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The memories arrive in short bursts. Sometimes it’ll happen over a bowl of cereal, or in the middle of a pick-up basketball game with his friends. More often, though, they come to Till in the space between waking and sleeping, when he closes his eyes and sees a stage surrounded by strange creatures, a man in white that looks so much like an older version of Ivan Lee, junior class president.
At first, Till dismissed these as strange dreams from an overactive imagination. But the details seem too sharp, too real, and as time goes on, he begins to suspect they may be memories of a past life.
He drops his pencil, and Ivan picks it up and hands it to him, and Till sees a small boy instead, smiling painfully with a bruised mouth. On his birthday, he’ll open a gift and expect something, something else, and feel slight disappointment when he looks up and sees his friends gathered around him, but not those dark eyes with red pupils.
It doesn’t make sense that he would daydream these random instances about a boy he barely knows, has spoken maybe three words to. It makes even less sense for him to jolt awake in the middle of the night, hyperventilating with the lingering memory of Ivan falling from his field of view, blood spreading out from underneath his body to stain the tips of his shoes.
In another life, he was the victim of an alien death match singing competition, and Ivan died at his feet to save him.
What would the Ivan of this world say if Till said something about it? Would he laugh at him? Brush him off as delusional? Till wants to risk it. What if there’s a chance that he remembers things as Till does? Of course, it begs the question why Ivan wouldn’t have said anything, but then again, they don’t exactly know each other. Maybe Ivan thinks Till will call him crazy. It’s a fair assumption.
Till starts paying more attention to Ivan around school, trailing along behind the slightly older boy, as he walks through the halls in the center of his fan club. It’s somewhat irritating for reasons Till can’t fully describe to watch the girls and boys around Ivan fawn and swoon over him like he’s some big celebrity and not just a smelly teenager. (Not that Ivan smells bad . . . he smells really good, actually. Annoying.)
Every day Till waits for the perfect opportunity to test the theory. Getting Ivan alone is nearly impossible, though. He always seems to have a tag-along of some kind. Whether it be a fellow member of the student council or just another classmate, Ivan is popular and well-liked, which means he’s rarely on his own.
Finally, Till decides to just force the meeting. Hiding around the corner of a corridor, he waits until Ivan’s group passes him before he reaches out and snags the sleeve of his class president, yanking him down the hall.
“What the—hey! That kid’s kidnapping our president!”
“Hey kid! Bring Ivan back!”
Surprisingly, Ivan doesn’t resist his pull, simply allows Till to drag him down to an empty classroom, looking bemused.
Till shoves Ivan into the room and shuts the door, turning to face him. Ivan stares back at him, not a strand of hair out of place, his long lashes blinking slowly, his bow-like mouth tilted in a quizzical half-smile. Fuck. Up close, like this, Till finds his heart beating faster. In his memories, Ivan looked attractive, but it’s different standing in front of the real thing.
“Can I help you?” Ivan prompts, looking even more amused.
Till’s stare could bore holes into his skull. He waits, wanting to see if Ivan’s mask will crack, or if he’ll give any indication of recognizing Till. Instead, Ivan simply looks back at him, waiting.
“Nothing?!” Till demands.
“I don’t understand.”
Till inhales sharply, pushing a hand through his hair and wondering how much of a fool he’s willing to make of himself. “Do you have strange . . . dreams?”
Ivan tilts his head to the side. “Do you?”
Till flushes. “I asked you first!”
Ivan smirks. “Is this your way of trying to confess to me? Are your ‘strange dreams’ erotic in nature?”
“What?! No!” Till’s face feels incredibly hot, and he’s starting to regret bringing this up at all.
Ivan opens the door. Till’s not sure how he shifted over there without him noticing. “Then, if you’re not going to tell me what this is about, I need to return to my duties.”
Till snorts, rolling his eyes. “Duties. You’re just student council president. It’s a made-up job. You don’t have to take it so seriously.”
“Some of us care about our future and wish to include reputable positions on our transcripts.”
Till frowns. “You think I don’t care about my future?”
“I’ve never seen you apply yourself as such.”
“Fuck you!” Till retorts out of instinct. He pauses, then, realizing something. “Wait, how do you know I haven’t been applying myself?”
“Have a good day, Till.”
With that, Ivan slips from the room. Till stares after him. He knows my name?
***
It becomes clear quite quickly that it’s likely Ivan doesn’t remember anything. Till isn’t sure why he does. Is it random? Did he do something to trigger it? The flashes have been happening for so long, now, Till’s forgotten when they started.
That’s less important, though. The more Till remembers, the more his chest aches whenever he looks at Ivan across the classroom, whenever he sees him sitting with his posse at lunch, or walking toward his ride after school. They were close, in that alien world. Best friends, one might even say. Family. More than family.
He’s not sure how he knows, but he just . . . knows. Every time he sees Ivan fall to the stage floor, the pain in his chest blooms anew. He can’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t supposed to end like that. They weren’t supposed to end like that.
But how can he get the Ivan of this world to see that? They’re not friends. The only thing Till knows about him, outside of his student council position and the fact that he’s a straight-A student, is that he’s rich. That doesn’t really help Till. They come from two completely different universes, and yet Till can’t shake the aching feeling that they should be together. They need to be together.
Gathering every ounce of courage he has in him, Till storms across the classroom and slams his hands down on Ivan’s desk, causing the other to jump. “Get ice cream with me after school,” he says, ignoring his burning cheeks and the stares of their classmates around them.
Ivan looks back at him with wide eyes full of surprise. “Excuse me?” he says, his voice smaller than usual.
Till’s face grows hotter. “You heard me,” he mutters, straightening. He points at Ivan’s face. “Four o’ clock. At the bus stop. Be there.”
Keeping his chin up, he stomps back to his desk near the back of the room, waiting until he’s seated to fold his arms on the top of the desk and bury his face in them. He can hear the snickering and whispers of his classmates, and his ears and the back of his neck itch with heat. When he peeks up over his elbow, though, Ivan’s not joining in the mockery. He’s staring down at his desk silently. Till wonders what he’s thinking.
After school, Till waits anxiously at the bus stop, not sure if Ivan will follow through or not. It’s not like he agreed to meet Till or go with him to get ice cream. Till’s heart starts to crawl its way up into his throat, and when he closes his eyes, he sees Ivan’s back, dressed in black, walking away from him. Not looking over his shoulder, not giving Till that playful smile from back in the Garden. Then again, maybe his thoughts weren’t on Till then. He was about to experience his first round, after all. Maybe he was scared.
He had to have been scared.
“Till?”
Till opens his eyes to see this Ivan standing in front of him, watching him closely. Till feels his cheeks warm. “Uh. Hi.”
“Hello . . .”
Ivan’s watching him expectantly, so Till clears his throat and gestures up the sidewalk with his head. “There’s a pretty good place a couple blocks from here. You good walking?”
Ivan nods, still watching him. Till doesn’t know why that stare still unnerves him so much. He should be used to it by now, right?
Hesitating, he turns and starts walking, Ivan matching his stride despite his longer legs. Till shoves his hands into his pockets, not sure what to say. Honestly, he hadn’t gotten this far in his plan, if one could even call it that. He’s not sure what his objective is either. Does he just want Ivan to remember? If he doesn’t wind up remembering, then what? What does Till want out of this?
“I didn’t think you liked sweet things,” Ivan says finally.
“Huh?” Till blinks.
“You always skip dessert at lunch.”
Till frowns. “How do you even know that?”
Ivan looks straight ahead. “It’s something I noticed, that’s all.”
“Do you always keep close tabs on your classmates?” Till asks, narrowing his eyes.
“Yes. Marty Buckley avoids anything with nuts. I’ve concluded he’s allergic. Durian Song cuts her own bangs, which is why they’re always crooked. Acorn Flint sleeps during math, which is why he’s failing. Jia—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Till cuts him off before he can continue listing things about all twenty-six members of their class. He can’t help but feel disappointed that Ivan’s attention hasn’t been focused on him. It used to be. “That’s pretty creepy, you know.”
“It’s good to understand the voting demographic.”
Till rolls his eyes. “Can’t you talk normal for once? Is this your big plan for the future then? Politics?”
Ivan hesitates. “It’s a possibility,” he answers evasively.
“A possibility, huh? So it’s not your passion or anything.”
“Do you need to be passionate about something to make it a career?”
“Yes?” Till stares at him. “What’s the point if you don’t love what you’re doing?”
Ivan smiles faintly. “What do you love doing?” he asks, glancing over at him.
“Well . . .” Till scratches the back of his neck. “I guess I love music and art . . . playing basketball with my friends. Any one of those things I could make into a career, I guess. I haven’t really thought about it, to be honest.”
“We’re juniors. You should be thinking about it,” Ivan scolds in his class president voice.
Till snorts. “Not sure why it matters to you,” he says pointedly. “And anyway, you haven’t answered my question.”
“Which question?”
“What do you want to do in the future?” Till prompts.
Ivan doesn’t respond.
Till frowns. “Isn’t there anything you like to do?” he asks.
“Not particularly.”
Till thinks back to his memories of his time with Ivan in the Garden and the stage. “What about singing?”
Ivan seems confused by the question. “What leads you to believe I have any talent for singing?”
“Because I’ve heard you! You’re really amazing.”
Ivan stops walking, staring at him. “When have you ever heard me sing?”
Before Till can stumble his way through an explanation, a car comes flying down the street, going at least twenty over the speed limit. Till moves before he realizes what he’s doing. Grabbing the front of Ivan’s school uniform, he yanks the other away from the curb, spinning them around to press Ivan against the fence beside them, flinching as some water splashes up against his back from the gutter as the car barrels past.
His heart pounds loudly in his ears. Logically, he knows that Ivan wasn’t near enough to the road to get clipped by the car, but in that moment all he could see is the bloodstained stage at his feet, the light draining from Ivan’s eyes as he falls. Till’s body just reacted, pulling Ivan from any perceived danger to keep him from harm.
“Till? Till, you’re trembling.”
Broad palms rest against his shoulders, and Till snaps out of his head, blinking into Ivan’s face, which is much closer than it needs to be.
“I-I just . . .” Till swallows hard, not sure how to explain himself. He can feel tears prickling the corners of his eyes, which is humiliating, and he drops his forehead onto Ivan’s shoulder to avoid looking at his face. “I couldn’t risk losing you again,” he finishes in a murmur.
If Ivan knows what he’s talking about, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, one of his hands moves to the back of Till’s head, patting it gently. “I’m okay,” he says quietly. “I wasn’t standing so close to the street that my life was in danger, but I appreciate that your fast reflexes kept me dry.” He plucks at the back of Till’s wet uniform, and there’s amusement lingering in his tone.
“Ugh.” Till leans back, releasing Ivan to brush the tears from his eyes. “Whatever. Let’s just keep going.”
They walk the rest of the way in silence. The ice cream shop is a popular place for high schoolers, especially after school, so it’s fairly busy as they step inside. Till tugs Ivan to the side of the front counter so they can look at the menu without bothering anyone.
“Do you already know what you want?” Till asks, glancing over at him.
Ivan hums thoughtfully. “Just chocolate is fine.”
Till knits his brows. “That’s it? You can have more than just a plain scoop of ice cream, you know.”
Ivan hesitates, and his snaggletooth presses into his lower lip. Till nudges him gently with his elbow.
“I’m serious. Get whatever you want. Anything you want.”
Ivan’s gaze drops to the display of flavors and toppings. Till pats his back. “Take your time. I’ll go stand in line.”
He moves to the back of said queue, lacing his fingers and pressing his palms together. He’s still somewhat shaken by the close call earlier, but he appreciates the fact that Ivan didn’t make fun of him for crying. From his memories, he knows Ivan liked to tease him, but never for crying.
Till presses the heel of his palm into his chest, watching the back of Ivan’s head as he considers all the options laid out in front of him. He’s still too polite, too stiff, aside from that one moment earlier where he made fun of Till getting wet with gutter water. Till’s back still feels warm where Ivan touched him. He wants to see more of that Ivan. He wants Ivan to feel comfortable enough to show him.
He’s halfway to the counter when Ivan returns. “I know what I want,” he says with a nod.
Me? Till’s hopeful mind supplies before he quickly squashes it down. It’s far too early for that. “Cool,” he says with a nod and small smile instead.
When they reach the counter, Till gestures for Ivan to order first.
“Hello,” Ivan starts politely. “I would like two scoops in a dipped waffle cone bowl, please. One scoop of double chocolate chunk and one scoop of birthday cake. I would also like sprinkles, gummy bears, and chocolate chips as toppings. Oh, and whipped cream. And a candied cherry.”
Till raises his eyebrows. “Are you trying to put yourself in a sugar coma?” he asks with a laugh.
Ivan blinks at him. “You said anything I wanted,” he reminds him.
“I know; I just didn’t realize you were going to try to get the entire shop,” Till shakes his head with a small grin. “I’ll just have a scoop of strawberry.”
“That’s it?” Ivan asks in dismay.
Till can’t help but laugh again at how disappointed he looks. “You were right. I’m not big into sweets.”
“We don’t have to get ice cream, then,” Ivan says, shaking his head.
“No, no, it’s fine. You obviously like sweets, so I want to be here,” Till insists, pulling his wallet out of his pocket to pay.
Ivan falls silent beside him. Once he has his receipt, Till pulls Ivan to the side to wait for their ice cream. Ivan remains quiet before offering a soft, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Till says. He pauses, thinking back through his memories before tentatively asking, “You’re not used to getting what you want, are you?”
Ivan doesn’t look at him. “What brought you to that conclusion?”
“Well, you’re focused on possible careers you don’t seem very interested in, and you first asked for the bare minimum when you obviously wanted more,” Till points out. “Considering the fancy car that picks you up from school, your needs are probably met, but do you ever get things you actually want?”
Ivan shrugs. “Such things are unimportant in contrast to having a successful future.”
“Wow.”
“What?” Ivan finally glances over at him.
“Nothing. You just . . . you remind me of someone. That guy didn’t understand his worth either, I don’t think.”
“I’m not worth anything more than what I can contribute to the family and to society.”
Till rolls his eyes. “Is that your guardian talking?”
“My father holds me to an extremely high standard.”
“I know,” Till says before he can think better of it. He grimaces at the sharp look Ivan sends him. “I-I mean, I could guess that. But, you know, you are worth more than that.” He chews on his lip, impulsively reaching out to touch the back of Ivan’s hand. “You’re worth a lot more.”
Ivan stares down at their hands without responding. Till flushes, pulling away and grateful when his name is called. He steps forward quickly to grab his small bowl of strawberry ice cream, and Ivan’s monstrosity.
“Shall we walk back?” Ivan asks after he takes his with a nod of thanks.
“Oh. Uh, sure,” Till says, having wanted to find a table or something, but it is rather crowded. Ivan’s sensitive to loud noises, he reminds himself.
He grabs a couple spoons and some napkins, handing one of each to Ivan. As they walk back to the high school, he eyes the towering mess Ivan’s digging into.
“That looks insane,” he says. “Does all of that even taste good together?”
Ivan has his spoon in his mouth, but he holds the bowl out to Till, raising his eyebrows. Till wrinkles his nose and shakes his head.
“No, thanks. I’d like to keep all my teeth.”
“I have excellent oral hygiene,” Ivan says primly.
Can I investigate that? Till bites down hard on his ice cream laden spoon to keep himself from saying the words out loud, immediately wincing as pain slashes across his head. “Ugh. Brain freeze.”
“Oh.” Ivan pauses, sticking his thumb into his own mouth before reaching over to shove it into Till’s, pressing up against the roof of his mouth.
Till’s too stunned to do anything at first, shock sending a jolt down his spine. A second later the pain eases, and he jerks his head back. “What the fuck?”
Ivan blinks. “If you press something warm against the roof of your mouth, it can get rid of a brain freeze quickly.”
“You could’ve just told me that!” Till exclaims, his entire body feeling warm now. He can still taste Ivan’s skin, and the heat spreads further across his face, neck, and ears.
“It saved time to simply do it myself.”
Till stares at him. “That’s weird. You’re weird,” he states, though he figures that shouldn’t come as a surprise, considering.
Ivan’s gaze falls to the sidewalk between them. “I apologize for overstepping.”
He starts walking again, with longer strides, getting ahead of Till in just a few steps. Till frowns. It feels somewhat like Ivan’s running away. He hastens to catch up.
“It’s fine,” he offers after a moment, willing his cheeks to cool. “I just hope you’re not going around sticking your fingers in random people’s mouths on the regular.”
“Of course not,” Ivan says, sounding somewhat indignant.
Till smirks faintly.
Too soon, they reach the school. Till’s finished his ice cream, but Ivan still has a little less than half left. He takes a couple bites out of the chocolate dipped waffle cone bowl, chocolate smearing the corner of his mouth. He stops short when he notices the black SUV waiting at the curb. He tosses the remainder of his ice cream into the nearest trash bin quickly.
Till frowns. “Hey . . . weren’t you enjoying that?”
“I can’t allow my father’s driver to see. He’ll tell my father, and I’m on a strict diet.”
Till’s chest aches. “Diet for what?” he mutters, but Ivan simply adjusts his uniform and straightens his back.
“Thank you for the ice cream,” he says politely. “And for the company. I shall see you tomorrow.”
“Wait,” Till says, grabbing his arm. Ivan freezes, as Till reaches up to wipe his thumb against the edge of Ivan’s mouth. “You had some chocolate there.”
Ivan nods. “Thank you,” he says again, waiting until Till releases him before making his way to the SUV to get inside.
Till sighs, watching him go. He wishes it felt more like the date he’d intended it to be. He supposes there’s no rush, though. They aren’t headed for a singing competition where one of them is doomed to die. They have time.
***
Till spends the next few weeks inviting Ivan out to various places, just the two of them. He doesn’t call them “dates,” but he thinks it’s pretty obvious what he’s doing. Once or twice a week, he’ll approach Ivan’s desk and tell him to meet him at the bus stop after school. Ivan always seems confused, even as he agrees.
Till takes him to the arcade, to the movies, to the park, to the mall, every place he can think of that’s either cheap or free so he can afford it. Whenever Ivan tries to pay for something, Till smacks his hand away and insists, which seems to confuse Ivan further. What doesn’t he understand? The asker is supposed to pay for the askee when it comes to dates, right?
He notices, though, that the more he spends time with Ivan, the less his mind wanders into the past. He’s able to focus better on the here and now, on the Ivan next to him, warm and alive. Till feels warm, too. There’s a lightness in his chest, a fullness that he’s never experienced before. It feels like a hole has been filled.
Ivan starts to relax too, somewhat. Till can tell he’s trying to hide it, but he’ll catch Ivan smiling or stifling a laugh and feel a burst of happiness. He wants to reach out and snatch Ivan’s hand away from his mouth in these moments, to see his face brighten and his eyes sparkle, but Ivan keeps turning away, almost like he’s embarrassed to show Till a break in his composure. It’s frustrating, but Till tries to be patient.
At least Ivan seems to enjoy himself on these dates. He keeps agreeing to them, after all. It gives Till hope that he’s slowly tearing down that wall, that their relationship is moving forward.
Ivan catches him staring sometimes, quirking his eyebrow as he tilts his head quizzically, and Till has to come up with some excuse, stammering over his words as his face burns. He can’t admit that he’s comparing this Ivan to the one of his memories, finding all the similarities, all the differences.
“If you take a photo it’ll last longer,” Ivan says one day with a laugh.
Till blushes, but he pulls out his phone, holding it up eagerly. “Can I?”
Ivan blinks, his smile fading into a look of utter bafflement. “You truly want to?”
Till nods. “I really do,” he admits despite the embarrassment.
“Oh. Well . . . that’s fine, I suppose,” Ivan says awkwardly. He straightens in his seat, staring straight into the camera as Till holds the phone aloft, looking like a bug after you lift a rock off it, startled and wide-eyed, unsmiling.
Till frowns, lowering his phone. “Relax, will you? You look like I’m taking your mug shot.”
“This is how I sit for family photos,” Ivan says. “Father says smiling for portraits is unseemly and clownish.”
“Your dad’s a real fucking sunshine, huh?” Till mutters before shaking his head. “Just . . . think of something you like. That makes you happy.” He lifts his phone again.
This time, Ivan looks into the camera blankly for a moment before his gaze shifts slightly to the side. His expression softens, and his lips widen into a small smile. It’s such a warm, tender look, Till feels a lump grow in his throat, unable to help but wonder what he’s thinking of. Is it too much to hope that he’s thinking of Till? He snaps the photo quickly, lowering the phone with a nod.
“Um. Yeah. That was a lot better. Thanks.”
“I still don’t understand why you would want a photo of me, but my pleasure.”
Till frowns. “You really don’t know?” he asks.
Ivan tilts his head. “Should I?”
Till bites his lip. “Why do you think I keep asking you out?” he prompts, fiddling with the edge of his phone case.
“I haven’t the foggiest,” Ivan says, shaking his head. “It’s truly quite baffling. There is nothing remotely interesting about me, so I thought perhaps you were using me to climb the social ladder, but you’re just as insignificant as you were before.”
Till frowns. The words sting. “Wow, thanks.”
“I simply mean in the context of social hierarchy at our school,” Ivan explains. “If your only strategy is dating me, I’m afraid you’re deluding yourself. I’m not popular because people like me. They only care about what they can get from me.”
Till gapes at him. “And you think that’s why I’m dating you? To get something from you?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Of course not, asshole!” Till exclaims, gripping his phone tightly with both hands now. Where did he fuck up? Hasn’t he made his feelings clear? He combs through what he knows about the Ivan of his past. Yes, the guy had self-esteem issues, but hadn’t he loved Till? He has no idea if this Ivan loves him yet or not, but surely he’s not so dense that he can’t see how Till’s trying to get closer. “I haven’t even asked for anything!”
“I know, which is why you intrigue me,” Ivan says with a slow nod. “I let this play out because I was curious to discover your end goal.”
“So that’s the only reason why you keep saying yes? Because you’re curious about when I’ll ask you for something?” Till asks weakly, his chest aching.
Ivan simply stares back at him.
“Fuck you,” Till says, choking on the words as tears spring to his eyes. “None of this . . . I-I haven’t been . . . fuck.”
Standing, he turns and quickly makes his way to the doors of the fast-food restaurant he took Ivan to for an early dinner. Once he’s outside, he takes a few deep breaths of fresh air. He’s tempted to keep running, to give up. What’s the point if Ivan’s only interested in learning about some kind of endgame?
Till curls his hands into fists at his side. No. It can’t be just that. He closes his eyes, scouring through his memories. Didn’t Ivan do something similar back then? He pushed Till away, didn’t he? He claimed they weren’t even friends. He went to the stage acting like they were nobody to each other, even though that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
No. Till’s not going to do this again. He’s not going to let them grow apart and become strangers. He’s not going to let Ivan slip through his fingers a second time.
Turning on his heel, he storms back into the restaurant. Ivan’s where he left him, and Till clenches his jaw. With determination, he strides over and grabs the other’s wrist.
“Get up,” he says flatly.
Ivan blinks, startled. He obeys, though, and allows Till to pull him back outside. Walking several feet away from the building, Till waits until they’re at a safe distance before pushing Ivan up against a fence. Ivan’s eyes widen.
“You can’t seriously fucking think that I’m doing all of this for some kind of payback,” Till says flatly, scowling at Ivan. “You can’t be that fucking stupid.”
Ivan blinks rapidly. “I consider my intelligence—”
“No, shut up,” Till says, making a zipping motion through the air between them. “I don’t want your smartass words or excuses. Why do you honestly think I’ve been asking you out?”
Ivan bites his lip, his gaze falling. “I-I don’t know,” he says softly.
Till stares. Why is this happening? How can he be any clearer? A flash of memory crosses his mind, and he moves before he can consider if it’s a good idea. Taking the back of Ivan’s head in his hand, he pulls him in while moving forward at the same time, pushing their lips together.
It’s just as clumsy as he remembers. Ivan doesn’t fight him the way Till did, but he goes completely still, even as Till presses again and again, trying to get some kind of response, even as the tears start to slip down his cheeks.
“Please,” he begs softly, throwing all dignity out the window in his desperation. “Please. I don’t want it to be like last time.”
He knows Ivan won’t understand, but he has to try. He has to fight for the future they deserved, back then. The one they deserve now.
“I like spending time with you,” he breathes against Ivan’s lips, pressing his forehead against his. “I like when you’re next to me, when you’re looking at me, when you listen to me. I-I know it seemed like I wasn’t looking back but I was. I swear I was. I just didn’t . . . it was scary, you know? I was so fucking scared . . . but I know that you were scared too. And I-I think that’s why you’re saying all things now, right? Because you’re scared. You’re scared to let this happen because you could lose it, right? But you’re not going to lose it. I promise, Ivan. You’ll never lose me. I want this. I want you. I’m so sorry it took so long, but I’m not letting you go again.”
Gently, Ivan presses back. “Do you really mean that?” he asks, his voice barely audible.
Till chokes on a sob, but he nods, gripping the back of Ivan’s hair tightly. His chest aches, but hope trickles in, and some of the desperation fades. Lifting his head, he looks into Ivan’s dark eyes, noticing how they’re shiny with unshed tears. It just makes his own fall faster.
“Fuck your dad and fuck all those assholes who made you feel like you’re only worth what you can give them. You deserve better, and I’ll remind you as many times as I need to,” Till says fiercely.
Ivan looks back at him for a long moment before his gaze falls to Till’s lips. Till fights a smile, pulling him into another kiss. This time, Ivan returns it, melting against him, as his arms come around Till and pull him in close. The heat flooding into his head makes Till dizzy, but he just clings to Ivan firmer.
It’s their first kiss, he realizes. Their first real kiss. One without fear, without confusion or pain or desperation. It’s nothing shocking or mind-blowing, but it’s sweet and affectionate and full of longing, and that makes it perfect.
Ivan pulls away before Till’s ready, and the noise he makes in protest is embarrassing. Ivan grins faintly, tucking Till’s hair behind his ear.
“I want this too,” Ivan admits. “But you’re going to need to explain what you meant by ‘again.’”
Till grimaces. “Uh, I don’t think you’ll believe me,” he admits.
Ivan tilts his head. “Try me.”
Till bites his lip. “A-are you sure? It’s kind of a long story and it’s going to sound crazy.”
Ivan takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Well, according to your own words, we have the time.”
Till looks down at their hands, marveling some at that fact despite knowing it’s true. “Right, okay so . . . it started with a dream about a meteor shower . . .”