. “Did I miss much? Yeong scoring a touchdown for the wrong team again?” He’s probably flashing that smile at them too. 

4x - 3y = 11

The laughter continues as they talk about this Yeong guy—seriously, how did he qualify for the team? Till thinks about walking out, but his feet stay planted, firm. What was the next step again? He needs to make ‘x’ or ‘y’ the subject for the first equation or something…

2y = -3 -6x

y = -(3-6x)/2

“Anyways, you’re down for that party, right? At Marty’s? I know you’re usually busy spending Friday nights with that weird emo kid or whatever, but–” 

“Huh?” Ivan interrupts, his brows furrowing.  Till feels his grip on his pencil tighten, hears the sound of wood splintering. 

“Y’know, that guy, uh, what was his name again? That one, back there.” 

Till gets up instantaneously, metal chair legs scraping against the floor, adding to the attention he was already about to receive. He picks up his worksheets and pencil case wordlessly, walking out without sparing so much as a glance at them, at him. 

“D’you think he heard us? What’s his deal? We didn’t even say anything,” he hears, as he leaves, another voice pipes up. “I mean, you did call him weird, Yeong.” 

Till hopes Yeong trips on his shoelaces and dies. 

He makes his way over to the student council room, practically kicking the door open. “Luka, shove over. I need to work here,” he says, curt. 

Luka, the blond bane of his existence, looks up from some manwha he's reading, probably R-rated yaoi, if his track record is anything to go by. “You have a classroom, don’t you?” he asks, blandly, despite gesturing towards the empty seat on his right. The only other member in the room, Sua— another member of said council—spares them a glance before returning to her actual student-council-related paperwork.

“Too loud,” is all Till says, sliding next to Luka. Luka raises a brow but opts to return to what must be gay tentacle sex or something of an equal calibre.

“You never come here to study,” Sua says boredly as Till stares at her in disbelief.

“Since when did you care?” 

She doesn’t bother looking up from her writing. “You’re right. Do whatever you want. By the way, Ivan ate all the jjinppang. He liked it, told me to thank you.”

Till’s head shoots up. “He what?” 

“He couldn’t tell why you gave it to him,” she says. “I called him an idiot, but he looked genuinely confused. Have you never given him anything before? I could swear he leeches off of you constantly.” 

Till laughs, empty. That's more like it. 

“I did. He must’ve forgotten. We’re not really that close anymore,” Till says, quietly. This, apparently, piques Luka’s interest. 

“There’s no way that’s true,” Luka says, simply. “If I so happen to bring your name into a council meeting in any manner, his eyes fucking brighten. It’s sick.” 

Till feels bile begin to crawl up his oesophagus. “I can assure you, that probably won’t happen from here on out. Not that I ever knew it did in the first place,” he mutters the last sentence bitterly.

Luka hums. “Okay. I don’t believe you, but okay.” He returns his attention to his manhwa, whilst Sua only looks at Till, donning an unreadable expression before going back to her work. Till sighs as he stares back down at his equation. 

⊱✿⊰

The wind sweeps through Till’s thin overcoat as he makes his way over to the grassy fields, breathing in the crisp air.

Memories of naive laughter ring through his ears as he sighs wistfully, looking up at the starry night sky.

Friday night. Did he— Would he?

“Promise?”

Till shudders, the frigid air doesn't help.

“Till?”

Till freezes as he hears a familiar drag of sneakers trudge against the dewy grass.

“Ivan,” Till manages, sucking in a breath. “What are you–”

“Just felt like looking at the stars tonight. Not sure why exactly,” Ivan says, tilting his head as an unreadable expression crosses his face.

“Not sure, huh.” Till laughs, hollow. Ivan stares, his gaze calculative.

“Do you know why?” Ivan asks, far too perceptive.

Till gulps quietly. “Why you’re here? Beats me.”

Ivan doesn’t say anything for a minute or two before humming slightly.

“You were at the council office earlier,” Ivan says, suddenly, as Till raises an eyebrow.

“What about it?”

Ivan looks at the stars, possibly mapping out some purely false constellation.

“You left right when I got there,” he says, like it's just an observation, nothing more.

“Did I?” Till asks. They both know the answer.

“Must’ve been a coincidence,” Ivan says, slowly, his voice deceptively monotone.

“Must’ve.”

Ivan didn’t show up after that night. Or any others.

⊱✿⊰

“There’s a meteor shower that’s supposed to be happening soon,” Ivan said offhandedly, as he helped Till shape the moat surrounding his sandcastle. 

Till looked up. “A… Meteor shower?” he asked, befuddled. Ivan laughed, a laugh that Till used to think mocked him. Hindsight was twenty-twenty; it was a laugh which probably had a certain sentiment behind it.

Till glared at the other boy. “Not all of us are weird, star know-it-all people, Ivan.” 

Ivan’s laughter faded, yet his smile remained plastered on. It was real. “Till-ah, do you know what a shooting star is?” 

“Of course, I know what a shooting star is! I’m not that dumb,” Till huffed, affronted. Ivan shook his head, shifting towards an empty pit of sand. He drew about a dozen streaks of diagonal lines. 

“It’ll look just like this. A million shooting stars,” Ivan said, his voice brimming with awe, fascination. Till’s eyes squinted at the drawing. 

“Are you stupid? That’s like, way less than a million,” Till said, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. 

Ivan pouted. “I can’t draw a million of them!” As Till cackled at finally rattling the shorter boy, he noticed how Ivan stared at him when he laughed, but he figured it was just a weird Ivan thing to do, like how he turns a little red when Till plops a freshly made flower crown atop his head, or like how Ivan would lick the blood off Till's thumb whenever he got a paper cut.

“So, you wanna watch it, huh? Can I come?” Till asked, suddenly, his gaze shifting towards Ivan’s messily sprawled lines. Ivan’s eyes widened. 

“Yeah. That’s what I was going to ask you, actually,” Ivan said, his tone hushed. 

Till tilted his head. “Oh? That’s good. It sounds like fun. Must be if you like it. I’ll ask Eomma to make us snacks or something.” 

“You don’t need to inconvenience her like that,” Ivan said, dazed as he stared at the rounded moat. 

“Eugh, what seven-year-old uses stupidly long words like that?” Till groaned. “It won’t ‘inconvenience’ her or whatever. She’ll be mad if we go without any snacks. Any requests?” 

Ivan waved his hands wildly. “Oh, no. Whatever’s easiest for her.” 

Till narrowed his eyes. “I’m gonna ask her to make us some jjinppang.” He relished in the visceral reaction he received from Ivan in response.

“How did you know?” he asked, despite his creeping, giddy smile. 

“Your eyes sparkle whenever I bring some, idiot. You make, like, cartoon noises when you eat it,” Till commented, snickering as he remembered Ivan messily devouring the red-bean buns the first time his mom had handed them to him on a playdate. 

“Oh,” Ivan said, his cheeks turning rosy, before adding, “I’ll bring those spicy chips you like. Those red toe ones.” 

“Not toes! Chee-tos!” Till shrieked, disbelieving. “Yeah, bring like, a huuuuge bag!” 

“Uh, dude?”

Till feels his shoulder being lightly poked at, and he looks up, glaring at the offending party interrupting his nap. 

Fuck. 

“What do you want?” Till asks, hoarse, trying to control his fake deadpan. Ivan looks at him, at the scattered pencils and crumpled sheets littered around his desk, at the snack pack of Cheetos, lying half-eaten. 

“The bell rang. Everyone else was heading to class. Thought I’d wake you up,” Ivan says, matter-of-factly. There's none of his usual cheeky, fake innocence, nothing in his tone intending to rile Till up. He means exactly what he says. 

“Okay, well. You woke me up,” Till says, glancing at the front door, trying to get Ivan to leave. The now taller boy, however, stays where he is, his expression slightly curious.

“We were friends, right? Like, we were in the same kindergarten and stuff, yeah?” Ivan asks as Till’s breath hitches. 

“What do you think?” Till rebutts, refusing to give him a straight answer. Let him have a taste of his own medicine or whatever. 

“I don’t ‘think’ anything. My friends, they all say we know each other. Everyone asks me how you are, like I’m supposed to know,” Ivan huffs. To an ordinary person who doesn't know Ivan any better, they’d think he sounded amused. Till, however, knows it for what it really is. Ivan is frustrated. 

“Wow, that must suck for you,” Till says, monotone.

 Ivan narrows his eyes at Till. "Are you always like this?” 

“Yep. Problem?” 

“Kinda, yeah.” 

“Cool. I don’t care.” Till sticks his thumb towards the door. "Thanks for waking me up, Mister Vice-President, but I’m perfectly fine where I am. If you’ll excuse me, I have a dream I’d like to revisit."

Ivan acquiesces, walking away almost instantly once he's given the chance. Till never thought he’d see the day. A day when Ivan actually listens to him. Maybe the Great Anakt isn't a dumb religious fallacy after all. However, Ivan pauses before heading out the door, so never mind what Till just said. God is not real. 

“Till,” he says, and Till hates how much his heart burns as he hears the raven say his name for the first time in weeks. “What did we do on Friday nights?” 

Hah.

“Don’t worry about it.”

⊱✿⊰

“You’re in here a lot, now,” Luka drawls, without looking up from today’s yaoi-of-the-day manhwa of his. Till thinks it’s another one of those office setting boss-employee ones, despite Luka’s insistence that it was more ‘nuanced’ than that. “Keep that up, and people really are going to think you’re being bullied.”

“Yeah, okay, let them,” Till says nonchalantly as he continues to sketch aimless doodles. It doesn’t really matter what he draws; it’s all going to turn into his goddamn eye anyhow. 

Luka snorts. “Wow. Seriously. Now, I think you’re getting bullied. We might not exactly have the most run-of-the-mill senior and junior relationship, but you might as well tell me if you are. I have the authority to ruin their academic careers, y’know."

“I’m not being bullied, Luka,” Till groans, “but thanks for the concern.” 

Luka tsks. “Don’t call it concern. I’m not concerned. Bullies are an unnecessary obstacle to my plan for this school.”

Till frowns. “Your plan?”

“To obtain enough peace on school grounds to justify napping all day, I’ll bet,” Hyunwoo mutters as he types on his laptop languidly.

Luka shrugs as Hyunwoo snorts. “Basically."

“Shameless.”

Till isn't really aware of the treasurer and president’s relationship within the school council, especially since he’s barely had maybe two conversations in total with Hyunwoo, but he’s pretty sure Ivan once told him it was essentially the ‘it’s complicated’ Facebook status.

“The point,” Luka begins as he casts a bored side glance at Hyunwoo, “is that this council doesn’t tolerate harassment.”

“I’m not being harassed either,” Till says, annoyed.

“Yeah, whatever,” Luka says. “Did you and your boyfriend break up then?”

“Boyfriend?” Hyunwoo’s eyebrow raises from its window above his laptop screen as Till slightly flushes.

“Not my boyfriend."

“Not anymore,” Luka agrees. “He doesn’t cling to you like a goddamn koala.”

Hyunwoo’s eyes brighten with recognition. “Oh, we’re talking about Ivan.”

“Keep up,” Luka says blandly as Hyunwoo throws an eraser at his trajectory, Luka deftly dodging.

“He’s right, though,” Hyunwoo realises. “I haven’t seen him lean on your shoulders, or inhale your hair, or bite your hair–”

“That’s enough,” Till snaps, his voice cracking embarrassingly as he recalls Ivan’s big fucking mouth snapping over his hair after he changed his shampoo to something banana-scented.

“You brought this on yourself, Till-ah,” Ivan crooned, using Till’s nickname whenever it happened to benefit him. Till recalls pulling at Ivan's hair as he said something about it being kinky–

Whatever. That was just a joke. What-fucking-ever.

⊱✿⊰

Sua slams her palm onto Till’s desk, causing him to jerk slightly, his earphones falling on top of her outstretched fingers.

“Jesus, Sua! What?!” 

“You need to talk to Ivan,” she says, curt.

Till raises an eyebrow. "We’re not exactly ‘friends’ anymore,” he says, airquoting the bygone term he feels like he’s never quite believed in the first place. 

“It’s because he had the hots for you, right? Had hanahaki for you, so you’re the reason why he’s like this," Sua says, an icy glare boring into Till. 

Wait.

“Why he’s like what?” Till asks, confused. 

Sua blinks. “What, you haven’t noticed? How he’s changed since the surgery, I mean.”

“You mean other than how he’s boiling down every significant moment in our lives to nothing more than a fleeting slice-of-life shenanigan? No, we don’t talk anymore," Till mutters, bitterly. 

Sua frowns. “So he remembers everything, then? Just not the significance behind those moments?” 

Till sighs. “I don’t really know how it works either, and at this point, I’ve read literally every hanahaki manhwa I could get my hands on. They rarely talk about what happens after the surgery, since, y’know, it doesn’t make for a very satisfying love story. From what he’s told me when I went to visit him while in recovery, he has memories of more broad things I just happened to be a part of, but not specific moments with, like, just the two of us.” 

“Intimate moments,” Sua concludes as Till cringes. 

“Yeah,” he says, trying not to sound as strained as he feels. Sua doesn't need to know about all of his recent revelations. 

“I see. That aligns well with my theory, then.”

“Your… Theory?” 

Sua nods. “Ivan’s been odd. To me. We’re not exactly close, but he’s not the insufferable prince charming dingbat he usually is to literally everyone other than you and I.” 

“I mean, he basically does act like that to me now,” Till says, like he’s spitting acid. He tries not to think about Ivan clinging to him, resting his head atop Till’s shoulder, nuzzling into it like he lives in its crevices. Tries not to think about the wild, dorky smile he’d sport if Till responded to his affectionate whims. The cocky grin when he was acting like a smartass. Crimson pupils flared when fascinated. 

“Right, and that makes sense,” Sua says, ignoring Till narrowing his eyes at her in annoyance, “but theoretically speaking, it shouldn’t affect the relationship I have with him, right?”

“What relationship?” Till scoffs. In his mind, Ivan and Sua were some weird version of Tom and Jerry: Sua always running away from Ivan’s whims, and Ivan having some sort of odd, childish fascination with her. ‘She’s just like me, like a sister,’ he said once, to which Till responded, ‘Well, yeah, dingus. You’re related.’ And Ivan just laughed like Till didn't get it.

Sua rolls her eyes. “Well, at least it’s not whatever gay Romeo-and-Juliet shit you two have going on. Thank god for that.” 

“It’d be weird if you and your cousin had that kind of relationship,” Till says, trying to ignore whatever she was implying.

“Whatever. He wasn’t being annoying today,” Sua says, getting them back on topic. “He just smiled his stupid fucking smile and then told me to ‘have a good day?'”

Till hums thoughtfully. That certainly doesn't sound like the Ivan he knows. His Ivan would relish at any opportunity to mildly piss Sua off, to press her buttons, so to speak. 

“That’s weird,” he manages, at a loss for what else he could really say. 

Sua scoffs. “Weird doesn’t begin to cover it. The other day, I saw him staring at a pot of flowers on the ground for, like, half an hour.”

“Which pot of flowers?" Till asks, furrowing his brow. 

Sua gives him a funny look. “Does it matter?”

“Depends on your answer.” 

“God.” Sua laughs scornfully. "Did distance make you adopt his cryptic way of talking?” 

Till doesn’t say anything, his head still whirring slightly at the mention of a flower pot. Sua, noticing his inner turmoil, sighs.

“They were edelweiss.” 

Ah. 

Wait. What?

“Edelweiss? Not anemones?” Till asks, blinking rapidly. 

Sua folds her arms. "No, I’m pretty sure I’d know the difference.”

“Would you? I mean, they’re not exactly as common as daisies,” Till presses, as Sua raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, Till, I’d see them all around Ivan’s house. Especially in his room– He’s like, obsessed with them.” Sua pauses, before her eyes slightly widen in realisation. “You don’t think–”

“I’ll talk to him,” Till says, suddenly, launching out of his slumped position.  

He scrolls through his phone, landing on Ivan’s contact picture, an obnoxious selfie of the man smiling widely against Till’s cheek.

He hesitantly clicks on the call icon, his breath hitching when he hears Ivan pick up.

“Till?” Ivan’s voice is muffled against loud chatter, presumably from his team. Till wonders where they are.

“Sorry, I think I’m bothering you,” Till sighs as he hears Ivan shuffling around.

“What? No, Ugh, wait—” Ivan yells something slightly incoherent at his teammates. Till assumes it's to tell them he's leaving to take a call, before he hears the classroom door shut, Ivan's voice lowering to something more personal. “What’s up?”

Till does his best to ignore how his heart rate picks up. “I—just—you haven’t, uh, been there.”

Ivan lets out a confused noise at the same time that Sua does next to Till.

“Been where?”

Ugh.

“Fridays, in the meadow,” Till murmurs, hoping Sua doesn’t pick up on it. Unfortunately for him, Sua’s widened eyes indicate that she did, indeed, hear him.

“That was just the one Friday, wasn’t it?” Ivan asks, his tone dubious.

Till steels himself. “It– Yeah, I guess it was.” Fuck, he's just embarrassing himself at this point. “You’re right. I don’t know why–”

Sua rolls her eyes. "What happened to 'handling it?' Or did you forget how?”

Till glares at the girl, slapping a palm over his phone’s mic. “Fuck you. Of course, I know how.” If he doesn’t, then who would?

“Then, prove it,” Sua says, folding her arms as she raises an eyebrow.

“Uh, Till, are you still talking to me or–”

“Yes, I didn’t hang up, did I?” Till snaps, trepidation suddenly forgotten. “Today’s Friday."

“I’m aware.”

“Yeah, well. Guess I’ll see you there." Till hangs up, refusing to wait for Ivan’s answer.

Sua stares at him. "Did he say he’d be there?”

Till shrugs. “He didn’t have to.”

At least, Till sure hopes he didn’t have to.

⊱✿⊰

Falling stars. They were beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful thing Till had ever seen. 

“Wow, Till, is this your first time looking at a star?” Ivan teased, smirking at the awestruck expression Till donned whilst they stared at the night sky together, lying on their backs against the grass. Till swivelled his head too fast, tasting a fistful of soil as he faced Ivan angrily.

“Eugh!” he exclaimed, spitting out the dirt as Ivan laughed maniacally at him. "You jerk, I’ve obviously seen a star before! I just never saw them fall! Quit acting all high and mighty,” Till quipped, pinching Ivan’s elbow skin (the wenis, as Ivan had so excitedly informed him years later), the shorter boy to wincing in response. 

“It’s my first time too,” Ivan admitted, “but I’ve seen it in pictures, some movies here and there.” 

“Then why the hell did you make fun of me for it?” Till whined as Ivan clicked his tongue.

“Don’t say hell, Till.” 

Till moved to pinch his damned wenis again for that, before Ivan swiftly grasped his hand instead, intertwining their fingers. 

“What are you doing?!” Till hissed, despite not really making any effort to pull his hand away.

“I want to hold your hand,” Ivan said, simply. “You can’t assault me if I’m holding it.” 

“Assault?! What does that even mean?!” Till yelled. 

“Can I keep holding your hand?” Ivan asked, instead of directly answering his question, his cryptic nature that Till was just beginning to get used to at the time.

Till’s brows furrowed. "I mean, yeah, sure. Do whatever you want, Iv.”

Ivan blinked. 

“Did you really need to shorten my name by a syllable? Was two too many?” Ivan asked genuinely as his fingers gripped Till’s hand tightly. 

Till blinked. “I didn’t really think about it. Just sounded, I dunno, cool.” Ivan called him ‘Till-ah.' Couldn’t he call Ivan something different too? 

“Cool,” Ivan echoed.“That constellation’s Phan Minor, by the way,” he said, pointing at the stars, drawing out a pattern Till wasn’t able to visualise very clearly. 

“You keep going over the same lines. What exactly are you drawing?” Till asked, frustrated.

Ivan shrugs. “Beats me.”

“Beats you– Hey! Were you making that up?!” Till yelled, affronted. Ivan only giggled in response before Till rolled on top of Ivan, who proceeded to squeal as Till squished him. 

“Till-ah! Get off! I can’t breathe!” Ivan laughed as Till poked at all his sides, effectively tickling him.

Till started to laugh as well, as Ivan’s laughter began to feel contagious. They continued going at it for a minute or two before he fell back to his side, the two of them gasping for air, cherry-cheeked with wide smiles. 

“Till,” Ivan said softly. 

Till hummed as Ivan turned to his side to meet Till’s gaze. “Can we do this every week?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Eomma’s off from work on Fridays. She could keep taking us here then,” Till suggested as Ivan nodded enthusiastically. 

“You can’t cancel, okay? Even when we’re a hundred-and-thirty,” Ivan warned, dead serious. Till rolled his eyes, his smile turning lazy. 

“People don’t live that long, silly." Till huffed.

“Swear!” 

Till chuckled at Ivan’s serious expression. “Alright, alright! I swear I’ll never cancel.” 

He didn’t make Ivan swear that day, did he?

⊱✿⊰

“You actually came,” Till says, allowing a modicum of shock to infiltrate his otherwise deadpanned tone. Ivan stands before him, sporting a plain pastel blue sweater, his bangs flowing against the wind. Till never realised how badly he missed seeing Ivan with his unstyled hair, with his plainly coloured baggy clothes. He was so… Cute. 

“You look good,” Till finds himself blurting, before his face flushes wildly as Ivan’s eyes widen. “I-I mean, uh, ignore that. Here."He thrusts a Tupperware container into Ivan’s awaiting hands, refusing to look the taller boy in the eye. 

“I think you look good too,” he hears Ivan whisper, causing his head to shoot up. What the fuck? 

Ivan’s ears are slightly flushed, and he looks contemplative, as if he doesn't really believe the words he just uttered either. 

“You still wear that hair clip outside school?” Ivan asks, suddenly. Till can’t tell if he's genuinely curious or whether that was a feeble attempt at changing the topic. Till's fingers gravitate towards the anemone hair clip slipped through his hair. 

“Duh, someone special gave it to me because he couldn’t stand the idea of not being next to me every waking second. He said this was–” Till stops himself, reeling. He's being far too obvious. 

Ivan walks closer towards Till. "What did he say?” he asks softly, his grip on the Tupperware tightening. 

“It’s not important,” Till insists. “Anyway, you had this while you were recovering. I gave it to you through Sua. Mom’s jjinppang. You liked it– You’ll like it.”

Ivan looks at Till, conflicted, clearly not wanting to let the clip thing go. Eventually, his gaze drops to the closed container, ripping the silicon top open to reveal freshly steamed buns. His cheeks turn rosy as he smiles at the contents wistfully. Till feels sick. 

“Your eomma was always so nice,” Ivan says as Till blinks rapidly in response.

“You remember her?” Ivan looks at Till before laughing incredulously, as Till flushes in indignation. “Hey! I don’t really know how your mind works now, y’know! I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to expect!” 

Ivan’s laughter dies out as he wipes away an imaginary tear, adding to Till’s simmering rage. A familiar rage he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

“God, I needed that. Anyway, I didn’t forget you, or your mom, for that matter. I just don’t remember specific things, feelings. They were just, I don’t know, memories– But I don’t have any particular feelings attached to them. I remember you and I playing with each other back in pre-school. I remember the playdates. 

"But they were just things I did as a kid, I guess. I don’t associate anything with them, anything more than what they exactly were,” he explains, each sentence twisting a knife further into Till’s heart. Somehow, Ivan not remembering anything feels less insulting than whatever this is. 

“Right,” Till murmurs, “okay, that’s good then. By that logic, you should know what we’re doing here, shouldn’t you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at Ivan hesitantly. 

Ivan only stares at him, slightly addled. “Actually, I don’t.” 

Oh. Hah.

“Okay.” Till nods. “So, clearly, you don’t remember everything. Makes sense why you’d think you did, though. How were you supposed to tell–” 

“I had it for you, didn’t I?” 

Till freezes. Ivan looks at Till, searching. Except Till can't tell what he's searching for. An answer? They stare at each other in silence, before Ivan opens his mouth again. 

“Ever since I’ve recovered, things have been different. I mean, I couldn’t tell at first. I just thought that hollow feeling had always been there, and I still do. But then, everything feels too empty. I should associate feelings with a memory, but why don’t I? There has to be a reason why everything has no meaning to it: a common denominator.”

“Ivan,” Till says, but Ivan doesn’t listen, rattling on like an open faucet. 

“I didn’t think much of it at the time. I tried not to. Things were fine. I was just making a big deal out of it, but then, Sua told me I was ‘acting stupid on purpose.' I didn’t get what she meant. ‘On purpose?’ But, then, I thought of you.”

Till’s breath hitches. 

“Whenever I talked to you– It felt, different.”

“Good different?” Till asks before regretting the question immediately. 

“Different, different,” Ivan settles on, refusing to clarify. Some things never change, Till supposes. 

“Is that why you came to see me, to get answers to your burning questions?”

Ivan looks towards the steamed buns. "Yeah, sure. That was the only reason,” he says, his tone deadpan. 

Till stares at Ivan, at how he awkwardly shuffles his feet, at how his gaze keeps flickering to Till’s damn hair clip before he shyly ducks down, and he makes an executive decision he prays he won't regret. 

“It’s Friday night,” Till says, eventually. 

Ivan’s head shoots up, not even bothering to hide his curiosity. “So you’ve said,”

Till sighs before plopping onto the grassy field beneath them, lying himself flat over fresh dew. He pats at the empty space next to him wordlessly as he stares up at the night sky. He feels Ivan slowly shuffle next to him, laying the box on the field before joining Till. 

Except, he keeps looking at Till. 

“Look up, dummy." Till chuckles mirthlessly as he weakly points at the stars above them. Ivan follows his finger, his breath caught in his throat. 

“The stars,” Ivan breathes. 

Till smiles. “I hope you still like them. I don’t really know what you like anymore.” 

“I still like what I liked before, Till,” Ivan says, something indescribable with his tone as he says it. "I’ve always loved the stars. But–” He turns around slightly to face Till. 

“Is this what we did?” Ivan asks. 

“Mm." Till nudges Ivan, pointing at a particular grouping of stars. “That’s Urak Major,” he says, tracing an imaginary line between them to create god knows what shape.  

Ivan squints before giggling. “Urak Major? Seriously?” 

Till pretends not to feel his heart beating far too loudly. "Now, you know how I feel.” He huffs. 

“Did I feed bullshit constellations to you?” Ivan asks, almost shocked.

Till laughs in response. “You did a lot worse than that. Don’t worry.” 

Ivan stays silent at that, yet his gaze softens significantly, not that Till notices. He continues looking up, trying to take in his erratic heartbeat, trying to–

Ivan is holding his hand. 

“What are you doing?” Till asks, desperately, his head whipping to meet Ivan’s. 

Ivan looks back, his expression slightly curious. “We always did this, didn’t we?” 

What. 

“Y-you, when did you–" Till stammers, unable to finish his sentence.

Ivan smiles. "It just came to me, while we were looking up. It felt natural, like instinct.” 

“Fuck.” Till can’t believe what he’s hearing. How did Ivan just remember? Could he keep remembering? Did Ivan want to remember? 

Ivan squeezes his hand gently, and Till fights the primal urge to roll on top of the man and kiss him senseless. He doesn't deserve to give in to that impulse. It's far too late. 

“Hey, Till,” Ivan murmurs, his voice blending in with the chirps of the grasshoppers in the area. 

Till hums, but Ivan doesn’t reply, only tracing circles on Till’s palm with his thumb.

⊱✿⊰

The following Monday, Till finds Ivan chattering away with the typical group of popular kids he’s associated himself with. Till sighs, reminiscing about last night fondly as he tries not to stare at Ivan. It makes sense that Ivan doesn't want to acknowledge him in their classroom; Till probably freaked him out with the sudden influx of past memories and emotions he wasn’t even sure Ivan wanted to re-experience. 

“Till!” Till looks up hesitantly and meets Ivan’s lit-up expression. “I was waiting for you!” 

Ivan abandons his group of friends with a quick wave before dragging a chair next to Till’s desk and propping an elbow onto it. Till feels a wave of nostalgia along with an unnamed emotion he doesn't care to explore. "Why are you invading my desk?” he asks, trying to school a natural tone. He doesn't care. He doesn't.

Ivan tilts his head. "I used to do this all the time, didn’t I?” He reaches Till’s gaze, and that’s when Till sees it. 

The hair clip. 

His breath catches in his throat. “That clip…”

Ivan blinks rapidly. “Ah. Yes. Well. I found it on my desk the other day, and I wondered why exactly I had it until I looked through a bunch of old photos and found a selfie of us wearing these things. I noticed that you never really take yours off. Did we make a pact of some kind?” 

Till forgets how clever Ivan can be. “Yeah, you could say that.” 

Ivan smiles, yet it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “What were our terms?” 

“I don’t think that matters. You broke them, anyway,” Till jokes, instant regret hitting him as something akin to guilt flashes through Ivan’s eyes. “I-I mean, you didn’t mean to–”

“What were our terms?” Ivan repeats. “I won’t break them again.” 

Till thinks he’s never felt more dehydrated in his life. “It wasn’t your fault to begin with. You don’t need to beat yourself up over it. I just wear it for old times’ sake really. Maybe I should be moving on." He laughs, hoarse. 

Ivan’s eyes widen as he waves his hands wildly. “I don’t want you to!”

Till stares at the floundering boy before him. “Listen, man, you don’t have to do this stuff just to make me feel better–”

“It’s not about that, Till!” Ivan interrupts, crimson flaring violently, before he steels himself. "I want this.” Ivan’s gaze briefly skirts away from Till, as it always does when he refuses to be literal. "Just humour me, okay? If I make you uncomfortable, I’ll stop, but I…” Ivan looks down at the clawed-out scratches on Till’s desk, and Till smiles. 

“You could never make me uncomfortable,” Till decides to say as Ivan’s head snaps back up to him. “I’m sorry if I ever gave you that idea. I’m sort of an idiot,” he continues with a light chuckle. 

Ivan picks at the scratches. “I’m the one who doesn’t remember,” he says, eventually. Till studies him right back. 

Huh. 

“You said I should wear mine every day, ‘especially when you’re not around.' Hah, if I didn’t know any better, I'd say you were trying to stake your claim on me." Till smirks, trying not to feel the lining of his stomach contract as the reality of what he said hits him at that moment. He clears his throat. “Anyway, I made you do the same because, well, it’d be weird if I did it alone, wouldn’t it?” 

Ivan doesn’t say anything, only nodding slowly as if he were processing what Till were saying. The bell rings a few seconds later, prompting Till to launch out of his seat to their next designated class, before Ivan’s palm wraps around his wrist, preventing his swift departure.

Till frowns, putting aside the way his spine chills at the contact. “Ivan?”

Ivan squeezes Till’s wrist. “Meet me for lunch. Uh,  at the..?” His voice trails off as he looks back at Till expectantly.

“Rooftop. Yeah, I’ll be there,” Till says, gently as Ivan’s eyes sparkle, and he mouths rooftop. Till feels his heart beat a little too fast, speed-walking out the door to avoid prolonging the conversation, yet the adorable fucking image of Ivan mouthing the word with a smile has cemented itself into his brain. 

⊱✿⊰

“We should run away,” Ivan said, matter-of-fact, as Till stared at him incredulously. 

“Are you an idiot?” Till replied, pulling at Ivan’s hair as the other boy whined, slapping his hand away.

“It’s boring. Class is boring. And it’s useless. I’ll excel anyway." Ivan sighed as Till scoffed.

“Yeah, you will. Some of us low-lifes struggle to get by, Einstein.” 

“I’ll tutor you. Actually, we don’t even need this; you don’t need this. You wanna be an artist anyway,” Ivan whined, “So let’s just—run to the beach or something. Let’s get ice cream or shove each other into the water or whatever.” 

“Moron, we can do that during the weekend,” Till said, flicking Ivan’s forehead.

“The weekend’s too far away.”

“It’s literally Wednesday.”

“The weather report says it’ll rain all weekend, Till. How in the world would we go to the beach then?” 

“Ugh, I don’t know Ivan, maybe Fri–”

“That’s stargazing day,” Ivan cut him off immediately, folding his arms. Till tried not to smile at how principled Ivan was when it came to those days, even a near decade later. 

“You’re not letting go of this beach thing, are you?” Till sighed.

Ivan didn't respond, only opting to smile in that conniving way he did when he was being an awful human being, the bane of Till’s existence, really. 

“Fine. We’ll ditch tomorrow, but my mom—I can’t just hide this from her,” Till sighed as Ivan nodded slightly in understanding. “What if we tell her?” 

“You seriously think she’ll be fine with me missing school?” Till asked, looking at Ivan like he was demented because, well, he was. 

“Fine, then, let’s just be sneaky about it. I’m the student council vice-president. I’ll just, find a way to make this fly under the radar attendance-wise, say you already reported being sick or that you had another club obligation in the morning, so you missed roll call.” 

“Can you really do that?” Till asked in slight awe. He didn’t like acknowledging all of Ivan’s egregious roles in school, but he had to admit, this was rather handy. 

“Mm, sure I can,” Ivan said, noncommittally. Till narrowed his brows. 

“Alright, fine.” 

Ivan’s eyes sparkled with intrigue and maybe just a dash of shock. "Really? Should I bring milk sodas?”

Till laughed, shaking his head slightly at Ivan’s puppy-dog expression. “Bring whatever you want, dude.” 

“Okay, then, so milk sodas, chocolate cake, creamsicles–”

“Does everything have to be so goddamn sugary with you?! Do you want to get diabetes by twenty-seven?” Till snapped as Ivan cackled. 

“Twenty-seven’s generous, with my trajectory,” Ivan said, mirth coating his tone. Till didn’t know if he ever meant to imply something else.

“Don’t say that, idiot,” Till slapped Ivan’s shoulder as the taller boy laughs in response.

"Aw, Till, we’ll all die someday, y’know,” Ivan managed as his laughter dies down. Till resisted decking him in the face.

“Yeah, astute observation," Till deadpanned. “You’re not dying at twenty-seven. You’re dying at eighty-three."

Ivan blinks, “Eighty-three?”

Till nodded. "The world would probably go to shit by then. Aliens would take us hostage. You and I? We’d drown ourselves in the ocean water before they get to us, the stars staring down at us."

Ivan grew silent as Till realised the ludicrous nature of whatever he just said, his face growing red. “Uh, I mean, we’d get dementia or whatever. That’s more realistic.”

Ivan leaned over Till’s desk, his palm cupping his chin. "Sounds like the right kind of suicide,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically lacking its usual air of pretentiousness.

Till turned away, ignoring the rate of his heart increasing; it was just mortification. That was all.

Idiot.

“Whatever, I’ll ask Eomma to steam some jjinppang for us,” he muttered.

Ivan’s smile grew excited. “Convey my gratitude to my dear mother-in-law.”

Till rolled his eyes. “Do it yourself. You have her number. Also, stop calling her that." He sighed. “The joke’s getting stale.”

“Right, the joke." Ivan smirked as Till decided to give in to his homicidal urges and give Ivan the deck he’s been holding back, with Ivan unfortunately predicting as such and dodging immediately.

The joke.

⊱✿⊰

It starts to become a thing; Ivan and he will meet up at the rooftop, just like back then. Ivan will bring cans of iced tea from the vending machine in the foyer, peach for himself and–

“How did you know I liked the lemon flavour?” Till asks, accepting the obnoxiously yellow can Ivan hands him. 

Ivan slides next to Till over the ratty bench, sheepishly scratching his nape. “To be honest, I sort of bought it on autopilot,” he says as Till stares at him blankly, mid-lifting the tab. “Just felt like instinct. Muscle memory, I dunno.” 

Till doesn’t say anything, opting to sip on the slightly tangy, chilled black tea. Zero sugar, as well, he notes, just as he likes it. 

Ivan pulls out another roll of kimbap, smoked salmon. Till snorts. "Good to see your preferences haven’t changed. If you brought spicy tuna or something, I might’ve died from shock.” 

Ivan chuckles. “Like I said, I’m not a different person, Till. I’m just not whole."

“Not ‘whole?'” Till asks, frowning.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ivan says, in that frustrating non-answer kind of way he always does. Till sighs harshly as he nabs Ivan’s peach iced tea from his hand, resulting in the other boy letting out a noise in discontent.

“Fuck you and your confusing bullshit,” Till snaps, missing the way Ivan’s eyes widen. “You know what, Ivan? I will worry, and I’ll worry a fucking lot, because I’m your–” He pauses, collecting himself. “I’m your best friend.” 

Ivan stares, a slow flush rising up his neck. 

“So tell me what the hell is wrong with you, and don’t try to lie to me." Till huffs. "I won’t accept it. Not anymore." 

“Do you still want that?” Ivan asks, breathlessly, his voice dripping with an emotion Till can't quite place. 

“Want what?” 

“You said you were my best friend. You—You aren’t obligated to be that now,” Ivan explains, despite his shaking pupils. “I didn’t think… I thought it was better if you weren’t.” 

“What?” Till’s head snaps towards Ivan, his free hand fists Ivan’s collar, a sense of deja vu rushing through him as he pulls Ivan close. “All this time you didn’t reach out because you thought I wouldn’t want that?” 

Ivan smiles, tight. “I sort of assumed the surgery was because of you right after you left my place that day– Your presence just fills in a lot of the gaps.”

Till frowns. "But, if that were the case, wouldn’t it be equally as strange for anyone who takes the surgery?”

“Only a fractional percentage of the human population experiences hanahaki, and I’d imagine only a fraction of those people go through with the surgery; it must be a commonality, but there isn’t a large enough focus group to study,” Ivan ruminates, his tone indicating how he must’ve also thought this through. 

“Either that—or," Ivan says, laughing, “you’re just that integral to my core psyche."

“I don’t think you understand how important you are to my psyche, Till. If I lose you, I don’t know if I’ll even be me anymore."

Till stares, ignoring how his heart stutters violently against his chest; he can’t let this go, not again.

“It goes two ways, y’know, all of ‘this'"—Till gestures to all of his depressed glory—“is a byproduct of, well, you. Us. Losing it all.” 

Ivan doesn’t say anything, prompting Till to continue. “What I mean to say is– I want you in my life, Ivan. I will always want you in my life. Nobody else matters, not really. Well, other than my mom.” 

Ivan’s face flushes pink, and Till thinks the colour’s a welcome change.

“Noted,” he murmurs, his voice unusually shaky as Till looks at him, expectant. 

Finally, Ivan relents. “Nothing’s wrong with me, at least not in the traditional sense. I just feel– Incomplete.” 

Till stares inquisitively as Ivan continues. “It’s like there’s a hole where my heart’s supposed to be, where I’m supposed to feel, but it wasn’t always there. It’s like it’s been ripped out of me—like I’ve lost it. Lost me.” 

“At first, I just assumed that came from the physical getting-stems-ripped-out-your-lungs ordeal. But that hole, it never left; it felt deeper the longer I went on. Things that felt like they should mean more suddenly didn’t,” Ivan murmurs. "But it’s different—with you.” 

Till grimaces, gulping down his tea with a mouthful of guilt. “Do I make it worse?” 

Ivan blinks rapidly. “No.” 

“Are you not going to elaborate?” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ivan smirks, gingerly grasping his can of tea back from Till’s hold and taking a long, loud slurp. 

Till rolls his eyes. “Never changed is right. Guess I should be grateful you’ve been as open as you have."

“I’m taking baby steps." Ivan agrees, nodding. 

Baby steps. Till thinks he can work with that. 

⊱✿⊰

It’s another Tuesday, another morning before class, with Ivan’s elbow leaning over Till’s desk, his cheek resting atop his palm as he watches Till sketch aimlessly, a lazy smile contrasting Till’s tongue poking out in determination. The tongue’s really just for show, as Till feels as if the last thing he’s capable of doing right now is focus —what with crimson orbs staring right into his goddamn soul and all that. 

“You’re staring,” Till mumbles, trying not to let the heat crawl up his spine travel further into visibility.

Ivan smiles. “Do I not do that normally?” 

Yeah, you do. That’s the problem.

Till resolves to merely grunting in resignation as Ivan beams, inching slightly closer. His eyes rake over Till, and it’s so incredibly difficult to ignore. Ivan’s fingers ghost over sheets of his sketchbook, threatening to dart closer yet staying trepidatious all the same. Selfishly, Till wishes he’d take the leap. But this is probably for the best. 

“So, I take it you’re not being beaten to a pulp then?” Luka’s voice snaps Till’s head up in mild shock as Ivan’s gaze curiously slides over to the blond, his smile curving into something more practised. Luka stands in front of their desk, his expression monotone, as per usual, as he stares between Ivan and Till. 

“What the fuck? Why would you assume that of all things?” Till asks, incredulous, as Luka rolls his eyes with a huff. 

“You haven't been to the student council office in the mornings or at lunch in a while. Now, obviously, while I do relish in my newfound freedom, as your upperclassman, it is unfortunately my duty to make sure you haven’t been threatened to have your insides gutted out of you, so I decided to take it upon myself to check in on you,” Luka says, dramatically sighing to further emphasise the ‘effort’ he was putting in. 

Till snorts. “Thanks for caring, Luka. I’m doing fine, though." Till pointedly tilts his head towards Ivan. “As you can see.” 

Luka looks at Ivan. "So, you’re gay again?” 

“That’s not how that works–” Till starts before Ivan interrupts.

"I’ve dug myself out of the dreadful pit that is heterosexuality, yes.” 

Till snaps his head towards Ivan. “For once in your goddamn life, be normal.” He groans as Ivan giggles into a closed fist like the idiotic, princely creature that he is. 

“But you wouldn’t like that." Ivan says softly as Till’s vision slightly shakes. He pointedly looks away yet not before hooking his pinky with Ivan’s, causing the other boy’s eyes to slightly widen in shock.

 “Why are you so shocked? I’m agreeing with you, aren't I?” Till snaps as Ivan stammers.

“I wasn’t expecting you to outright–”

Luka clears his throat. “Alright, so you two are hopeless again, minus this one”—He points a thumb at Ivan—“sticking to your side like a leech.”

Ivan’s eyebrow raises exponentially. “And how exactly did—do—I stick to him?” 

Till freezes, not liking where any of this is going at all. "Luka–”

“Eugh, you like, live on his shoulder, claim his waist too or whatever, and Till doesn’t even bat a fucking eye. I honestly should’ve reported you two in for PDA on school premises,” Luka bemoans, feigning frustration as he idly puts a hand on his hip. 

Ivan blinks, slowly, before he promptly drops his head over Till’s shoulder, causing Till to let out an inhuman noise akin to some kind a squeak meeting a garbled yelp. Ivan wastes no time draping his arm around Till’s waist, slithering between the backrest of Till’s chair before lightly resting at the edge, moving impossibly close to him, their bodies practically pressing into each other. Ivan hums, pleased, nuzzling into the crevices of Till’s clavicle. 

Till feels his face, actually, his entire body, for that matter, burst into flames as Ivan continues softly burrowing himself into Till, feeling Ivan’s lips smile in satisfaction against his skin. He feels tears prick at his eyes, being touched like this after so incredibly long… Till didn't realise just how badly he missed Ivan’s skinship since he’d been deprived of it. 

“Till?” Ivan’s head moves up slowly, concerned. “Your heartbeat’s going insane right now. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine!” Till blurts, immediately pushing Ivan’s head back down as Ivan lets out a gasp in mild shock. "I-I just… Don’t stop,” he manages, meekly.

Till feels Ivan’s eyelashes flutter helplessly against him, before he breathes, “Yeah, okay, I’m not going anywhere.” 

“You realise I’m still here, right?” Luka drawls, abruptly dragging both boys back down to reality as they stare at him, Till in mortification, while Ivan simply narrows his eyes at the older boy.

“Down boy. I was just about to leave." Luka smirks as Till grimaces. 

“Honestly, I don’t get why you’re so disgusted. Don’t you read yaoi sex during club operating hours? You should be into this, if anything.” Ivan asks, clearly miffed at being talked to like a dog. Till thinks Ivan probably would be into it if he did it, though, before banishing the fleeting thought in sheer mortification. 

Wait, did he just refer to them as yaoi–

“Yeah, Ivan. Yaoi sex. I read diaoblical, mind-breaking, disgustingly graphic sex. I don’t read the mushy, fluffy bullshit that teenage girls gush over writing fanfiction for. I’m a fucking man.” Luka says, his tone impressively deadpan. “I’m not entertaining your idiocy, nor am I sticking around to watch your sentimental bullshit.” Luka’s gaze pans to Till for a final time. “I’m glad you're fine. Well, in the colloquial sense of the word.” 

And he’s out right as the bell rings. Ivan sighs. “Should we run away?” 

Till chuckles. “You used to say that every time.” 

“Oh.” 

“We did once,” Till says, quietly, testing the waters.

Ivan’s eyes slightly shine. “The beach.”

“What do you remember about the beach?” Till asks.

“I remember…” Ivan stops, his eyebrows scrunching. “Cheap creamiscles, they were terrible.”

Till laughs incredulously, the sound echoing against the walls as Ivan’s cheeks turn pink.

“I think I’m starting to remember that sound, as well,” Ivan murmurs as Till feels his knees shake.

“O-oh,” Till manages, “that's. That’s good.” His hands move automatically to Ivan’s hair, ignoring the creeping satisfaction he feels as Ivan lets out a noise akin to a purr.

Maybe Ivan never really left, maybe he was just– Lost. That's fine. Till will help him find his way back.

To him.

⊱✿⊰

Knees touching, palms laying resting atop one another, Ivan’s hair tickles Till’s chin as he nuzzles into his clavicle, inhaling his scent like a bloodhound. Till leans against Ivan’s head, tracing aimless doodles onto Ivan’s palm.

“I don’t know how you’ve done it, but you somehow managed to get even clingier.” Till sighs as Ivan’s grip on his blazer tightens.

“Could say the same about you,” Ivan whispers. “You’ve never done all this before.”

Till feels his lungs deflate as he exhales shakily, “I didn’t realise I wanted this until–” I didn’t have it.

“Anyway.” Till clears his throat. “How would you know?”

Ivan smiles into his neck. “You don’t need me to answer that.”

After weeks of Ivan dragging Till out to ‘all the spots they’ve loitered in,' after countless Friday nights—much like this one—spent staring up at the glittery sky, after eating their body weight in his mother’s freshly made jjinppang, Ivan’s memories are almost fully restored.

Their relationship isn't the exact same, of course not. Despite retaining his ridiculously tactile antics, Ivan somehow managed to develop an emotion Till didn’t think the boy was even capable of expressing—shame.

Ivan will crowd into Till’s space, and if Till displays a modicum of reciprocation, Ivan’s face will flush slightly, before he'll backtrack—again, a word Till was sure Ivan didn’t know the meaning of up until this point.

As if he were somehow reading Till’s mind, Ivan suddenly makes an incoherent noise, before he shifts his position, angling his lips away from Till’s skin.

Honestly, it's starting to piss Till off. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

Till glares at him. “You know what.”

Ivan shrugs. “Didn’t want to intrude on your personal space, I guess.”

“Didn’t want to– What, did you lose your fucking memory again? When have you ever cared about my ‘personal space?'” Till exclaims in disbelief.

Ivan laughs, yet it doesn't sound natural, too attractive. “No, but I might as well.”

Till furrows his brows. “What are you on about this time?”

“It’s pathetic, isn’t it?” Ivan’s smile grows eerily symmetric. "Getting hanahaki twice?”

"What the fuck are you–”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d do it all over again, but it would be sorta funny, wouldn't it?” Ivan chuckles. Too swoon-worthy.

But that means– “You like me? Again?” Till asks, his brows shooting upwards as Ivan looks at him like he’s stupid.

“I never stopped.”

Oh. Ok. Wait. Wait a second–

“Hanahaki only shows up when your love’s unrequited,” Till says robotically.

Ivan only nods in response, his bangs flying over his face as the wind bellows amidst his movement.

“Ivan. Only if your love is unrequited,” Till repeats, turning to face an impassively-faced Ivan. “Unrequited,” Till repeats uselessly as Ivan only blinks.

Fuck him.

Till tackles Ivan as the other boy lets out an affronted gasp and falls onto the bed of dewy grass below them. Till stares down at Ivan, whose eyes are blown over, mouth agape as a pretty flush makes its way up his neck.

Till fixes Ivan with a beautifully aggressive look. "Fuck you,” he spits before taking advantage of Ivan’s open mouth, slotting their lips together as Ivan lets out a gasp. Ivan stays still as Till tries desperately to let his affection be realised, before he lets go to take a breath, gazing at Ivan’s searing blush, his face no doubt mirroring Ivan’s.

“Get it now?” he says, heaving as Ivan mentally buffers.

“Uh,” Ivan says intelligibly.

Till leans down pecking Ivan’s lips before going back down again, and again, chapped lips meeting plush ones—of course, his lips are moisturised.

“I love you,” Till finally says as his vision starts to blur while Ivan continues gaping dumbly at him. “I’m sorry it took me so long. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking stupid, Ivan. I didn’—” His voice cracks as he feels the first tear fall over, landing onto Ivan’s cheek. “I didn’t realise how much it would hurt for you to look at me like we didn’t matter.

“I didn’t realise how much I took us for granted. I missed you, far too much, every single second. Looking at you was so, so painful. I didn’t realise how my body craved your touch. I’m so—”

Till’s words get cut off by Ivan sitting Till down, lifting himself upright so they face each other horizontally.

Till feels a frown begin to take form as a fresh tear rolls down his face. “Do you mind, asshole? I’m trying to—”

Ivan kisses him. It’s gentle, slow, achingly loving. His hands slide around Till’s waist like they belong there before pulling him impossibly close as his right palm cradles Till’s tear-stained cheek.

He lets go yet continues to press their foreheads together.

"I love you too,” he replies, his lips trembling despite his stable tone.

Till snorts weakly. “Yeah, I know,” He cups Ivan’s cheek with his other hand. “You’re allowed to cry too, y’know. I won’t let it ruin your macho reputation or whatever.”

Ivan giggles as his waterworks begin to flow. “I love you, Till,” he repeats, a prayer.

Till closes their distance, a promise.

Devotion.