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It’s been a month and a half since Ivan moved to Switzerland, and Till feels the absence keenly. He’s unable to focus on his homework in study hall, his gaze continuously shifting over to Ivan’s empty desk across the classroom. Lunchtime passes too slowly without Ivan’s chatter in his ear, and he keeps having to pair up with randos during gym who can’t read his movements as well as Ivan could, which results in Till losing games more often than he likes.

At first, they try to talk every day, but it’s difficult. Ivan takes forever to respond to his texts. When Till asks about it, Ivan admits they’re not allowed to have their phones during class. Ivan sends him his schedule and Till’s honestly stunned at how full it is, even worse than before.

“When the fuck does he have time to breathe?” he mutters as he scrolls through the days of the week.

The only day Ivan has off is Sunday, but Till feels guilty whenever he takes up any of Ivan’s rest time with video calls. Ivan insists he’d rather talk to Till than do anything else, but it doesn’t stop the prickling doubt Till feels whenever he sees Ivan’s face and notes the exhaustion lingering behind his smile.

Sundays end up being the only day Till feels comfortable calling after all, considering how packed the rest of Ivan’s week is, which means he’s left with short conversations over text before Ivan goes to bed the rest of the week, which is still the middle of the afternoon for Till. He sometimes misses the texts if he has afternoon basketball practice after school.

It sucks.

Mizi and Sua do their best to check in with him, but since they’re a grade above him their paths don’t cross often. He appreciates the thought, but nothing they say and no matter how many hangouts they plan changes the fact that Ivan’s not here.

It feels like he’s missing an arm, but his brain hasn’t quite caught up yet, sending sensation and pain signals to a limb that isn’t there. He turns to tell Ivan something funny he thought of only to find himself staring into empty air. He’ll pick up his phone to text Ivan a question only to realize the time and remember Ivan’s asleep. He even misses Ivan’s annoying taunts and provocative jokes, which he never thought he would.

There’s also the subject of The Kiss, and Ivan’s subsequent confession. They haven’t spoken about it. Till isn’t entirely sure how to bring it up.

“Hey, so, when I kissed you and you kissed me back . . . what was that about?”

“When you said you loved me, was that, like, as a friend or . . .?”

“Haha, crazy that we kissed that one time, right? Anyway, can we do it again when you get back?”

“Boyfriends. You and me. Us. Thoughts?”

Till covers his face with his pillow to stifle his aggravated yell. Everything he can think of sounds lame as hell, and a small part of him worries that Ivan will laugh off the entire thing and pretend it wasn’t a big deal. Till hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with his own feelings with regards to same-gender attraction. It took him a while to figure it out, and for some reason he’s been too embarrassed to say it out loud.

Well, he knows why he’s embarrassed.

Ivan’s this gorgeous, regal, incredible, smart and rich prince charming who’s popular and can have anyone he wants. Till’s just a poor, dumb, loser foster kid who’s kinda good at basketball. People would never take a relationship between them seriously, and for Ivan’s sake maybe that’s for the best.

That doesn’t stop Till from wanting one, though.

It’s not just the kiss that lingers in Till’s mind, the night of the winter formal does too. His foster mom, Io, sent him the photos from that night without Till asking her to, but once Ivan left, he’s grateful for them. He’s not a fan of his own look in the photos. If he’d known they’d be his last ones alongside Ivan, he would’ve tried smiling at the very least.

But Ivan looks perfect. He always does, but something about that night in particular makes Till’s heart stutter each time he looks at it (which is often since he made it his phone background). Till honestly didn’t expect Ivan to go to so much effort. He surprised himself by allowing Ivan to pull him onto the dance floor, but he’s glad he did it. It was fun. They had fun.

Of course, the night was ruined by the news of Ivan’s transfer, but in the moments before Ivan received his crown as Ice King, Till thinks it might’ve been the best night of his life.

He checks the time. Ivan should be done with classes by now. There’s a thirty-minute window between class and training. Sitting up, Till rearranges his pillows and sits up against the headboard, grabbing his laptop. He anxiously waits for the clock to read ten minutes after the hour, to give Ivan time to get back to his dorm room, before starting a video call.

It takes a couple rings but then the camera flashes on, and Ivan appears. It looks as though he’s sitting at his desk, and he’s still in uniform. Till can’t help but smile faintly, his heart beating faster automatically. He looks handsome.

“Till?” Ivan looks confused. “Shouldn’t you still be in school? It’s a quarter past eleven over there.”

“I played hooky,” Till says with a grin. At Ivan’s disapproving frown, he quickly adds, “I had to! I wanted to make sure I could call you on your birthday. Happy birthday, by the way.”

Ivan sighs, but Till thinks he catches his lips twitching in a tiny smile. “Thank you. But you could have texted me from school.”

“Ugh, stop acting like my mom,” Till rolls his eyes. “I wanted to see you.” His cheeks warm at the admission, but the way Ivan’s expression softens is worth it. Till rubs the back of his neck, not sure where to go from here. “Um. Do you have any birthday plans?”

“Not particularly,” Ivan admits. “I have training in fifteen minutes until seven. Then it’s dinner and studying until bed. I was considering going to a museum in the city on Sunday, though.”

“That’s your idea of birthday fun? A museum?” Till asks skeptically.

“I like museums.”

“You’re such an old man,” Till says with a laugh. “You know you’re sixteen, right? Not sixty?”

Ivan heaves a dramatic sigh. “It stands to reason a jock like yourself wouldn’t know how to appreciate finer culture.”

“Fuck you!” Till yelps indignantly. “I can appreciate culture! Take me to a museum when you get back. I’ll appreciate the fuck out of it.”

Ivan’s eyebrows lift. “Do you really want me to?”

Till’s not sure why he seems so surprised. “I mean, yeah. Why not?” He shrugs, biting his lip. His heart’s racing in his chest. Are they planning their first date right now? Their first real date?

“If . . . we do go somewhere . . . I’d rather take you to a planetarium,” Ivan admits, his voice lowering.

Till blinks. “Is that, like, space stuff?” he guesses, based on the name.

Ivan chuckles softly. “Yeah, it’s space stuff. I used to go to the observatory and planetarium with Mother when I was younger. Father allowed it because he deemed it educational, but . . . he stopped letting her take me when I started talking about wanting to be an astronaut. He’d already spent too much money on my figure skating lessons.”

Till wrinkles his nose. “Well . . . being an astronaut is pretty cool, but I think I’d hate it even more if you were up in space right now as opposed to just across the ocean.”

Ivan grins faintly. “Aw, do you miss me, Till?” he asks in that annoying, teasing voice.

Till sputters for a moment, torn between admitting the embarrassing truth and lying to save face. He’s spared from answering when he catches a glimpse of someone entering the room behind Ivan. Till doesn’t think much of it at first, he knows Ivan has a roommate, but he does a double-take when he realizes the man behind Ivan is completely naked.

His jaw drops, his eyes widening. Is this guy seriously sixteen?! He’s tall and muscular with a sharp jawline and damp, curly brown hair that falls just below his ears. He’s shaking these curls out of his face, smoothing them back with both hands, which just flexes his entire body apparently, because his muscles suddenly grow more defined, and as he turns slightly Till catches a glimpse of what’s between his legs.

“AGH!” he yells, covering his eyes, his entire body growing warm.

“Oh. Théo. I didn’t hear you come in.” Ivan’s speaking so calmly. How can he be so calm?! Till can’t scrub the image from his brain no matter how hard he tries. That thing was massive! Ivan says something else, in French this time, so Till has no idea what he’s saying, but when he peers out from behind his fingers, the man, Théo evidently, has moved out of frame.

“Who, uh, what? Huh?” Till stammers, clutching his flaming cheeks.

“That’s my roommate, Théo. Sorry about that. He was in the shower and didn’t realize I was on a call,” Ivan says, at least having the decency to look slightly apologetic, even as his lips tilt in an amused smirk.

Till glares. “Does he always walk around naked like that?” he asks flatly.

Ivan raises his eyebrows. “Not always, but, you know, he’s French.” He shrugs. “They’re not very uptight about nudity there, apparently.”

“Apparently,” Till grumbles, still unable to forget what he saw. How often does Ivan see it?

An uneasy feeling squirms in Till’s stomach, and he chews on his lip, jolting when Théo suddenly ducks back into view over Ivan’s shoulder, thankfully wearing clothes now. He lays one hand on Ivan’s shoulder, lifting the other with an apologetic smile full of perfectly straight and white teeth.

“I am sorry for that,” he says in English, his accent thick. “I did not see he was on a call.”

“It’s . . . fine,” Till grits out, not sure what else to say.

“This is Till,” Ivan introduces.

Théo’s hazel eyes light up. “Ah! Your friend from America!”

Friend? Till’s heart drops into his stomach. That’s how Ivan described him? As just a friend?

Ivan glances toward the bottom left of the screen and grimaces faintly. “Sorry, Till, I have to go. Training starts in a few minutes. I’m going to be late.”

“Oh. Um. Yeah, okay,” Till says softly. The mood’s been ruined anyway. Théo says something to Ivan in French, which he responds to similarly, and Till can’t shake the feeling he’s being left out.

“I’ll call you later, okay?” Ivan says to him.

“Fine,” Till says, slamming his laptop shut. He winces, immediately regretting it.

It’s not Ivan’s fault his roommate decided to show off all his assets to a non-consenting viewer. But why would he call Till his friend? Aren’t they . . . more than that?

The familiar threads of anxiety wiggle their way into his chest, wrapping around his heart and pulling taut. He grips the front of his shirt, feeling the hard pounding against his ribs and wondering what part of their goodbye he misinterpreted. They kissed. Ivan said he loves him.

Friends . . . don’t do that.

Till’s certainly never done that with any of his friends.

He knows he should probably go to school now that the call is over. Instead, he grabs his phone and looks up the student directory of Collège du Léman, really hoping there aren’t many “Théos” listed. He finds two. Locating the right one online is easy after that.

Ivan’s roommate’s Instagram holds hundreds of photos. Seems like the guy’s a snowboarder who likes to pose shirtless in hot tubs with other shirtless guys. It doesn’t take much scrolling back to find photos of him kissing other guys as well.

Till feels sick. He throws his phone to the foot of his bed, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating. Not only is Ivan’s roommate gorgeous with the body of a god, but he’s gay too. Just like Ivan.

“Fuck!” Till grabs another pillow to scream into.

This is so frustrating. How is Till going to measure up to that? In all his pictures, Théo’s surrounded by people. He’s well liked, so he must be charming. He acted friendly toward Till despite knowing nothing about him. They share a room, a language, an interest in the same gender . . . it’s easy to see him quickly becoming Ivan’s new best friend. Maybe even something more. He’s already denying his and Till’s relationship.

If they have a relationship.

Shit.

Scrambling to the foot of the bed, he grabs his phone and opens his text thread with Ivan.

why did you call me your friend to your roommate?

He knows he shouldn’t wait for an immediate response, but it’s agony waiting. He paces his room. He does fifty pushups. He tries to do homework and fails to concentrate. He flips absently through some of his comics. He tosses his mini-basketball into its mini-hoop on the back of his door over and over again until he finally, finally hears his phone vibrate.

He grabs it and stares down at the return message.

[that guy]
Because we are friends?

Till clenches his jaw and smashes his thumb against the call symbol.

“Are you fucking with me?” he seethes as soon as he hears Ivan’s line stop ringing.

“Why would I be fucking with you?” Ivan responds, sounding confused.

“What kind of friends do you have that go around kissing you?!”

“Ah, well . . . you’re the only one that’s done that.”

“Shouldn’t that tell you something?!” Till demands, waving his free arm up and down agitatedly.

“Should it?”

“Argh! How are you this dense?!” Till can’t believe what he’s hearing. Did it really mean nothing to Ivan? “Why do you think I kissed you?”

“I don’t know, Till. You never told me.” Ivan’s speaking slowly, like to a child, and that just pisses Till off more.

“I DIDN’T THINK I HAD TO!”

“We were saying goodbye, and you’re impulsive. It could’ve meant any number of things.”

“What the fuck?!” Till starts pacing again. “If you didn’t know what it meant, why did you kiss me back?! Why did you say you loved me?!”

“. . .”

Till resists the urge to fling his phone against the wall. “Ivan!”

“I got caught up in the moment . . .”

“So, what? If Théo’s your friend now and he kisses you, will you kiss him back just because?” Till asks angrily. “Will you tell him that you love him?!”

“Where is this coming from?” Ivan asks, sounding bewildered, which is almost laughable.

“Where do you think? If you don’t kiss your friends, then why wouldn’t you call me your boyfriend?! Do you not want me to be your boyfriend?!”

“. . . I-I’ve wanted that since the second grade . . .”

“Then why—”

“You didn’t say it back.” Ivan’s voice is so soft, Till nearly misses it.

“What?”

Ivan sighs. “Till, you’ve had a month and a half to tell me how you feel, but you haven’t. How could I claim you and trap you in a relationship when I don’t know if that’s what you really want? How could I be that selfish?”

Trap? Till stares down at the floor, flexing his free hand at his side. The lump in his throat has grown, cutting off his speech. It wouldn’t be a trap, but Ivan’s right. He hasn’t said a word about his own feelings. He thought his actions would be enough. Ivan’s always been a very direct person but . . . Till was so sure . . .

“It’s okay,” Ivan says gently, so gently it just makes everything feel worse. “Even if we’re not a couple, you’ll always be my most important person.”

Warm tears start to slip down Till’s cheeks. This isn’t right. He knows how he feels. He does! “I-I . . .” His throat closes. Wrapping his free hand around it, he gasps for air. He needs to say it. If he doesn’t, he’ll lose Ivan. He knows he will. Even if Ivan says he won’t leave him, eventually he’ll slip out of Till’s grasp.

And if he does say it? What will that change? As nice as they are to hear, they’re not magic words that will solve everything. If he says it, that’ll make Ivan’s probable departure from his life in the future that much more painful.

But isn’t that also being selfish? Ivan deserves to hear it. He needs to hear it.

“I-I . . .” Till squeezes his eyes shut, remembering the last time he said those words.

Five years old, clinging to his mom’s hospital blanket. She stroked her fingers through his hair and said she loved him. He begged her to come home, saying he loved her too, doing his best to believe that it would be enough. Deep down, he knows the words had nothing to do with her dying and leaving him alone. He knows that.

Still, they won’t come.

“Shit,” Ivan mutters. There’s a brief pause. “Till, I’m sorry. I have to go. The dinner bell is about to ring. We’ll talk on Sunday, okay?”

He hangs up before Till can respond. He lowers his phone, sniffling as he tosses it back onto the bed. He flings himself down onto the mattress next, staring up at the ceiling. Obviously, his desperate kiss at the airport wasn’t enough to convince Ivan of his feelings. He’ll have to come up with a bigger gesture somehow. Something that will make it undeniable. At least until he can stop being such a coward and just say the stupid words.

He hopes that day comes quickly.

Ivan does call him on Sunday from an art museum, taking Till on a virtual tour of the place. He doesn’t bring up the conversation from his birthday, and Till’s worried about fucking up again so he keeps quiet. He’s not really interested in the art Ivan’s showing him, but Ivan describes everything with enthusiasm and just listening to the sound of his voice helps Till feel better in general.

Despite this, he has a hard time concentrating on what Ivan’s saying. He keeps trying to think of ways to prove his love without having to say it. He gives Ivan vague “uh-huhs” and “oh cools” every once in a while, as he scours the internet for ideas.

“Sorry,” Ivan says eventually, the excitement fading from his voice. “I’m probably boring you.”

Till grimaces and sits up, shaking his head as he swipes back to the video call. “No, no. You’re not. Sorry, I’m just . . . there’s this assignment I gotta do . . . so I’m doing research.” He averts his gaze, knowing he’s not great with lying, especially to Ivan.

“What’s the assignment?” Ivan asks after a moment. “Maybe I can help.”

Till’s chest aches. He never thought he’d miss doing homework with Ivan, especially with how bossy he can get with it, but he knows his work has suffered since losing his study partner. “Um. Th-that’s okay. It’s Sunday. You shouldn’t have to do schoolwork on your day off.”

“. . . Okay. If you’re sure.” Ivan’s voice is light, but he seems disappointed.

Till slams his head back against his headboard, wincing at the thunk it makes. Ivan’s eyes widen. Shit. Till didn’t realize it’d be that loud.

“Are you okay?” Ivan asks, peering into his phone.

Till rubs the sore spot with his free hand. “Ugh. Yeah, I’m fine. Um, hey listen. I’m gonna let you go so I can focus on this, and you can enjoy the museum without needing to explain everything to me.”

“But I was enjoying it . . .”

“I’ll call you next week! Um, happy birthday again! Bye.” Till hangs up, pressing the phone against his forehead with a groan. He knows that was rude, but he needs to concentrate on his plan. He’ll make it up to Ivan later. Hopefully in person, if everything works out.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like it will.

“Urghrugh,” Till grumbles, stretching his arms across the lunch table.

Sua and Mizi exchange a glance. They’re technically supposed to be in their study hall, but they skipped to join Till for lunch after he begged for their help. Normally he goes to his teammates for advice, but he can’t do that with something like this. He hasn’t exactly come out to them yet.

“Did you know the cheapest round-trip flight to Switzerland is, like, five hundred bucks? Like, that’s the cheapest,” Till laments, resting his chin on the tabletop.

“Why don’t you ask Ivan to buy you a ticket?” Mizi asks, snapping apart her chopsticks.

Till frowns and sits up. “No . . . the whole point is it’s supposed to be a romantic gesture. It won’t be romantic if Ivan pays for it!”

“So, you two are definitely together then,” Sua surmises.

Till grimaces. “Not . . . exactly,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. He heaves a sigh. “Ivan doesn’t think I have feelings for him, so he won’t let us be together. Which, I mean, that’s fair, but I do have feelings! I have a lot of feelings!”

“We know,” Sua says drily, though it seems like she’s fighting a smile. Maybe.

“I gotta do something to prove it,” Till says, pressing his fist into his palm. “Ugh, but every romantic gesture I found on the internet costs so much money when Ivan’s all the way in Switzerland.”

“Does it have to be right now?” Mizi asks curiously. “I hear long-distance relationships can be difficult. Why don’t you wait until he returns to the States before doing this grand romantic gesture to prove your love? It’s not like you’ll stop being best friends in the meantime.”

Till frowns. “Waiting sucks,” he says pointedly. “And besides, there’s fucking Théo.”

“Who?” Mizi and Sua ask in unison.

Clenching his jaw, Till pulls out his phone and finds Théo’s Instagram, sliding his phone across to them before dropping his chin in his hand, elbow on the table. Mizi and Sua lean over to take a look, both their eyebrows raising.

“Wow. Who is that? A Swiss movie star or something?” Mizi asks.

Till scowls. “No. That’s Ivan’s gay French roommate who apparently likes to walk around naked in front of Ivan like it’s no big fucking deal.”

Sua picks up the phone to scroll through the photos. Mizi grins faintly.

“Do you really think Ivan’s going to fall for someone else just because they walk around naked sometimes? He’s not that shallow.”

Till chews on his lip. “It’s not just that.” He gestures vaguely to the phone. “He’s with him every day, and will be with him every day for two and a half years. They’re bound to get closer, right? And eventually Ivan will realize it’s easier to be with someone who’s close by, who’s in a similar sport, and who looks like, well, that.”

Sua sets down the phone. “He doesn’t seem like Ivan’s type,” she says absently.

Till stares at her. “What’s his type?” he asks curiously.

She looks back at him pointedly. “Skinny loudmouth boys with short attention spans and poor grades.”

Till frowns. “Hey! My grades aren’t that bad! And I’ve been bulking up!” He lifts his arm, pushing back his uniform sleeve to flex. His bicep doesn’t grow as much as he’d like, but there is definition. At Sua’s unimpressed stare, he quickly tugs his sleeve back down, his face warm. “A-anyway. Ivan’s not blind. Théo’s like . . . idol attractive. And Théo’s got eyes too. I bet he already thinks Ivan’s hot and wants to get with him.” He glares daggers at his phone.

“You’re basing a lot of this on what ifs,” Mizi points out with a faint grin. “What about a part-time job? That way you can save up money to buy a ticket yourself.”

Till considers the idea for a moment before sighing. “I don’t know if Coach’ll let me do that,” he admits. “He wants us to go to Nationals.”

“Guess you’ll have to decide what’s more important,” Sua says with a slight shrug. “Seeing Ivan or basketball.”

Till frowns. “It’s not that simple,” he says flatly. Basketball is his best ticket out of here. If he can become a professional player right out of high school, he’ll make enough money to take care of himself once he ages out of the system. That’s been the goal this whole time. Stability. Assurances. Knowing he’ll have some place to go after he can no longer live with the Seongs.

Yes, he wants to see Ivan, and a surprise visit seemed like a great romantic gesture when he first thought of it, but Ivan will be back for the holidays so it’s not like Till won’t have any opportunities to show Ivan how much he wants to be with him between now and graduation.

And they still have their Sunday calls . . .

“Oh! What about writing him a letter?” Mizi suggests excitedly.

Till looks at her skeptically. “How is that different than just texting shit to him?”

Mizi huffs. “It’s completely different! A letter is romantic! You can tell him you miss him and all the things you want to do with him when you see him again.”

The back of Till’s neck feels hot, and he can feel the heat crawling up his cheeks to his forehead. “Um.”

Sua rolls her eyes. “She doesn’t mean that, pervert,” she says, tossing a wadded-up napkin at his head.

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Obviously,” Till says quickly, the embarrassment just growing.

The bell rings so they’re not able to brainstorm any more after that, but the letter idea doesn’t sound terrible. Till’s not sure how good he’d be at writing a letter, but he thinks Ivan might appreciate the thought and effort at the very least.

That’s how he finds himself at his desk in his room after practice, damp hair from his shower still dripping onto his shoulders, staring down at a blank sheet of paper and agonizing about how to start.

What do people write in letters anyway? Who the fuck even writes letters anymore?

“Fuck.” Till presses his forehead against the paper, closing his eyes and fighting a headache. He’s not sure writing down his feelings will be any easier, but he has to try, right?

It takes a few attempts, but he finally writes something he doesn’t entirely hate.

Dear Ivan,

It feels weird writing a letter like this, and I’ve restarted this so many times my hand’s starting to cramp up but anyway
You know how you said you knew you were gay your entire life? It hasn’t been like that for me.
I didn’t really know I liked guys until recently.
Honestly, it was the day you got sick. You scared the shit out of me, man. I know it wasn’t that serious, but I hated it. I just wanted to make you better somehow. Then when I found out you got sick cuz you overworked yourself to try and not go to Switzerland, I felt really guilty cuz I was glad you wanted to stay that badly. I wanted you to stay too.
I wanted you to stay with me.
That’s when I realized how much I like you.

I got mad about Théo because I’m scared. I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved, and I don’t want to lose you, too. That’s why it’s hard for me to say it and I just tried to show you. I guess it didn’t work so hopefully this does.

I love you, Ivan.

I want to take care of you. I don’t want anyone else to have you. I want us to belong to each other. I want to be with you when you come back.

Please let me do that.

He doesn’t know how to end it, really, after all that. So, in the end he just signs his name and folds it up with shaking fingers. It seems a little melodramatic, but Ivan might like that aspect. It’s definitely embarrassing, and he can’t bring himself to reread it before he stuffs it in an envelope and seals it.

The next hurdle is actually getting it to Ivan. If he sends it to the school with Ivan’s name and dorm number, will that be enough? Maybe the admissions office?

That’s what he goes with in the end, and thankfully Io agrees to pay for postage because he can’t afford that with just his allowance either. Handing the letter off to the post office worker feels more momentous than it probably should, and almost immediately he wants to leap across the counter and snatch it back.

It’s too late now. His feelings are out there.

Now he just has to wait for Ivan’s answer.

Till figures that the letter may take a while to get to Ivan, so he tries not to get stressed when the following Sunday Ivan doesn’t mention it. After several Sundays without a word, however, Till starts growing anxious. It should definitely be there by now. Did it get lost in the mail? Has Ivan read it but thinks it’s not a good enough confession? Has he changed his mind about the whole thing?

Finally, as the weather shifts into spring, Till can no longer handle the suspense. He’s barely getting any sleep, constantly thinking about Ivan and Théo laughing over his pathetic letter, or worse, Théo taking it from Ivan and tearing it up before kissing him, Ivan kissing back, doing more than that with him.

He tries to tell himself that these thoughts are ridiculous, but when photos of Ivan start appearing on Théo’s Instagram, Till feels something inside him snap.

He calls Ivan during a weekday, figuring he’ll get his voicemail, but he can at least leave a message telling Ivan to call him back. He’s surprised, then, when someone with a familiar French accent picks up.

“Ivan’s phone.”

Till stares blankly at the wall.

“Hello?”

“Where’s Ivan?” Till asks quickly.

“Who is this?”

“Till. Where is he?”

“Ah!” Théo’s voice brightens in recognition. “Yes, Ivan’s American friend. Sorry, Ivan’s in class right now. Did you not know? He told me you have his schedule.”

Till grits his teeth. Why is Ivan still talking about him to this guy? “Stop posting pictures of him on your Instagram,” he blurts out before he can stop himself.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s not-you can’t—” Till sputters, knowing that his demand makes no sense. He has no right to tell Théo what he can or cannot post. “P-people might get the wrong idea!”

“I post many photos of my friends on my socials.”

Till grimaces, knowing it’s true and hating that it’s a good excuse. “You’ve been posting a lot of you and Ivan recently, though,” he says pointedly. “People might think he-he’s your boyfriend or something!”

“And that would be bad?”

“Yes!” Till exclaims with a scowl.

“Ah. Hm. I did not think Ivan would have such close-minded friends.”

“What?” Till blinks rapidly. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you have a problem with Ivan being gay?”

“No! Of course not!” Till yelps. This conversation is falling apart around him. It’s not supposed to go like this. “I just don’t want people to think he’s being gay with you!”

“Excuse me for saying so, but I believe it is up to Ivan to determine who he wants to ‘be gay’ with.”

Till clenches his jaw. “You better not fucking touch him,” he says, clutching the phone tighter against his ear.

Théo chuckles softly. “That is up to Ivan as well,” he says pointedly.

Till’s heart twists painfully in his chest. He wants to protest, but he knows Théo’s right. It is up to Ivan. Ivan, who either knows how Till feels now and has decided to ignore it, or who doesn’t know and might have already given up on waiting.

“Just tell him I called,” Till mutters.

“Of course,” Théo says lightly. “Have a good day, Till.”

He hangs up, and all Till can do is curl into a ball on his bed and wish to disappear. Io checks in on him worriedly, but he tells her he doesn’t feel good and asks if he can stay home from school. She checks his temperature and though it doesn’t indicate a fever, his expression must be miserable enough to garner sympathy because she says okay and goes to call the school.

Till pulls the covers up over his head. Did Théo say all of that just to make a point or is he actually interested in Ivan? Against his better judgement, Till pulls up Théo’s Instagram and feels tears burn the corners of his eyes when he sees the latest photo, posted mere minutes ago.

It’s of Ivan in profile, sitting at his desk, staring thoughtfully down at what must be classwork, pen in one hand. His other hand rests against his jaw lightly in a slightly curled fist, and the light from the desk lamp illuminates his face in a warm glow, his features sharpened by the shadows. From the darkness of the room around him, it must’ve been taken some time at night.

He’s so beautiful, Till’s chest aches. He’s pretty sure he’s never seen anyone look so good in his life. It’s annoying but at the same time, Till misses seeing that face every day. His gaze falls to the caption, which is in French, and when Till puts it through a translator, he feels the knife twist harder in his chest.

“My adorable roommate hard at work~ 💞”

Till turns off his phone completely and buries his face in his pillow, as the tears come. He’s too late. He knows he is. The dread settles like a stone in his stomach, and he can’t shake the feeling that he’s really going to lose Ivan this time. It won’t even be Ivan’s fault, so Till can’t be mad at him. It’s his own fault.

He’s such a fucking coward.

He’s so exhausted from the insomnia the past few days, he ends up crying himself to sleep. He wakes hours later, rubbing his swollen, crusty eyes as he grabs his phone to check the time. He remembers belatedly that he turned it off, so he presses the power button until the screen flashes on. Immediately he gets dozens of notifications, all from Ivan. Three missed calls and multiple messages.

[that guy]
Till? Théo said you called?
Is everything okay?
[Missed Call]
Why aren’t you picking up?
Till.
[Missed Call]
Till?
Are you mad? I’m sorry I missed your call. I was in class.
I’m free now.
I’ll skip training.
[Missed Call]
Call me back.

Till looks at the time and grimaces. It’s well into the afternoon. He scrolls down to the bottom of the line of texts from Ivan, chewing on his lip, until he gets to the last one.

Please call me back. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night.

With how late it is, Ivan’s definitely in bed by now. Till drops his head back against the pillow, staring at his phone screen. Ivan seems worried. Till should probably reassure him. He doesn’t really feel like talking right now, but he doesn’t want Ivan to think he’s angry with him or that he died or something.

Never mind. It’s nothing

Ivan texts back immediately, startling Till. Holy shit, isn’t he supposed to be asleep?

[that guy]
Are you sure?

yeah. go to sleep.

[that guy]
Will you call me on Sunday?

sure

Only when Sunday comes around, Till can’t do it. His chest tightens, the lump rising in his throat. Ivan deserves better than him. A coward. A loser. He’s pathetic. What right does he have to lecture Théo anyway? What right does he have to claim Ivan in the first place? Théo’s right. It has to be Ivan’s choice, and he’s already made it.

He doesn’t want to be with Till. He doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t trust him. Has Till ever done anything to prove how he feels? Feeding him while sick shouldn’t count, any halfway decent person would do that. Going with him to the Winter Formal? He only managed to agree after Ivan said they’d go as friends. Even their dancing together could be explained away as a best friends’ thing. Only the kiss had been overtly romantic, and Ivan thought it was just some overdramatic goodbye.

Théo’s comfortable posting photos of Ivan online with cute captions. He seems to have no issue with displays of affection, even physical ones, if his Instagram is any indication. Théo probably would’ve asked Ivan to the dance as an actual date, the way Till secretly wanted to but couldn’t work up the courage.

Ivan really does deserve better than someone like Till. Someone who can shower Ivan with the love he deserves without getting too embarrassed or anxious.

Till stares at his phone, sick to his stomach, gripping his knees tightly to his chest.

It never rings. Ivan doesn’t call either.

Their Sunday video chats stop completely, and spring warms into summer.

They don’t make it to the National Championship. They come close, but the other team in the placement tournament beats them by two measly points. In an effort to cheer them up and get them motivated for next year, Coach signs the team up for basketball camp over the summer. They practice and learn new drills and play three-on-three scrimmages in rotations. When they’re not on the court, they swim in the lake and hike the trails.

Till throws himself into the training as hard as he can, desperate to keep his mind off Ivan. From sunup to sundown, he keeps his body moving, until he’s so exhausted he falls asleep the second his head hits his pillow. If his friends notice, they don’t comment on it. Hopefully they just think he’s beating himself up over losing.

Coach praises his improvement and awards him the MVP trophy, which a couple of the guys don’t seem excited about, but the rest of the team cheers for him and congratulates him, and Till feels a tiny bit better. They even celebrate his birthday with him, sneaking off into the woods near the camp after lights out to drink beer and swim.

Till hates the taste of beer, but he finds himself downing a few anyway. He needs to stay out of his head as much as possible. His teammates roughhouse in the water, though a few of his actual friends stay on shore with him.

“We didn’t have enough for a cake, but we brought those mini cupcake things,” Charlie, a grade above him, says, reaching into the cooler to pull out a couple plastic containers. “Ta-da!”

Till smiles briefly. “Thanks, guys.”

His classmate Minho peers into his face. “You okay?” he asks. “You’ve been really quiet all day.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Till asks, his smile quickly fading.

“I don’t know, man, you kinda look like your dog died or something,” Jackson, Charlie’s classmate, adds. “You’ve kinda looked like that this whole camp so far.”

The other two nod in agreement. Till frowns.

“I’m fine,” he says shortly, crumpling the beer can and grabbing another out of the cooler. He pops it open and takes a long swig.

“You’re drinking a lot too,” Minho points out.

“It’s my birthday! I can drink as much as I fucking want.”

His friends exchange a look that he chooses to ignore. A few of the others come up from out of the lake, still laughing and shoving each other. One of them, a tall guy named Aaron who Till has always disliked, looks down at him with a smirk.

“What’s wrong, Seong? Break up with your boyfriend?”

Till stiffens.

“Watch it, Aaron,” Charlie snaps.

“What? Wasn’t he dating our student council vice president?” Aaron asks with fake innocence.

Till grinds his teeth. “Don’t talk about him,” he mutters.

“I saw you dancing with him at the winter formal last year,” Aaron continues. “I heard he transferred to a skating school in Switzerland. Bet he’s got plenty of those types to choose from out there. You think he’s getting passed around ‘cause he’s fresh meat? He must be loving the attention.”

Till jumps to his feet. Charlie, Minho, and Jackson stand quickly as well. Minho takes his arm, but Till shakes him off, storming over to Aaron, heat bubbling over inside him.

“I said don’t fucking talk about him,” he says flatly, curling his hands into fists.

Aaron holds up his own hands, grinning faintly. “Struck a nerve, huh? You know, I never pegged you as gay.” He chuckles. “Though I guess he was doing the pegging, huh? Or did you peg him? You should get tested. I hear they can carry all kinds of nasty things.”

Till punches him in the mouth with a yell, jumping to land a direct blow. It’s hard enough to knock Aaron down, which Till takes full advantage of, immediately straddling his chest to throw hit after hit against him, as Aaron lifts his arms to protect his face.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

“Hey!”

“Get off of him!”

“Leave ‘em! He deserves it!”

Till can hear commotion around him, but it’s muffled, drown out by the rushing of his blood in his ears, the rapid pounding of his heart. His knuckles bruise and split, but he barely notices. His grief escapes in his rage, and the scream that rips from his throat doesn’t sound human.

“You’re crazy!” Aaron yells back at him. “Get off me!”

He grabs Till’s arms, and they wrestle in the dirt and mud and sand, Aaron trying to shove Till away even as Till continues to flail at his face with his fists and nails. It’s only when a shrill whistle blows that they both freeze. The next thing Till knows, he’s pried off Aaron by his coach.

“What is the meaning of this?” the man demands angrily.

Till breathes heavily, trying to catch his breath, but doesn’t try to defend himself. What’s the point? He’s going to get in trouble either way.

Minho raises his hand. “Sir, Aaron said some really homophobic shit. Till just lost his cool.”

“No, I didn’t!” Aaron yells, though his words are garbled from his quickly swelling lips.

“He did, sir. We all heard it,” Charlie says, giving his teammates a pointed look. Nobody refutes it.

“Fuck you guys,” Aaron snaps, spitting blood onto the ground.

“Are those beer cans?” Coach asks sharply.

No one answers that one, but the evidence is damning. The man sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All right. That’s enough partying. Everyone back to their bunks.” He points at Till and Aaron. “You two report to the nurse’s station.”

Till storms off, ignoring Aaron’s glares as he follows.

“I think you broke my fucking nose,” he mutters, poking at it.

“Good,” Till says flatly.

The nurse gives them both disapproving looks as she wipes Till’s knuckles with antiseptic and wraps them in gauze, before handing him an ice pack wrapped in a thin towel. He sits and covers the knuckles with the pack, wincing only slightly as his adrenaline fades and the pain begins to register.

The nurse is still working on Aaron’s face when Coach enters.

“I’ve called both your parents,” he says. “There is zero tolerance for fighting and bigotry. You’re both going home tonight.”

“But—” Aaron starts to protest.

“Would you rather be thrown off the team?” Coach asks flatly with a pointed look.

Aaron slumps, gaze falling to the floor. “No,” he mutters sullenly.

Coach turns toward Till, then. “I didn’t tell your parents you’d been drinking, but you reek of cheap beer, so I’ll leave that for you to explain yourself.”

Till just stares at the ice pack, knowing he should be grateful he’s not getting kicked off the team, but honestly finding it difficult to care at the moment.

Coach sighs. “I know life hasn’t always treated you in the kindest way, but you’ve got the talent and skill to go far in basketball. Don’t throw away your future because of idiots like him.”

Till’s lips twitch faintly. “Yes, sir,” he says, feeling somewhat vindicated by the fact that it seems Coach isn’t angry with him, at least.

Io fusses over him when she arrives, apologizing to the Coach and to Aaron’s parents before leading him outside to the car. As he gets into the passenger’s seat, Till rests his head against the window, feeling her worried stare.

“I thought we were done with fighting,” she says.

Till closes his eyes. “He was saying gross shit about Ivan,” he mutters.

“I love how much you care about your friends,” Io says, reaching over to brush her fingers gently through his hair. “But that’s not all that’s going on, is it? You’ve been out of sorts for weeks now. I can smell the alcohol on you, and I know you don’t drink. You’re a good boy. So, what’s wrong?”

Till bites his lip, his eyes filling with tears. “I-I fucked up, Ma,” he says, lifting his arm to hide his face as the tears escape down his cheeks.

“What do you mean?” Io asks, continuing to stroke his hair. “What happened?”

Till turns in his seat, reaching across the center console to wrap his arms around her neck, burying his face in her shoulder. “I-I couldn’t tell him I loved him. And now I’ve lost him for good.”

Her arms come around him, but she pauses, resting one hand on the back of his head. “Who?” she asks. “Ivan?”

Till nods against her silently, the sobs shaking through him. He hears her sigh, and her hand starts petting his hair once more.

“I’m sure you haven’t lost him,” she says quietly. “That boy is crazy about you.”

Till sniffles, leaning back to look at her incredulously, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand. “How do you know?”

She tsks and pulls a tissue out of her purse to hand to him. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, ever since I met him when you both were in middle school,” she says with a faint smile. “It’s always made me happy to know that someone loves you as fiercely as he does.” She wipes at his face with another tissue.

Till hiccups softly. “I-I don’t think he does anymore,” he admits miserably.

“How do you know? Have you spoken to him lately?”

Till shakes his head, gaze falling to the gear shift between them. He feels her hand chuck him gently beneath the chin. He lifts his gaze to find her smiling at him.

“I’m sure if you speak to him, you’ll see he loves you just as much today as he did before he left. How could he not? You’re wonderful.”

Till snorts wetly, rolling his eyes. “I’m really not,” he says.

“Well, I think you are,” Io says, ruffling his hair and turning to start the car.

Till falls silent, as she pulls out of the campsite and merges onto the main road. He stares down at his hands, fidgeting with the used tissue between his fingers.

“You’re . . . I mean, you’re not . . . you don’t mind that I, um, like him back?” he asks hesitantly.

She chuckles. “Oh, honey, I’ve known you love him for years.”

“What?!” Till squawks, jolting in his seat as he turns to look at her in shock. “How?! I didn’t even know until last year!”

She grins and taps the side of her nose. “Mothers always know,” she says mysteriously.

Till stares out the windshield, marveling at that. He hesitates before glancing sidelong at her. “Do you, um, do you think my mom would’ve been okay with it too?”

Reaching for his hand, Io gives it a firm squeeze. “I think she loved you unconditionally, so yes. I’m sure she would’ve been perfectly fine with it.”

Till feels a small smile tug the corners of his lips. He relaxes back against the seat, staring out the window at the night sky, his chest feeling warm for the first time in what feels like ages. He watches the waxing moon and takes comfort in the knowledge that Ivan’s sleeping under the same one.

Of course, contacting Ivan again after so much time in radio silence feels like an insurmountable task. He has no idea what to say or how to start. He knows he needs to apologize, probably offer an explanation, but what does he say? And what if Ivan doesn’t want to talk to him? What if he’s too angry at Till for ghosting him?

He knows that doesn’t matter, that he needs to try anyway. He owes Ivan at least that much.

Unfortunately, without school or basketball camp, the summer days pass slowly with little else to do except stare at his phone and writhe with anxiety. It won’t get any easier the longer time goes on, he knows that, but maybe he can wait until Ivan comes back for the holidays? That’ll give him plenty of time to come up with the perfect apology and grand romantic gesture rolled into one.

He gets a part-time job working as a bag boy at the local grocery store. It’s boring as fuck, and he doesn’t make much money, but it passes the time and little by little he sees the amount in his “Grand Romantic Gesture” jar grow. He still hasn’t come up with what to actually get for Ivan but having the money will definitely help his options.

As the end of August nears, Mizi sends him a page from the Skating School of Switzerland website, the place where Ivan mentioned he’d be spending his summer training. The page talks about a live broadcast of their end of summer competition the upcoming Saturday. Ivan’s on the list of skaters for both a pair event and singles event. Till’s fingers shake as he sends her a thanks.

Out of morbid curiosity, he looks up Théo’s Instagram for the first time in months. To his surprise, Ivan’s no longer featured as prominently as before. In fact, the past week there hasn’t been any posts about Ivan at all. Did they have a falling out? Till tries not to feel too giddy at the prospect.

The day of the competition, Till creates a nest of blankets and pillows in the living room in front of the big TV, claiming it early. The Seongs look amused, but they don’t protest, and Io even brings him drinks and snacks. When the competition starts, Till tries not to get impatient with the other skaters as they go through their programs one by one or pair by pair. There are sportscasters that make comments and conversation between events, sometimes even during, but it’s all in German and French with badly timed English subtitles, so it’s difficult to understand.

He gets bored and messes around on his phone for a little while, until he hears the announcer say the name “Ivan Lee.” Immediately his head whips up, eyes glued to the screen, as Ivan glides onto the ice holding the hand of a much shorter girl.

Till barely notices her. Ivan looks incredible. His hair’s slicked back, and he’s wearing a black outfit that must be covered in tiny diamonds or something because it shimmers like the night sky as he moves. It completely covers him from neck to wrist to ankle, and Till swallows hard as his eyes catch every line and curve of his body as he skates to the center of the rink.

His expression’s serious, almost severe, as he stops and faces the judges. Once the music starts, that look doesn’t relax. He skates with the girl like a dance, and even though it doesn’t make sense because it’s a completely different scenario, Till’s chest aches as he remembers how Ivan danced with him at the winter formal. That girl has no idea how lucky she is to have Ivan’s strong arms around her, making sure she doesn’t slip or fall.

The girl does most of the stunts it seems like, with Ivan throwing her and lifting her throughout their routine. At the end, they bow and the crowd in the stands applaud. Till chews on his lip as they sit and wait for their scores. He has no idea what’s a good score or not in figure skating, but from the girl’s reaction, it seems to be pretty good. She grins and throws her arms around Ivan in a hug.

Ivan smiles, but it’s one of his polite smiles. Till can’t tell if he’s happy with the score or not.

He wants to call him and ask what he’s thinking, but he knows Ivan still has the singles event. He gnaws on his phone case instead, until nature calls, and he has to run to the bathroom. He finishes up as quickly as possible, diving back into his nest. Another pair seems to be finishing up, and their score is even better than Ivan’s, though that seems impossible, even if Till didn’t see it.

Finally, they announce the singles event. As the various skaters perform, Till shoots Mizi and Sua a text, asking if they’re watching the live too. They are, apparently, and Mizi gushes about the costumes, while Sua talks about their technique. She seems impressed, which makes Till’s chest swell with pride. Sua does gymnastics, so she knows about performances like these in a way, so if she says Ivan did a good job then he must have done.

They chat back and forth for a while before Till hears Ivan’s name again. He sets his phone aside, pulling his knees up to his chest and grabbing one of the blankets to wrap around himself, gripping his legs tightly. Ivan skates out into the middle of the rink once more, this time dressed in a dark red outfit that still shimmers and sparkles and covers him completely. Till’s somewhat disappointed, if he’s being completely honest with himself. Some of the other guy skaters had open v-necks or tops with certain parts that were see-through.

Then again, he doesn’t exactly want everyone ogling Ivan’s bare skin so maybe it’s for the best that he remains covered.

The music starts, and it’s a fast piece. Ivan flies across the ice. Till finds himself holding his breath each time Ivan jumps and spins in the air, exhaling shakily when he lands safely. The performance seems complicated, requiring Ivan to make sharp turns and quick adjustments to get into the air again. At one point he stumbles, and Till’s breath catches in his throat, but Ivan smoothly recovers and finishes the routine with grace.

His hair has fallen into his face from sweat, and Till can see his chest heaving as he bows to the judges and skates off the rink. His scores appear shortly after, and they seem good, but Till can see the disappointment in Ivan’s face. His chest aches. He should call him. Make sure he’s okay. Right? Or should he wait for after the award ceremony? He should probably wait. Maybe it’s not as bad as Ivan thinks. He’s always too hard on himself.

Till grows bored again waiting for the end. He stands and makes his way to the kitchen to help Io prepare dinner.

“How did Ivan do?” she asks with a smile.

“Good, I think. We won’t for sure until the awards,” Till admits, washing his hands. “He looked really good, though. I think I can tell he’s gotten better. Like, his performance last year wasn’t this intense, you know? And he won second then so . . .”

“Maybe next year you’ll get to see it in person.” Io has a twinkle in her eyes, as Till’s widen.

“What do you mean? Can we afford that?” he asks quickly.

“Well, I’ve been talking it over with Mr. Seong, and if you don’t mind a rather sparse Christmas for the next couple years, we think we can save enough to help you go see Ivan next summer.”

Till flings his arms around her waist, squeezing tightly. “You’re the best foster mom in the entire world,” he says breathlessly.

She laughs and pats his head. “I know. Now get those vegetables chopped up.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Till says with a grin, hastening to do so, his heart pounding in his chest.

Will he really get to spend the summer with Ivan next year? It’ll probably not be the full summer, but even just a week would be amazing. He can’t wait to tell Ivan!

Oh. Right. He still needs to apologize and make sure Ivan’s not mad at him. He grimaces inwardly. There’s still the chance that Ivan won’t forgive him or want anything to do with him. It’s a sobering thought, and he finishes the vegetables with less enthusiasm than before.

When he hears ceremonial music, he quickly races back to the living room, leaping over the back of the couch to land in his blanket and pillow nest. He watches with bated breath as the finalists are announced. First, the pairs go and Ivan receives silver with his partner. That’s not bad, especially for the number of pairs that competed.

Then the singles event finalists are announced. Ivan places there as well, but Till’s excitement fades when he sees them place the bronze medal around his neck. Shit. Ivan’s really going to beat himself up about that. It’s still impressive, he knows, and he tries to think of what encouraging words he can send to him.

He picks up his phone, chewing on his lip. There’s a reporter at the venue interviewing the finalists, so he waits, watching as she speaks briefly with Ivan. He smiles and congratulates his fellow finalists, but Till can see the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. In fact, his eyes look exhausted. There’s no light in them. Till’s chest aches.

The reporter moves on, and Till’s about to at least send Ivan a congratulations to start the conversation and see where that goes, when he notices Unsha confronting Ivan in the background of the reporter speaking with the silver medalist. Till frowns. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but he recognizes Unsha’s expression and body language and knows he’s berating Ivan.

Suddenly, his gloved hand whips out and backhands Ivan across the face. Till gasps, jumping to his feet.

“What the fuck?!” He waits but nobody approaches them and after a few more words Unsha stalks away. “How did no one else see that? Hello?!”

Io sticks her head out of the kitchen. “What happened?”

“Ivan’s shitty ass dad just hit him on live TV!” Till exclaims, trembling with rage as he snatches up his phone and quickly finds Ivan’s number. He doesn’t see him on the TV anymore, so he must be returning to his things, right?

Till waits, pacing agitatedly as the phone rings and rings. He’s about to give up and try again when the ringing suddenly stops.

“. . . Till?” Ivan’s voice is small, hesitant.

Till wants to cry as soon as he hears it. “Are you okay?!” he blurts out.

“What?” Ivan sounds startled.

“I just saw your dad hit you!”

Ivan inhales sharply. “You . . . are you here?” he asks, and Till can imagine him glancing around expectantly.

“No, no I saw it on the live,” Till says, deflating some. “I wish I was there, though! I’d punch him right in his smug ass face. How fucking dare he?! Why didn’t anyone confront him? That’s child abuse!”

“It honestly wasn’t that hard. More of a strong tap if anything.” Ivan’s voice has fallen into his measured, even tone that he uses to hide what he’s really feeling. Till hates that one.

“That doesn’t fucking matter,” Till seethes. “He never should’ve touched you.”

“I messed up the routine. I expected something like that to happen.”

“You stumbled for like half a second. The routine looked really hard! And you still got bronze! That’s amazing!”

“You . . . saw it?”

Till nods vigorously. “I watched both of your performances,” he admits, scurrying to his bedroom to shut the door before he says anything embarrassing in front of his foster parents. He bites his lip, leaning back against the door and sliding down it to sit on the floor. “You . . . you were incredible.”

There’s a long pause and for a moment Till’s afraid the call has dropped.

“Till . . .”

Till bites his lip, realizing that he’s called Ivan anyway so he might as well say what he knows he needs to say.

“I’m sorry,” Till says quickly, cutting off whatever Ivan’s about to say next. “I-I know it’s been a while, and it’s my fault. I didn’t mean for so much time to go by without calling you, but it just got harder and harder . . .”

“Why was it hard?” Ivan asks softly. “Did I . . . do something to make you mad? Or . . . not do something?”

Till grimaces, pressing his forehead against his knees. “No,” he mutters. “I was just being stupid.” He inhales shakily. “I-I wrote you a letter.”

“I never got a letter.”

Till exhales slowly. “I know. I mean, I figured you didn’t. It probably got lost in the mail, but . . . I got it into my head that you’d read it and decided to ignore what it said or-or that you didn’t care about what it said or something.”

“. . . What did it say?”

Till grits his teeth. He should’ve known Ivan would ask that. It’s okay. He can do this. Lowering his legs, he lets his head fall back against the door, staring up through the mini basketball hoop attached to it.

“Um. Basically . . . that I have feelings for you and why it’s hard for me to talk about it.” He closes his eyes. “Every time I let myself love someone, they go away. M-my mom. My first foster family. My second foster family . . . not the third and fourth ones, they can go fuck themselves. But, um, after that I just kinda decided I wasn’t going to love anyone else. I mean, the Seongs are really good to me, and I’m grateful for them, but I haven’t . . . said I love them either because I know it’s only a matter of time before they’re gonna leave me too.”

“. . . Till, I told you. You don’t have to love me back.”

“But I do. That’s the point,” Till says quickly, sitting up straighter. He hears Ivan’s breath hitch. “Ugh.” He rubs his forehead, listening to Ivan exhale shakily. He bites his lip. “I do,” he repeats firmly. “I just . . . it’s just hard for me to say it. That’s why I tried to show you. W-with the kiss. But then you didn’t get it . . . so I was planning on doing this big romantic gesture, but I didn’t have the money for it, so I wrote the letter, but you didn’t get it, and then Théo started posting your photos on Instagram and said all that shit—”

“What? What did he say?” Ivan interrupts sharply.

Till blinks. Oh. Théo never told Ivan about that?

“I-I told him to take the photos of you down because I-I was jealous, I guess . . . but he said you could be with whoever you wanted, making it sound like he was going to go for you. And then he posted this photo of you with a cutesy caption and a heart emoji . . .”

“And you thought that I said yes to him?” Ivan’s voice carries an edge that makes Till wince.

“I-I thought you might . . .”

Ivan sighs deeply. “So, you didn’t really get it back at the airport either,” he says finally.

“Hey, to be fair you’re the one who said you just got caught up in the moment!” Till points out quickly.

“What did you expect me to say? You kissed me first and then never brought it up again. I really didn’t know what it meant, and I didn’t want to put pressure on you to return my feelings.”

“I already had feelings for you, asshole! You should’ve just been honest from the start!” Till exclaims.

Ivan laughs abruptly.

“Why are you laughing?” Till asks helplessly.

“I missed you yelling at me,” Ivan says, and his voice sounds warm, like he’s smiling one of his real smiles, and Till feels heat travel up the back of his neck.

“What are you a masochist or something?” Till mutters, covering his face with his hand despite being alone in the room.

“Mm. Probably,” Ivan says, in that same warm tone. He’s quiet for a minute, but the silence doesn’t feel as oppressive. “So . . . a big romantic gesture, hm?”

Till wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, well, you know. Words are just words. People say all kinds of shit, but it’s their actions that really show you what they mean. Since I-I couldn’t say it, I wanted to make sure you knew another way. Th-that’s why I wrote the letter. Mizi said it’d be romantic . . .”

“I wish I’d gotten it.”

“Me too.” Till sighs. “Maybe we could’ve avoided all this shit.”

“Mm. Well, I blame Théo for putting doubt in your head as well. He shouldn’t have messed with you like that. After you got upset with me for telling Théo we were friends, I did tell him I had feelings for you.”

Till blinks. “You did?”

“Yes.”

“That bastard!” Till exclaims, jumping to his feet and pacing once more. “I knew it! I knew he couldn’t be trusted! You gotta ask to switch roommates, Ivan. Who knows what he might try to do to you!”

“Till, calm down,” Ivan says with a soft laugh. “I’ve already moved into another dorm room.”

Till halts. “You did?”

“Mhm. A few weeks ago, Théo did try something. He’d been getting friendlier with me and . . . I suppose I did let my guard down slightly since I was missing you. I thought I could trust him. That maybe he could be a friend. But he wanted something more. He tried to kiss me.”

“WHAT?!”

“Don’t worry, he didn’t make it that far,” Ivan says. “I saw it coming and took a page out of your book.” Till can practically hear the smug smirk on Ivan’s face.

“. . . You hit him?” Till guesses blankly, unable to really see the usually composed Ivan snapping like that.

Ivan’s definitely grinning now. “Yep. Right in the mouth. He couldn’t kiss anyone for quite a while. I requested the room change immediately after that incident.”

Then again, he used to give as well as he got back in their elementary days.

“Wow,” Till says, unable to help but feel his chest swell with pride. “Oh! I got into a fight too, actually.”

“Aw, without me?”

Till grins, unable to even be mad about the teasing lilt in Ivan’s voice, he’s too happy to hear it again. “Yeah, one of those homophobic teammates I told you about said some shit about you, so I jumped him.”

“Wait, seriously?” Ivan sounds surprised now.

“Yes? Why is that surprising?” Till bristles. “I told you if they ever tried to mess with you, I’d knock them out! I meant it! And I know you weren’t actually there to be messed with, but, well, it’s the principle of the thing! It’s not like I wanted to hear it either.” He huffs, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

“My hero~”

Till feels his face grow hot. “Sh-shut up,” he mutters, falling back against the mattress to stare up at the ceiling. “I got kicked out of basketball camp for it, but Coach is keeping me on the team, so it’s fine. Oh, and I came out to my foster mom, kinda. She’s cool with it. And, um, with us.”

“. . . Oh?”

Till can’t read his tone anymore. He sits up slowly. “Um. Yeah. I mean, if . . . you still want us to be, um, us. I-I don’t want to force you into anything either so, um, if your feelings have changed . . .”

“They haven’t,” Ivan says quickly. “I just want to make sure this is what you really want. I mean, it’s a lot to ask of you, especially with me being so far away. I don’t want to hold you back if you end up having feelings for someone else or—”

“Ivan? Shut up,” Till cuts him off firmly. “I want this.”

Ivan’s breath trembles on his next exhale. “Okay. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that, weirdo,” Till says with a faint grin, squinting toward the ceiling. He knows he should probably let Ivan go. He probably has to get back to the dorms. But it’s been so long, he really doesn’t want to. “So, um, tell me about your new roommate. He’s not hot, is he? If you tell me he’s hot I’m gonna fly out there and kill him myself.”

Ivan laughs.

Snow falls lightly, as Till stands beneath the front awning of the ice arena. He checks his phone for the time, frowning when he realizes Ivan’s late. He wanted to meet him at the airport, but Ivan asked him to meet him at the rink instead. He has no idea why. It seems like a waste to not spend every second together that they can during the two weeks Ivan’s back for winter break.

But Ivan insisted that it’ll be worth it, so here Till is, freezing his ass off.

His heart leaps in his chest when he recognizes the black SUV pulling into the parking lot. He bites his lip to keep from smiling too wide, hopping impatiently from foot to foot as he waits for the vehicle to park. As soon as it does, the back door opens, and Ivan steps out, a small duffel bag in his hand.

He’s gotten even taller, if that’s possible. The angles of his jawline are sharper, and with his hair slicked back like this, he looks older, more mature, especially in his long black peacoat and leather gloves. Of course, as soon as he spots Till, all that maturity disappears, as his face breaks into a wide, excited grin.

“Till!”

He runs toward him, and Till’s feet move before he can stop them. He launches himself at Ivan, who drops the bag and catches him neatly around the waist, spinning him around in a circle with a laugh, as Till clings to his neck tightly.

Fuck. It feels so good to hold him again. He buries his face in Ivan’s hair, breathing in his scent, the musk of his expensive cologne, and he can tell Ivan’s doing the same against his neck, even though Till knows he doesn’t smell half as good. Tears prickle the corners of his eyes, and he sniffs to hold them back.

“Are you crying already?” Ivan asks with another laugh.

“No,” Till mutters. He quickly wipes at his eyes before smacking Ivan’s shoulder lightly. “Put me down and let’s get inside. It’s freezing out here!”

Ivan chuckles, but he carefully sets Till on his feet, taking his face in his hands next. “Wait, let me look at you a minute.”

“You can look at me later,” Till says, his cheeks warming as he brushes Ivan’s hands away before grabbing one and pausing only long enough for Ivan to grab his bag before tugging him into the arena. “Why did you want to meet here, anyway?”

“Oh! I have something I want to show you,” Ivan says eagerly, quickly walking ahead of Till to lead the way.

There doesn’t seem to be anyone else here, and Till looks around somewhat bewildered.

“Where is everyone? It’s the holidays. Usually places like this are overrun with kids.”

“Oh, I rented the place out for the hour,” Ivan says. “This will only work if we’re alone.”

“What are you talking about?” Till asks, not understanding any better with the explanation. “Wait, isn’t that like crazy expensive?”

“Not when you know the guy who owns the building,” Ivan says lightly. He leads Till past the skate rental and concession counter, into the actual rink. He takes Till’s shoulders and sits him down on the front row of the bleachers. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“Huh?” Till watches as Ivan runs off toward the back of the rink that he thinks leads into the locker rooms. It’s not much warmer in here than it was outside, and he wraps his arms around himself, shivering some despite the undershirt, sweater, and jacket he’s wearing. He really should’ve brought a hat and gloves, but he’d gotten so excited at Ivan’s text he raced out of the apartment without thinking about it.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, bouncing his leg to keep blood circulating. A few more minutes pass before the lights in the rink suddenly go out. Till jumps, not having expected that. He glances around, wondering if he’s being pranked or something (he wouldn’t put it past Ivan honestly).

But then a spotlight illuminates a figure on the ice. Till inhales sharply, recognizing Ivan instantly. He’s in skates and wearing a dark blue shimmering outfit. It full-body coverage just like his others, but this one looks even more like the night sky than his competition costume, especially when he turns and some sparkling, sheer material flutters out from around his waist in the back and from his arms like wings. Silver diamonds glitter in his dark hair too, like stars.

He brings his arms up in a graceful pose, and from the speakers above, music plays.

It’s a slow, haunting melody, almost melancholy. Till finds himself completely transfixed, watching as Ivan glides across the ice. It feels different from the other performances Till’s seen. For one, his expression is soft in a way that’s rare when he’s skating, there’s a small, almost wistful smile on his lips, and his body moves freely in a way it typically doesn’t, fluid and unrestrained.

He’s breathtakingly beautiful.

Till can only stare, mouth agape, as Ivan skates to the music in a routine that doesn’t seem complicated but still feels right. He’s not skating to be the best in front of a panel of judges, he’s skating because it’s something he wants to show Till, to share with him. Without pressure or expectations, without the weight of Unsha’s gaze on his shoulders, his steps are light, and as he leaps and spins, he looks like he’s actually enjoying himself.

Till used to wonder why Ivan chose figure skating of all things to pursue as a sport. He knows Unsha only allowed it because of the Olympic medalist potential. Is this what it was like for Ivan in the beginning? Before Unsha and his coaches sucked all the joy out of it? Did little Ivan watch the figure skaters on TV with the same awe Till’s watching with now? If so, he understands why Ivan decided to step onto the ice that first time.

The music fades, and Ivan slows to a stop, posing once more before dropping into a deep bow. Till jumps to his feet, clapping as loudly as he can.

“WHOO! YEAH IVAN!” he cheers.

The spotlight disappears, and the lights come back on. Ivan skates to the edge of the rink, and Till hurries over to greet him, pushing through the entryway to let himself in despite wearing sneakers. He almost immediately slips, but Ivan catches him around the waist before he can fall, laughing softly.

“Don’t come onto the ice, silly. I was going to come to you,” he says with a grin. His skin shines lightly with sweat, his hair falling forward some over his forehead in wisps, and he’s panting softly, but otherwise he looks happy.

Till grabs Ivan’s face with both hands. “That was amazing,” he says seriously. “You’re so incredibly and beautifully amazing.”

Ivan’s eyes widen slightly. Till doesn’t give him the chance to dispute it. He leans up on his toes and plants a firm kiss against Ivan’s lips. He feels Ivan’s surprised hitch of breath, but then he bends toward him, pulling him closer as he returns the kiss. Despite the cold air around them, Ivan’s mouth and body are warm, and Till presses into both, parting his lips for Ivan’s tongue when it sweeps gently along the seam of his mouth.

It's only their second kiss, but it’s everything and more. Till forgets about the cold and the ice and the year that’s separated them. Ivan’s here, he’s back, he’s his, and Till clings to him as tight as he can.

They break apart when Till’s legs get tired, and he has to lower back onto his heels. He keeps his arms wrapped around Ivan’s neck, though, grinning at the somewhat dazed look on his face.

“Thanks for sharing that with me,” Till says. “Did you learn that routine in Switzerland?”

“Uh, no,” Ivan says, shaking his head slightly. “I choreographed it myself years ago.”

Till’s eyes widen. “Seriously? How come you never showed me before?”

Ivan smiles ruefully, lifting his hand to brush Till’s hair back behind his ear. “I’ve never shown anyone before,” he admits, “but you were talking about grand romantic gestures, and I thought this might qualify.”

Till’s cheeks heat quickly. “Y-you’ve never shown anyone? Just me? R-right now?”

Ivan nods, his eyes following his own fingers as they thread gently through Till’s hair. “I thought it was time to show you my figure skating.” His gaze falls to meet Till’s, and his smile widens. “Now that I’m your boyfriend.”

The words don’t help with Till’s blush. “Um, I-I . . . wow.” He doesn’t know what to say to that. It feels like he’s been given a gift he could never top in a million years. How is he supposed to follow that?

“Oh! There’s one more thing,” Ivan says, shifting away.

“There’s more?” Till squeaks embarrassingly.

Ivan grins and slides him back toward the door of the rink. “Go out into the general area where it’s warm. I’ll be right back after I change.”

Till stumbles slightly as his sneakers hit regular floor, but he does as he’s told, not about to stick around in the freezing rink longer than he needs to.

It’s nice and toasty out in front of the concessions and skate rental, and Till takes a seat at one of the tables to wait. He digs his own gift out of his pocket, feeling kind of lame now as he turns it over in his hand. He used almost all his bag boy money on it, so he knows it’s nice but . . . still. Expensive stuff doesn’t really mean much to Ivan. He could’ve bought it for himself without a second thought, probably.

Maybe he already has.

Grimacing, Till sets the small box on the table and covers it with both his hands, tempted to just slip it back into his jacket. He’s still debating when Ivan jogs out from the rink, his peacoat on but open for the moment, revealing the burgundy turtleneck sweater and black pants underneath, duffel bag in currently ungloved hands. His face lights up when he catches sight of Till, and he hurries over, dropping into the seat across from him.

“What’s that? Is that for me?” he asks eagerly, eyeing the box that Till’s trying to sneak off the table.

“Um. Yeah,” Till says, flushing as he hesitates before pushing it across to him. “It’s, um. It’s lame. It’s nothing like what you just gave me.”

Ivan snatches up the box and opens it, his eyes widening as he lifts out the watch. “Is this a Bulova?” he asks, apparently recognizing it instantly.

“Uh, yeah,” Till says with a slight nod. He rubs the back of his neck. “I know it’s not, like, the fanciest of watches or whatever, but I saved up for a long time . . . I thought since you can’t have your phone on you during classes you could use one. But I-I’m sure you already have nicer watches. I can take it back.” He reaches across the table for it.

Ivan lightly smacks his hand away. “Hey, no take-backsies. This is beautiful, Till. I love it.” He grins happily, slipping it on immediately and fastening it snugly.

Till bites his lip, unsuccessfully willing his cheeks to cool. It does look good on him. Then again, most things do. “So, um, I’m sure you’re tired from your flight, and your parents will be wondering where you are so . . .”

“Oh, I told them I was seeing you first and not to wait up,” Ivan says dismissively. “I’ll drop you off back at your place first, since I know you probably walked here.”

“I took the bus,” Till admits, though that still takes quite a bit of walking, something Ivan seems to know already because he just hums and reaches into his bag.

“Anyway, this is your second gift.”

“You really don’t need to give me anything else,” Till says quickly, already feeling overwhelmed.

“It’s not as nice as the watch,” Ivan continues, like Till didn’t say anything, “but I hope you still like it.” He gestures for Till’s hand.

Sighing, Till reaches across the table again. Ivan smiles, turning his hand over and dropping a silver-plated chain in his palm, hanging from which is a plain steel key. Till blinks down at it.

“What’s this for?” he asks blankly.

Ivan reaches into the collar of his turtleneck, pulling out a similar silver-plated chain, only at the end of this one is a small padlock. Till stares, his heart beating faster as his mind races around the implications.

“I never want you to worry about me in Switzerland again,” Ivan admits softly. He taps the padlock lightly with his finger. “This lock belongs to that key and always will. I’ll never take it off unless you tell me to. I’m yours, Till. Completely. No matter where I am.”

Till curls his fingers around the key so tightly he can feel the teeth dig into his palm. Fuck. He’s tearing up again.

Ivan tilts his head to the side, watching him closely. “Too much?” he asks.

Till shakes his head quickly. “No,” he says, his voice breaking on the word. “Fuck.” He wipes at his eyes again. “C-can you, um, put it on me?”

Ivan smiles and stands, walking around behind Till. He waits until Till opens his hand before picking up the chain and unclasping it, pulling it around Till’s neck to refasten it in the back. Till can feel the light weight against his chest, and he looks down at it, touching it gently with his fingertips.

Ivan’s arms come around his shoulders, and Till feels Ivan’s face nuzzle against the back of his head, as he squeezes him firmly.

“Do you believe me now?” Ivan asks quietly.

“Yeah.” Till’s voice breaks again, and he reaches up to hold Ivan’s arms with both his hands, gripping him like a lifeline, as the tears slip down his cheeks. “I-I love you, too. So, fucking much.”

Ivan hums happily. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “For loving me.”

Till turns in Ivan’s arms, reaching up to take his face in his hands once more. “Stupid,” he says with a fond smile, before bringing Ivan down to kiss him.

Ivan rests his hand against the edge of the table behind Till, leaning into the kiss with a soft moan that sends heat through Till’s entire body. He pushes his fingers into Ivan’s hair, tugging him closer, needing him closer.

“Mommy, Mommy, look! Those boys are kissing!”

Till leans back with a grimace, shooting a glare over at the little girl pointing toward them while tugging on her mother’s skirt. The woman looks on with a disapproving frown. He’s never wanted to dropkick a kid so much in his life.

“I thought you said you got the place for an hour.”

Ivan checks his new watch. “Mm, maybe it was half an hour.”

“Great, now we’ve traumatized a child.”

Ivan laughs, leaning back and grabbing Till’s hand to pull him to his feet. He pecks him quickly once more, as he reaches over the table to grab his bag. “Come on, we can make out in the back of the SUV. It’s got heated seats and a divider behind the driver.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Till narrows his eyes. “We’re just gonna make out, right? I’m not having my first time be in the back of your dad’s SUV.”

“Who knows? Anything could happen,” Ivan smirks, taking off for the door, pulling Till along behind him.

“Ivan!”

“Ugh. Youths!” the woman scoffs as they race past her and the little girl.

Till can’t help but laugh at how disgusted she sounds, and Ivan looks back at him, bright and happy. He laughs with him, and they run out into the falling snow together.