Chapter 1: Not Okay
Summary:
ivan? are you really okay?
Notes:
just realized I didn't give this chapter a title. or a summary. oh well. here they are now.
Chapter Text
Andrew looked up when he heard the door open with a tired creak, his friend Ivan coming through it looking just as weary. He flopped down on the couch beside him, his limbs spread over the cushions like a spider’s web. There was something in his eyes, something tucked away like a scared animal.
Andrew sat up. “Ivan?” He asked, “are you okay?”
Ivan turned his head to look at him, hesitating a moment, and then replying, “I’m good, why?”
“You were just kinda quiet for a bit.”
“Mm.” Ivan hesitated again. “Y’know, sometimes I feel like you’re hoping for a different response.”
“I don’t… what?” Andrew straightened further, tilting his head. The TV played in the background, providing the only light in the dim room. Ivan took less time to speak again this time, but it felt like a longer pause. His expression shifted, his eyebrows furrowing in an expression Andrew couldn’t quite place— irritation? Concern? Confusion? He sat up as well and said, “You ask me that question all the time. That question, all the time. ‘Are you okay? ‘Are you okay?”
Andrew flinched a little. Was he imagining Ivan’s frustration? “I don’t know, man, it’s just a courtesy.”
“Yeah, it probably would be,” his tone softened, “but you know the answer, and I already know you care, so what’s the point?”
“Ivan, I—”
“And it’s fine you are hoping for me to not be okay,” Ivan interrupted, “I understand. You’re not the type to let someone one-up you.” He had always thought he was good at reading his friend, even when words failed him. He continued, “And now you’re living with me, you can’t do anything. So you hope I’ll be broken in case you can fix me. So everything goes back to normal. How it should be. With you at the top, and me a thousand steps behind, right?”
Ivan was less than. Inferior. He knew that well, it made him think just a little too hard about Andrew. At least, so he thought. He was probably right. “Ivan, are you even listening? I’m not saying that at all,” Andrew cut in.
“And I’m saying it’s okay. Things are rough right now. I’m telling you you can stop fighting,” Ivan soothed, “Save your energy. It’s not a bad thing to rest.” He sounded sickly sweet and too reassuring, like a scraggly coyote pretending to tend to an injured kitten, only that neither of them recognized they were one of those. “Not everything is your problem to solve,” Ivan went on.
Andrew looked into his uneven eyes and thought for a long moment. He was about to smile and thank him, but he could swear he could see something in the windows to Ivan’s soul. Something broken. He had seen it when his friend first came in, and it was still scared, or maybe angry. Finally, he took a deep breath and asked, “What happened outside, anyway?”
Ivan stopped smiling. The thing in his eyes felt bigger now— it was angry and bitter. Andrew didn’t know what it was. He didn’t know if it was a part of Ivan, or something destroying him, perhaps both.
“Ivan,” he insisted, “Really. What happened? Are you alright?”
Ivan looked down at his hands as they started to tremble. His knees curled up to his chest. He started to shake his head, his breathing getting faster, faster, until it felt like he wasn’t breathing at all. His heart beat like it was trying to start a coup.
Andrew stood quickly and got in front of his friend, putting his hands on Ivan’s shoulders. “Hey. Ivan. Look at me. Breathe.” Ivan shook his head again. “Just do it,” Andrew demanded.
Ivan looked up. Andrew was concerned for him, but all he could see was someone to idolize, look up to, respect, and yet fear and envy at the same time. “Take your own advice. You don’t have to do everything alone either,” Andrew told him firmly.
But he didn’t hear him. Ivan couldn’t hear himself think, not through his father’s voice. It told him, over and over, to make a name for himself, not to worry about such silly things. So why would he be able to hear Andrew? He didn’t know what to do, so he just grabbed onto his friend and held fast. There wasn’t anything to do but wait this out.
When he looked up, a dark figure was behind Andrew. It was all pitch black, like it had been charred, but it didn’t smell of smoke, or anything really. It was spiky and dangerous like the maw of some horrible monster. He saw Ivan panic at something behind him, but didn’t react to the horrid monster. Was he blind or something?
“Ivan,” he persisted, “There’s nothing there. What are you staring at? Something on the TV?” He asked, craning his neck to look behind him again.
Ivan tried to snap out of it. He knew that some things he saw weren’t real, but he couldn’t shake the monsters or the terror and concern for his friend. What would happen if that… that thing were to hurt Andrew? He would never hurt Andrew, it was all this stupid thing. This tumor.
He felt lightheaded, air battering at the inside of his skull like it was trying to split it open. He couldn't breathe right or think straight, and he was too far off the ground to figure out how to fix it. “Ivan, you’re hyperventilating. Just breathe in, then breathe out. Count to three,” Andrew advised.
Ivan tried to follow the instructions, and he could breathe, only as long as that was his only focus. Panic was still rising in his throat and coursing through his veins. He shut his eyes tight and prayed that monster behind Andrew wouldn’t hurt either of them.
Andrew took a quiet seat beside Ivan, just watching him in case he started to go out of control again. Maybe the breathing exercise would be enough to calm him down, for now. He couldn’t help but wonder what Ivan had been looking at earlier— he hadn’t seen anything silhouetted in the glow from the TV, nor had he heard anyone besides Ivan come in. Weird.
When Ivan looked up, the black tumor was still there. He stared it down for a few long moments— Andrew still couldn’t tell what he was looking at. His eyes looked unfocused.
Then it lunged, and everything went dark.
“Ivan, what do you even keep seeing?”
Ivan looked towards the voice and opened his eyes. He sounded confused and a little irritated. There sat Andrew, safe and sound, and the monster was gone. Finally, they were safe. “...nothing,” he said eventually, “I just… don’t know how to fix it.”
Andrew narrowed his eyes at him and contemplated prying for more—what had he seen? Fix what?—but he didn’t much like when Ivan did that to him, so he sighed, “Fine. Come on. Go to bed. And maybe you can start by letting me sleep on the couch.”
Ivan wanted to say “no.” He wanted to maintain his absolute control over Andrew. Finally, he shook his head and went to his room.
Andrew didn’t listen and moved his pillow and blanket to the couch and slept better than he had in a long time that night.
Chapter 2: (Don't) Cleave
Summary:
get the axe.
Notes:
grrrr I didn't feel like waiting until tmr to post this so here have the chapter on Saturday. might not schedule until I have substantial number of chapters, but paycheck will probs have writing priority, but Im hoping having more chapters will attract more readers so ill write this more frequently
Chapter Text
When Ivan woke up the next morning and saw Andrew wasn’t where he’d instructed him to be, for once, he didn’t yell. He left Andrew alone and went to make breakfast. He barely hated it any less, maybe more, even. But he didn’t want Andrew to get hurt.
Andrew had no thoughts of breakfast when he woke up. He stood and went straight to the computer to start work like a moth to a flame. He’d been here for so much longer than he’d meant to stay, he had to get something out, start making money. Fortunately, his game was getting closer and closer to done. Right now, it was replacing filler sprites, debugging the little things, and some balancing work.
He looked up when the door opened— that must be Ivan. He grew a bit nervous that Ivan might be angry with him. He would always make sure Andrew’s life was hell when he was angry at him.
But Ivan just put a plate of food, some scrambled eggs, down on the desk. After a moment’s stalling, he turned to him and asked, “How’d you sleep?”
“Good. Actually,” Andrew answered him, keeping the glee of getting away with it out of his tone.
“Oh. That’s… nice to hear. I suppose.” Ivan shot him a sideways glare, but Andrew didn’t worry about it. He had finally been able to sleep somewhat comfortably and he wasn’t being starved, deprived of sleep, yelled at, etcetera etcetera for it. Ivan left without doing anything to him and went to enjoy his own breakfast.
He didn’t eat for a moment, just stewing over Andrew. How dare he? He put a roof over his head and food in his stomach, and he couldn’t listen to something as simple as this? Not like it mattered. He might not know it, but Ivan got all the bacon he didn’t know existed. He might be going soft, just withholding this instead of anything actually substantial, but supposedly this was “healthier.” According to his research, or rather, Google searches.
Ivan chewed absently on his eggs as he grew lost in thought, about Andrew, about his legacy, about his dad. Mostly Andrew, though. He didn’t like thinking about his dad. It scared him too much. But Andrew, he was wonderful to think about, even if Ivan envied him. He was always so clever, always ahead of the game and working for his passions. Ivan wished he could crawl into Andrew’s skin, to be close to him, one with him.
He finished his breakfast and put the plate in the sink to be washed at the end of the day, then went to check in on Andrew. He seemed to be almost in a flow state, so Ivan didn’t bother him and decided to go out somewhere.
He hesitated at the door when he remembered the gorey torture he’d seen and bloodcurdling shrieks he’d heard last time he’d went out, but the door wouldn’t lead there this time. Right?
When he pushed it open, thankfully all that was there was the normal hallway.
The elevator went down and brought him to a dark hall in the shape of his complex’s lobby, but not the color of it. Instead, all around him, the walls were of leafy green and terracotta pots. The plants at the door were burning and smoldering. Soon they would all be dead.
He dashed back into the elevator, tapping his foot impatiently as it went back up, agonizingly slow. It stopped at a floor containing an entire forest, and just a few hundred meters in front of him, a lake and a cabin.
He ran to the water, wanting, needing to put out the fire, but he had nothing to carry it in. So, he burst into the cabin to find something.
There was nothing of use here at first glance. He looked in the bathroom, kitchen, and the dresser, but nothing. Something glinted under the bed— the metal of a bucket. He picked it up and hurried to the lake outside to fill it, it would probably be faster than the sink. The water swirled and glugged as it rushed into the bucket.
He made his way impatiently back down the elevator, bucket in hand. Remnants of the lake trickled down from the rim where they lingered and dripped off the bucket, leaving a small puddle on the floor. He didn’t look into its glimmering reflections for fear of who he might see staring back.
The second the elevator doors were wide enough for him to squeeze through, he burst out like a rush of water breaking a dam. The fire was bigger now. It took up the entire wall. He looked away and threw the water over as much area as he could. When he looked back, there was nothing but wet ash and smoke. The acrid stench of hungry pyres lingered in the air. With shaky hands and shy steps, he went back up to his apartment. He didn’t want to go out anymore.
Andrew was there when he pushed open the door, working on his game as always, a pillar of routine and consistency. Ivan could finally breathe without feeling like he was drowning in the lake. When he looked down at his hands, the bucket was gone. Weird.
He wandered aimlessly into his room, contemplated sitting down at his computer, maybe laying down for a while, but eventually drifted over to the axe hanging on the wall. The wood of the display plaque was polished and its dust unnoticeable at first glance while the axe’s handle was old yet trusty and a little charred at the edges. Ivan remembered when he’d first inherited the axe, when it had been caked with soot and dull-bladed. He hadn’t been able to leave his father’s old possession in such a state.
He took it down from the wall, testing its balance in his hands. He held it up over his head as if to swing at the air.
“Ivan? What are you even doing?” Andrew called from the doorway.
“Oh!’ He lowered the axe, looking at Andrew briefly, then away again. “Uhm… nothing. Just… bored. Y’know?”
“Okay… I wanted to check in with you since I just heard you get home.”
“Since when do you need do that?”
“Since last night.” Andrew shrugged.
Ivan’s grip tightened on the axe like a child holding a warm hand. He turned back to Andrew, his gaze heated half with anger and the other half with fondness. He smiled when he spoke and his face softened, “You don’t have to help me, Andrew. I’m going to be okay.” He hesitated in the doorway for a long moment, staring Ivan down. Andrew’s gaze felt like it was trying to dig through the cobbles he’d walled himself off with. Finally, he slipped away to go back to work.
Ivan sighed and put the axe back up on the weapon display. When would Andrew get the hint that he was just fine? He had an overactive imagination, that was all. Children did that all the time and no one said a word about their imaginary friends, so why fear imaginary enemies?
He was fine.
Chapter 3: Need
Summary:
maybe it'll be good again.
Chapter Text
Andrew did not talk to Ivan until dinner that night. No, he was far too hard at work to do anything but code. He was able to run efficiently without sleep or food— Ivan had made quite sure of that.
They sat on either side of the little square table, allowing themselves to simply eat and be together. Ivan couldn’t help but glance up at the object of his affection from time to time. Then, once, he glanced up, and Andrew refused to look back at him. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was fidgeting with his fingers, fork and knife left on his plate. Odd, considering he hadn’t finished his food and normally had a voracious appetite from being denied lunch. “What’s wrong?” Ivan asked.
Andrew sighed and finally looked at him. His eyes glittered with concern and a hint of fear. “Ivan, you need help.”
“What are you talking about?” Ivan reassured him with a smile. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“No you’re not. You’ll leave for hours and come back with this… this look on your face, like you just went outside and saw something along the lines of Godzilla. You never tell me where you’re going or when you’ll come back. You space out all the time, like there’s someone living inside your head you’re talking to. And you won’t tell me why you won’t let me uncover the bathroom mirror,” Andrew pointed out sternly. He had accumulated all these points over time, noticing every one of Ivan’s quirks or potentially symptoms.
“I just… don’t like going out. You know how I get about strangers,” Ivan lied, “I just don’t want to talk about outside. Brings back too much anxiety.” He sighed, then continued, “And I have a reason for the bathroom mirror thing.”
Andrew narrowed his eyes. “And what might that reason be?”
“I…” Ivan thought back. God, he hated mirrors. He hated looking at them. He hated looking at himself. He hated the fear that he’d look into them and see something behind him. “...It’s broken,” he deluded again, “I wouldn’t want anyone getting cut on the broken edges.”
Andrew scoffed, “Is it now? Why don’t I go take a peek for myself?”
Ivan was about to plead with him, tell him not to go, but realized he had much better tools for getting Andrew to comply. He was nothing without Ivan, Ivan made him, and now they would stay by each others’ sides forever and ever, even if it meant a little bit of unpleasantness. “Andrew, if you do that, I’m not letting you sleep tonight or tomorrow.”
Andrew stared at him for a long moment. He hated what he saw, he missed his friend, Ivan. This couldn’t be Ivan, not the real Ivan. Finally, he sighed, “Case in point,” and stood to leave the table.
“What do you mean? Where are you going?” Ivan demanded, making Andrew look back from the corner into the hallway.
“I mean that no ‘fine’ person is that scared of strangers or threatens their friends for wanting to look at broken shit.”
Ivan’s face softened. Maybe Andrew was a little bit right— he did treat him quite badly. He didn’t want to hurt Andrew. He simply had to sometimes, to make sure their situation could stay exactly the same. He reached out tentatively and begged, “Please, Andrew, I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I… I’m sorry.”
His apology only made Andrew pause for a moment. He couldn’t count the number of times Ivan had said he was sorry only to turn around and yell at or punish him. But Ivan was still in there, somewhere, the Ivan he had first met and still loved. He just needed some help getting out. He had to be, because Andrew wasn’t sure what he’d do if that Ivan was all gone. When he really looked, he could swear he still saw that Ivan buried deep beneath his twisted trauma. He couldn’t bear to look at Ivan for a few moments, but it felt like an eternity of lamenting his friend. Finally, he muttered, “It’s fine.” Then he was gone.
Ivan slumped in his seat and picked at his food. He mulled over the argument in his head— had he been too harsh? Was it wrong to lie to Andrew?
He stood from his seat and rounded the table, placing seconds on Andrew’s plate. He almost never let Andrew have seconds unless he was trying to be good. He picked up the plate and brought it to the bedroom, where Andrew was working surfing the web to take his mind off things. Ivan placed the plate before him. “Andrew… I’m sorry for yelling at you. Please?” Andrew refrained from looking to Ivan for a long moment. Finally, he glanced at him and sighed. “It’s okay. But I stand by what I said. You need to get help, Ivan.”
Ivan felt a feverish rage boiling deep in his gut when Andrew started to bring up the whole “help” thing again. No. No, they couldn’t argue about this again. He didn’t know if he could beat Andrew down again today without breaking down. “Maybe,” he mumbled reluctantly.
“No. Not maybe. You will,” Andrew insisted, standing up.
“I’m fine. Promise.” Ivan tried to smile, but it looked more like a terrified grimace.
Andrew cupped Ivan’s face in one hand and pleaded, “Come on. For me?” Ivan looked away for a long moment, then finally sighed and agreed so quietly as if he thought it wouldn’t count if no one could hear it. “...fine.”
Ivan looked back, and he couldn’t decide if he loved or hated what he saw. Love because he needed Andrew, because Andrew was so near perfect. Hate because his idol recognized the fear that kept him cooped up in his head.
Ivan’s entire world felt cold and empty when Andrew pulled away. Andrew’s felt just the same. Ivan shook his head. As much as he wanted to pull Andrew close, he couldn’t give himself away. Andrew might not even feel the same.
He actually wouldn’t mind, as long as Ivan started to treat him well. He missed the old Ivan so much, the Ivan that had comforted him after he was rejected by his parents, the Ivan that had let him stay in his apartment out of kindness and not a need for control. Maybe he could love Ivan again if that version of him came back.
Ivan turned to leave, but hesitated in the doorway. He looked over his shoulder and murmured, “You can take the couch. I guess.”
Andrew grinned. “Thanks, man,” he chirped.
With a defeated sigh, Ivan left the bedroom to take a shower. The hot water ran pleasantly over his skin. The longer he stayed in the washroom, though, the more he thought about what he’d done, and the more he thought about that, the more unclean he felt in a way that soap could never wash off.
Ivan finished up and dried himself off before getting dressed for bed. When he went out to the living room, Andrew’s pillows and blankets were tossed messily on the couch. He straightened them out a bit and headed into the bedroom, where Andrew was working again. Good. He’s been here for months when it was supposed to be two weeks. Although, Ivan couldn’t deny he enjoyed having Andrew around.
When he woke up in the morning, Ivan couldn’t remember all the monsters that had plagued him in the night. Maybe he really could get better.
HyperactiveSucker4Fluff on Chapter 1 Mon 01 Dec 2025 01:49AM UTC
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fyiskyfriday on Chapter 1 Mon 01 Dec 2025 06:37AM UTC
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No_no_square on Chapter 2 Sun 07 Dec 2025 05:27AM UTC
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