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He kept his hands behind his back so Alfred wouldn’t see how sweaty they were. So he wouldn’t notice how they would grab each other firmly just to let go again, how his nails would softly jab his skin, how his fingers would twirl around each other. His palms were sweaty and felt gross. Hopefully he wouldn’t mind? He should’ve washed them, shouldn’t he? He should’ve gotten flowers. Ivan swallowed and felt his stomach perform pirouettes that would’ve put a Primaballerina to shame. His eyes flickered from the ground to Alfred’s face, just to check if he was still there, and he saw him furrow his brow as if he was waiting for the punchline to a joke.
“You what?”
Ivan took a deep breath. This was terrifying. Part of his mind searched for fitting metaphors to compare this to, but anything he could come up with sounded quite ridiculous. All he knew was that Alfred’s clear blue eyes were looking directly at him with focus, curiosity and just a bit of worry that made him all ‘fuzzy’ inside, but also caused his heart to try to jump out of his ribcage. Ivan hoped that if it was successful it would take the rest of his functioning vital organs with it – a satisfying end to this situation. He’d have to spill his guts anyways, and this seemed like the less painful option, yes?
“Ivan? You alright?”, Alfred asked and did that unbearable thing where he stretched the vowels of his name ad infinitum while cocking his head to the side . Ivan realized that he wasn’t alright at all and it was only getting worse the longer he stood in front of him and the clearer he observed any of his movements – the heaving of his chest when he breathed, his feet constantly moving position even though he was standing still, his eyebrows furrowing, his mouth - and screw that, it was already bad enough.
“I was wondering if you-“, Ivan stumbled over his tongue and squeezed his hands behind his back, “If you would like to go out with me.” Why could he hear the pumping of his heart more clear than his own thoughts?
“I really like you.”
Ivan had hoped that once it was out he would feel relieved, if not like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders then at least a little bit less anxious. Instead he felt like he had just taken one step forward on a thin thread suspended high in the air onto another, even thinner thread, and the first thread was now on fire, leaving him with nowhere to go but forward. And Ivan felt so horribly small and shaky.
Alfred was staring, and Ivan stared back, his hands still tangled together and his knees like butter as he waited for any kind of response. Alfred hadn’t moved. Everything was quiet. Ivan smiled nervously. This wasn’t how he’d imagined at all, not with Alfred. How come that now of all times, when he so desperately needed him to speak, he kept his mouth shut? Did he do it just to spite him?
“Alfred, please, say s-“
“Asshole.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that out of his mouth, but this time it stung. Ivan frowned.
“You goddamn asshole.”
Alfred stared at the ground, but his tone and the balled up fists clutching onto his jeans made clear enough that Ivan had fucked up. Was he shaking? Oh god. Ivan didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t what he was prepared for at all. He tried to reach out and calm the other down, but his hands were angrily slapped aside. Alfred took a step back. Ivan rubbed the back of his hand. What did he do wrong?
“Alfred?”, he asked and hated how his voice sounded so confused and frightened and how well it mirrored how he felt.
“I can’t- I can’t fuckin’ believe- I thought you were one of the good guys!”
“What- Alfred what do you-“
“Shut up! How the fuck can you do this to me you goddamn- you-“, Ivan watched in confusion as Alfred repeatedly clutched and unclutched the fabric of his shirt and nearly tore it apart, as he combed through his hair again and again, as he stared at the wall angrily and groaned in frustration – as he looked up to Ivan and seemed so horribly betrayed, Ivan felt like punching himself. Alfred’s voice was both squeaky and raw, not unlike his own. “I – I need to get outta here.”
Before Ivan could so much as realize what was happening, Alfred had snatched his backpack from the ground and made a point in forcefully bumping into his shoulder as he hurried away.
Ivan was left with a beating heart and a feeling like falling.
“Matthew.”
“Hm? Oh, Ivan, it’s you. Hey.”
“Matthew, were you making fun of me?”
Matthew cocked his head to the side just like his brother. They shared a lot of these mannerisms, and Ivan had picked up on most of them. It usually made him strangely happy whenever he noticed, but now it was just a miserable reminder. “What are you talking about?”
“When you told me that Alfred liked me, were you being honest?”, Ivan asked calmly and stepped a little closer than necessary. Matthew raised his hands and shook his head. “You know I wouldn’t do that. I swear he’s always gushing about you when he thinks no one notices. Why, did he do something stupid again?” Ivan’s body slumped together. Not that he’d really thought Matthew had lied to him, but at least if he had, there would’ve been an explanation. Was the lack of flowers that severe?
Ivan quietly mumbled: “No, I did.” Then he sighed and searched for something interesting to look at by his feet. “I confessed to him.”
“What?! No!”
“Yes. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”, there hadn’t been a lot of times he felt this insecure, but he just didn’t understand the world anymore. Alfred was awfully silent and Matthew loud and contradictory? Maybe this was a nightmare.
“No! I mean, yes, in a way but- Oh god.” Matthew made an inhuman groan, so exasperated Ivan feared he’d start banging his head against the wall.
“Ivan. What day is it?
He furrowed his brows. Did Matthew not understand this wasn’t the time for trivial things?
“April 1st, yes? Why do you ask?”