Chapter Text
Ey, Tití me preguntó si tengo mucha' novia'
Mucha' novia'
Hoy tengo a una, mañana otra, ey
Pero no hay boda
Years passed, and he didn't get rid of him.
He could have, but he didn't, just for the record.
As they grew up, their fistfights became less frequent—not overnight—though they somehow ended up making more trips to the principal’s office. Once, his cheek swelled so badly it hurt like hell, and his classmates made fun of him. Still, at least he’d split Ivan’s lip. Yet somehow, even when he looked like an idiot, his injuries never seemed as bad as Till’s, and no one dared to mock him. As usual, he was a privileged prick.
Sometimes, Ivan would go to Till’s house because video games were an important part of their development, or when Till got sick, he would bring him his notes. Eventually, Ivan started getting along better with Till’s mother, and she once asked him: “Why do you two fight so much? He’s a good boy.” Till couldn't believe it, but what else could he expect? She had never seen his true face.
That was just the first problem on his endless list.
As Ivan began to grow up, his smiles became increasingly fake, and that irritated Till; he looked stupid. It wasn't like when they were kids; even his personality slowly shifted into something far more cheerful, but Till knew most of it was a lie. Sometimes, his attitude was truly unbearable.
Despite that, they were always together, up and down, like a duo formed because there was no other alternative. Over the years, Till got used to movie nights at his house, and on several occasions, Ivan stayed over. At first, he had the weird habit of sleeping with his eyes open, and Till really couldn't comprehend what was going through that crazy head of his.
"If you do that again, I'm telling mom," Till threatened.
"Do what?" Ivan smiled, amused, as if nothing was happening.
"I’m going to ki—"
Deep breaths.
The next night, Till made unique use of his master stealth skills. He positioned himself close to Ivan, once he verified he was asleep—waving a hand over his face—and brought his fingers close to it with hesitation, almost aborting his plan, but he dared. He closed Ivan's eyes.
"Rest properly, idiot," he huffed.
But when he woke up, Ivan’s eyes had opened once again, even though he was asleep.
Till screamed in a deep voice—not high-pitched—and scrambled back with his heart beating at full speed. Once, he fell off the bed and ended up with a bump on his head that made him the laughingstock. Mizi saw him like that; it was the worst week of his life.
Ivan usually rubbed his face after moments like that, stretching, well-rested. Apparently, Till’s suffering put him in a good mood. "Why do you scream like a little girl?"
Till clenched his fists. "Shut up!"
It seemed that sleeping on a separate mattress didn't help at all. There was one occasion when they stayed up past the time his mother allowed—ten at night—and since Mr. Perfect maintained a schedule he always adhered to, he fell asleep on Till’s bed. He even celebrated defeating Ivan in a fighting game before dozing off on top of him.
The next morning, they woke up tangled in each other's arms, to which Till, evidently, tried to separate himself by pushing Ivan off the bed, his cheeks burning. Ivan couldn't look more entertained by his misfortune.
"You, bast–!" Till was about to say words that would definitely scare anyone away, but he was at the age to do so; he was twelve.
"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Ivan beat him to it, with a nasty smile.
Couldn't he see he was becoming a man?
Till grabbed his hair, and Ivan didn't seem even a little displeased; on the contrary, he smiled as if it were the best day of his life. Seriously, what was wrong with that freak? Ivan held him by the arm, and they probably would have ended up beating each other up if it weren't for Io exclaiming:
"Boys!" she called. "Time for breakfast!"
"...This isn't over." Till pulled away, shoving him.
Ivan smiled, once again, in the same way that made Till angry, huff, and explode. "What are you talking about? Is there something that embarrasses you?"
No.
Anyway, he was, grudgingly, the nearest thing Till had to someone his age who could qualify as close, in a way. The girls hung out with them occasionally, but between not being able to speak to Mizi due to his years-long crush, and Sua, who seemed annoyed by his presence and Ivan's, it wasn't much. Sometimes he talked to Acorn, but it was awkward, and Marty barely looked at him.
However, that’s how time passed. When he least expected it, they were about to start middle school.
And then came the school trip to the state observatory, the peak event before graduating elementary school. For Till, it meant three things: a new sketchbook, the chance to see Mizi under the dim lights of the projection room, and, unfortunately, having to put up with Ivan in a confined space for hours.
"You're going to draw the planets today, aren't you?" Ivan appeared at his side as they boarded the bus, his backpack hitting Till’s leg with familiarity.
"None of your business." Though it didn't matter, Ivan would make himself comfortable on his right like always, staring in that annoying way of his.
"But you don't know how to draw circles," he teased, the absolute jerk.
He was wonderful at encouragement, truly.
As if circles were easy to make, but one day he would shut that idiot's mouth. Ivan's drawings were crap—Till's were actually decent, at least he was getting better at it.
Till caught Ivan in the ribs with an elbow. Instead of complaining, Ivan’s grin only grew—that insufferable look of smug derision—while he claimed the seat right beside him.
The trip was a chaos of shouted songs and torn bags of chips. Till tried to draw the landscape passing by the window, but the road was a green and brown blur. Ivan, beside him, did nothing; he just looked out the glass with that stillness that sometimes made him invisible.
Until a familiar laugh pulled him from his concentration. Mizi was three rows ahead, sitting next to Sua. Her head rested on the black-haired girl's shoulder while they shared headphones. Till felt the heat rise to his cheeks and quickly looked away toward his notebook, where he had unintentionally drawn a scribble shaped like pink hair.
"You still like Mizi," Ivan said, and it wasn't a question.
"Shut up."
As if he hadn't seen Till drawing her days ago, he just wanted to point out the obvious.
"You could say something to her, we're not six anymore." He actually suggested, which was, in fact, unexpected.
Till gripped the pencil so hard the tip broke. "It's not that easy, idiot. She and Sua... you know, they're always together."
Ivan followed his gaze toward the two girls. Mizi had fallen asleep, and Sua was holding her head with a care that Till couldn't help but envy. He watched the scene for a moment, his dark eyes moving from Mizi to Sua and then back to Till.
“Is that bad?" Ivan titled his head, curious.
"I don't know. They're just..." He trailed off, frowning at the back of Mizi's head like it held all the answers. "They have this thing."
"What thing?"
"I don't know! A connection, or whatever." He waved a hand vaguely. "But that doesn't mean anything. People can be close without it being... you know."
"Without it being what?"
Till's jaw tightened. "Nothing, just forget it."
A beat of silence. Then Ivan smiled, surely enjoying his suffering, that dumbass. "She looks at Sua the same way you look at her, don't you think?"
Till's head snapped toward him. "What? No. That's—" He stopped and swallowed. Not that it would be bad if she did, his brain supplied unhelpfully, he wasn't like that. "It's obviously different."
The bus jolted over a pothole. Till didn't know if the emptiness he felt in his stomach was because of Ivan's words or the certainty that, for once, he may be right.
He held his gaze for exactly three seconds before cracking. "Whatever." Till grabbed his notebook and flipped to a fresh page, pencil already scratching against the paper. Aggressive lines, nothing that looked like anything.
Ivan turned back to the window and the bus kept moving.
They didn't say anything else.
They arrived at the observatory at noon. The building was round and white, like a flying saucer that had decided to take root in the middle of the field. They assigned rooms, gave instructions about schedules, and finally released them for the first activity: the introductory talk in the main hall.
Till sat in one of the back rows, near the window, with his notebook ready in case he saw something worth drawing. Ivan dropped down to his right, as always. But this time, he wasn't alone.
"Ivan, wait!"
A girl with brown hair and big eyes slid into the seat to Ivan's left. Till frowned. He knew her by sight: her name was Luna, she was in the other sixth-grade class, and she was known for being the president of the library committee. She had a kind smile and a soft voice that Till had always associated with boredom. She once laughed at him because he walked into a wall.
"Can I sit here?" she asked, even though she already had.
Ivan looked at her with that neutral expression Till knew so well. "Sure."
Luna blushed. "Great. It's just that... well, I wanted to ask if you understood the science homework. The solar system one. It's just that you always get good grades and..."
"Yes, I understood it," Ivan replied, and Till noticed something strange in his tone.
And then, she started asking him questions.
Till snorted and went back to his notebook. He didn't care; let Ivan talk to whoever he wanted. It was none of his business, but he hoped they would shut up soon because some people were interested in hearing about planets and stuff. Why else did he come if not?
But the talk was endless, and no matter how much Till tried to concentrate on drawing the silhouette of the giant telescope they had seen upon entering, his attention drifted again and again to his right. Luna laughed at things Ivan said, and at one point, she touched his arm to emphasize something, and Till saw how Ivan didn't pull away.
He pressed the pencil so hard he made an accidental scratch and the tip snapped. He cursed under his breath and rummaged in his pencil case, but neither the eraser nor the sharpener appeared. Of course, Ivan must have them; he always did.
"Hey," Till hissed. "Give me my stuff."
Ivan turned his head, his eyes finding Till's with deliberate slowness. “What are you talking about?" He provoked, playing dumb as usual.
Was he seriously going to pull that bullshit again? Till had stuff to do, for fuck's sake.
“Is everything okay?" The girl asked, with uncertainty.
“He lost his stuff." Ivan said, as if he wasn't the culprit.
Till's jaw dropped. “I didn't lose—"
“Again," Ivan added, almost gently.
The girl giggled, and Till wanted to die.
"I can move over if you need..." she suggested.
"No," said Ivan, without looking at her. "Stay."
Till felt like someone was twisting his guts. He grabbed the broken pencil and kept drawing with the tip like that, making thick, ugly lines that looked nothing like what he wanted to capture.
Thanks, idiot… if I wanted to see a boy and a girl being stupid I’d watch romance series...gross. He complained in his head, but the truth was he’d give anything for Mizi to be like that with him, since she was like an angel.
The talk ended. As they left the room, Till saw how the girl stuck to Ivan, talking to him about constellations and her favorite book. Ivan nodded from time to time, and Till thought he was doing it out of courtesy, that at any moment he would get tired and come back to his side.
But it didn't happen.
"Hey," Till called him when they separated to go to their respective activities. "Dinner's at seven, don't be late or I won't save you a seat," he said, uninterested.
Ivan looked at him sideways. Luna pulled gently on his sleeve, pointing at something on the horizon. "Don't you want to have dinner with me?" she asked, excited.
The dark-haired boy stayed silent for a few moments, analyzing his options. His eyes drifted toward Till for an instant, and he didn't even know what was going through that mind of his, but his shoulders sank a fraction before he looked back at her. Ivan shrugged. "Okay."
And he smiled.
She took his hand, and they walked off.
Till stood still for a moment, processing what he had just witnessed.
Since when did Ivan make plans with someone who wasn't him?
"Till?" Mizi's voice pulled him from his trance. "Are you coming to the telescope activity?"
Till blinked. Mizi was there, smiling, with Sua by her side, waiting patiently. His heart skipped a beat, but it was somewhat dull, like a distant echo of what he usually felt around her.
"Yeah," he nodded. "I'm coming."
At that moment, he realized he was able to talk to Mizi without stuttering for once, and his thoughts lit up momentarily.
I'm making progress! He punched the air as soon as she turned around, happy. Take that, idiot. Ivan wouldn't believe it when he told him.
He just had to drop his apparent new obsession with that girl first. Maybe in some hours.
He spent the afternoon looking at stars through giant lenses, learning the names of constellations he would forget in a week. Mizi was excited, asking questions and taking notes. Sua watched her with that expression of hers, which Till had always interpreted as neutrality, but now, having just turned twelve and with a brand-new conscience, it was starting to look more like adoration.
The same way you look at her. Ivan's words echoed in his head.
Till slapped himself.
He didn't need Ivan’s help with anything; what did he know about relationships?
But his words burned at the nape of his neck. He looked away and focused on the sky.
At dinnertime, Till arrived early at the dining hall. He grabbed a tray, served himself food without paying attention, and sat at the table near the window, which had good light even at night. He put his backpack on the seat next to him just in case, knowing there was no way Ivan would be with that girl forever.
It remained there the whole time.
Till ate alone, watching the first stars beginning to appear. Around him, tables filled with laughter and conversations. Somewhere, Mizi was laughing with Sua. And in another place, that girl was sitting too close to Ivan and telling him things Till didn't care about.
When he finished, he grabbed his tray and took it to the dirty dish cart. The backpack was still on the seat next to him. He grabbed it with more force than necessary and went to the cabin.
How boring.
That night he couldn't sleep.
The other boys in his room—Marty, who snored, and Acorn, watching videos on his tablet—were making noise, but that wasn't the problem. The bed next to him was empty; Ivan hadn't even occupied it yet.
The trip rules were strict: after ten, everyone had to be in their cabins. But the time came and no one appeared, so half an hour later, Till was staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks.
Until the door opened.
Ivan entered stealthily, barefoot so as not to make noise. His eyes met Till’s in the gloom.
"You're late," whispered Till, with a harshness he didn't know where it came from.
"Luna wanted to see the stars from the field, so I stayed with her."
I stayed with her. The phrase rumbled in Till’s head like an out-of-tune drum.
Till and Ivan, in fact, once saw meteors when they were kids. It was a night when they weren't sleepy, so they climbed out one of the windows of his house like the grown and obedient children—or at least until Io went to sleep—that they were, but it was for a good cause. There were shooting stars in the sky and they had to see them up close, so they held hands and ran through the streets.
"There are so many..." Ivan said, bewildered, a real smile in his face.
"Let's go that way!" Till said, and he decided to guide them both. But soon, it was Ivan who took the lead.
For the first time, things made sense with that guy.
Or that was until Io discovered them and proceeded to scold them—well, not really, she just reprimanded them with moderate severity—saying that going out unsupervised could be dangerous. But by that moment everything was over.
Of course, that was when things made sense. Now Ivan seemed to think it was better to do those things with girls.
"Whatever." Till clicked his tongue.
Ivan slid into his bed, turning his back to Till. He said nothing else, didn't even apologize for not letting him know. Much less asked if he had saved him dinner; nothing.
Till clenched his jaw and turned over in his bunk, facing the wall. The silence stretched out, broken only by Acorn’s snoring.
"Hey."
"Hm?"
"...What are you supposed to do with her?"
Ivan stayed thinking. "We hang out."
"Yeah, I know that. But..." Till hesitated. "Why?"
Another pause, longer. "Because she asked me to."
Till felt his stomach drop, because that sounded specifically familiar.
No.
Not again.
"She asked you...?"
"To be her boyfriend," Ivan completed, with that flat voice he used in class. "She said she’s liked me since last year, that she always sees me in the library and that I'm smart, like a prince."
Prince, my ass. He would have laughed, but it was so ridiculous he couldn't.
No one knew his real personality like he did; that prince garbage was total nonsense, fake and absurd.
Till sat up in bed, blood pounding in his temples for some reason. "And you accepted?"
"Yes."
"What for?" Till raised an eyebrow.
Ivan turned slowly until he was facing up. In the gloom, Till could only see the shine of his black eyes, fixed on the ceiling.
"It just happened, I was bored." He said. "She gave me homemade chocolate cookies."
Till wanted to say something, maybe argue and ask him how he could be such an idiot, so empty, so cruel to people who felt something for him. But the words got stuck in his throat, because deep down, in a dark place he didn't want to acknowledge, what he really felt wasn't anger for the girl. Not to mention that was the least of it.
Precisely, it was something else; something sticky and hot that burned his chest.
As if they never gave him cookies at Till's house; that starving wretch. He even skipped meals sometimes, and now suddenly he cared.
"You're an asshole," he whispered, and his voice sounded strange.
Till lay back down, turning his back on him, but he couldn't sleep. Instead, he spent hours listening to Ivan’s breathing, counting the seconds between each inhale and exhale.
The next morning, Till woke up before everyone else. The dawn light entered through the window, dyeing the room in orange tones. He sat up and looked toward Ivan’s bed.
It was empty.
Till blinked, rubbing his eyes. The sheets were perfectly made, as if no one had been there. for a moment he thought that maybe he had dreamt the entire night conversation, that Ivan had come back late, but had left early.
"He's having breakfast with Luna," said a voice from the other side.
Till turned around. Acorn, his non-friend who he talked awkwardly to in the hallways and who he once threw under the bus when they tried to copy off each other in an exam—was looking at him with an expression of poorly disguised curiosity, but at the same time as if he didn't want to know more.
"What?"
"Ivan left early, Luna knocked on the door and took him." Acorn arched an eyebrow. "Didn't you hear?"
Till didn't answer, grabbed his clothes, and locked himself in the bathroom.
The rest of the trip was an exercise in endurance.
Till saw Ivan at every meal, sitting next to Luna, sharing his tray, nodding to her words with an empty countenance that looked strange. He saw him walk with her along the observatory paths, while she showed him constellations with her finger and told him things with that voice he used in class.
He tried to focus on Mizi, truly. But when she asked him to explain something about galaxies, his mind went blank and the only thing he could think about was that Ivan was doing the same thing with someone else at that very moment.
"Till?" Mizi tilted her head. "Are you okay?"
"Y-yeah!" he lied, with a flushed smile and sweating. "Yeah, just... I'm tired, that's all… that's what they call me, the tired boy," he stammered.
His progress went to hell in just one week, amazing.
Mizi looked at him with genuine concern. "You've been weird the whole trip. Are you sure nothing is wrong?"
Till wanted to tell her, open his mouth and tell her everything: that he liked her since they were six, that he’d spent half his life drawing her without daring to speak, that Ivan had found someone who chose him and that for some reason that made Till more uncomfortable than her rejection.
But he didn't do it; he was a teenager who could already control his emotions and was on the path to absolute maturity.
"That weirdo has a girlfriend now," he mumbled.
Maybe not.
Mizi blinked. "Ivan?"
"The very same." Till shrugged, trying to look casual. "It's weird and all that... you know, I didn't expect it." He scratched his head, restless. "Yeah."
Mizi observed him with an expression Till couldn't interpret.
Then, slowly, her eyes drifted to a point behind him. Till followed her gaze.
Ivan and Luna were sitting on a bench, watching the sun set behind the telescopes. She was laughing, resting her head on Ivan’s shoulder. He didn't put his arm around her or anything, but he didn't pull away either.
"Does it bother you?" Mizi asked, with unusual softness for her.
Till made a face of disgust. "No! Why would it bother me?"
Mizi didn't answer. But Sua, who had been silent beside her, looked him directly in the eyes. And Till knew, with an uncomfortable certainty, that she did understand something he wasn't ready to accept yet.
The last night, there was a bonfire.
It was the farewell activity: songs, marshmallows, and the promise that things wouldn't change just because they were graduating. Till sat on a log far from the fire, with his notebook in his lap, drawing the flames without much enthusiasm.
Ivan appeared at his side, alone. It took Till a second to process it.
"Where is she?"
"Talking to her friends." Ivan sat on the ground, at Till’s feet, like a dog seeking warmth. “She said she misses them."
Till didn't answer.
"Are you mad?" Ivan asked.
"No."
"You're a very bad liar." He pointed out, amused.
Till clenched his jaw. "What do you want me to tell you?" he challenged. "That I find it incredible that you can have a girlfriend and act like it's nothing, like it's the most normal thing in the world, while I–"
He shut up in time. While I've been wanting Mizi for years and I can't even look her in the eye.
Fuck.
"While you what?" Ivan insisted, and there was something in his voice, a tension Till couldn't identify.
"Nothing, forget it."
The silence stretched. The flames crackled, and someone started singing a song Till didn't know.
"She's quiet," Ivan said suddenly. "She doesn't ask for much."
Till felt the words hit his chest like stones. "Great, I'm happy for you," he grumbled.
"...But it's not the same."
Till looked up from his notebook. Ivan was still looking at the fire, his profile illuminated by the orange glow.
"What is... that supposed to mean?"
Ivan took a while to answer. When he did, his voice was so low that Till had to strain to hear it over the song.
"It doesn't matter, you want Mizi," Ivan said. "And I have Luna."
He didn't understand anything.
"It's better this way," Ivan concluded, standing up.
He left without waiting for an answer.
Till remained alone in front of the bonfire, with the notebook in his lap and a very different fire burning inside him. Ivan's words bounced around inside his head like crazed birds.
The first days of summer arrived with a humid heat that made Till regret existing.
He was lying on his bed, in his boxers and with the fan pointed directly at his face, when he heard the familiar knock on the window. He didn't need to open his eyes to know who it was. Only one person was idiot enough to climb the tree in his garden in the middle of a heatwave.
"Go away," he growled, burying his face in the pillow.
Another knock.
"Screw you."
Third knock, more insistent and almost rhythmic.
As if the total asshole had all afternoon.
Till huffed, got up reluctantly, putting on a tank top and shorts in a hurry. He threw the window open, ready to unleash a string of insults, but the words got stuck in his throat.
Ivan was there, leaning on the branch as if it were nothing, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and an expression Till couldn't read. Hanging from his shoulder, a backpack Till recognized instantly.
"Are you going to let me in or do you want me to scorch out here?" Ivan asked cheerfully, as if the last time they saw each other hadn't left him more bewildered than hell. But he could see the sun frying him, smoke and everything.
Till blinked. "What are you carrying?" He raised an eyebrow.
Ivan didn't answer. He just climbed through the window with the naturalness of someone who had been doing it for six years, landed in the room, and dropped the backpack on the floor. The metallic noise it made was unmistakable.
Till peeked: the console. Ivan’s stupid console, the new one, that they bought for his "good behavior"—although from the little he had seen of Unsha, he just wanted to keep him entertained so he wouldn't ask for much, what a shitty father—but he wasn't going to deny that he drooled over it.
"Did you bring the controllers?" he asked, almost unintentionally.
Ivan had already dropped into the desk chair, looking at the ceiling. "Yes, and Mario Kart."
Till felt a pang of excitement he refused to acknowledge, so he grunted. "And your girlfriend? Aren't you going to play with her?"
Ivan didn't answer immediately. He kept observing nothingness for a moment longer, until he spoke:
"We broke up."
The words fell into the silence of the room like stones in a pond. Till froze with his hand halfway to the backpack.
"Uh..."
"It was a few minutes ago, actually," he decided to clarify for some reason.
Till stood processing the information, frowning.
"Is that why you came? Because you broke up?"
Ivan looked at him then, straight in the eyes, with that intensity of his that always managed to disarm him.
"No, I came for this." He nodded at the backpack. "The other thing just happened."
Till felt a weird knot in his stomach. He didn't know why that bothered him more. That Ivan hadn't come for that, but just because; he always appeared, as if his desire to play whenever he felt like it was excuse enough to climb through his window.
"Why did you break up?" Till asked, incredulous.
Ivan shrugged. "She said being with me is like talking to a wall."
Till waited.
He said nothing.
"And I told her she was right." Ivan sketched a smile.
He pulled the controller out of Ivan's backpack with force. "You're weird."
The silence stretched. Till realized he was still standing, controller in hand, feeling like an idiot.
"I'm going to get something to drink," he muttered, and left the room almost fleeing.
In the kitchen, Till leaned against the counter and took a deep breath.
He rested the controller on the porcelain and stared at it, as if that thing were to blame for something.
So, he's single again.
The thought arrived before he could stop it.
And with it, a strange sensation, a heat in his chest that had nothing to do with summer. Relief, that was it, a guilty and hot sensation, burning him inside. He couldn't help but run a hand over his face.
Why am I happy he broke up with her?
Easy, because he had always been an annoying and constant presence. He wasn't an idiot, he knew it was very difficult that Mizi returned his feelings, but he had to keep the flame lit, maybe one day he would succeed. However, Ivan was a shadow and a nightmare that he got used to.
While he poured the lemonade—he put more sugar in Ivan's because otherwise he would complain—he realized they were growing up. If it was like in the movies, he might get bored and forget him. If he had already started developing the habit of disappearing with people he probably didn't care about, the moment he found someone he did, maybe he would be capable of getting rid of him. That bastard.
He closed his eyes.
He didn't care, he was a freak, heavy, and imbecilic bug who never left him alone. But unlike Mizi, he seemed interested in… he didn't even know what he wanted. Something.
At that point, he couldn't deny he was his only friend. Damn it.
Till couldn't have Mizi, so he may as well be single forever—he hoped she would accept his feelings, anyways—but if he couldn't achieve that, at least he wouldn't be the only loser there. Ivan was worse than him, and maybe that made sense.
What does it matter? Till took the glasses on a tray and went up to his bedroom, where Ivan had already connected the console.
Hours passed. The sun moved across the window, the golden stripes on the ceiling changing position. They shouted, insulted each other, threw pillows when one beat the other. Ivan won three races, and Till two. The dark-haired boy said that demonstrated his superiority, and immediately, Till accused him of cheating. When Ivan messed with him, claiming he squealed like a girl—it seemed to be his new favorite insult—Till almost threw the controller at him.
At some point, Io poked her head through the door, smiled upon seeing them, and left a tray with sandwiches. Till thanked her, focused on the game. Ivan raised a hand in greeting.
The afternoon slid by smoothly, as if time didn't matter.
For the moment, it would work, although deep down, he felt it wouldn't be forever.