Work Text:
Till stared up at the open window, unsure what to think. Scrappy curtains flowed out of the gap, tempting him. Ivan never told him anything. Hell, Ivan could have a wife and kids and Till would have no idea. Ivan hadn’t even confirmed whether or not he had relatives or friends at all. Anything he said about his life were about “friends he’d known back in highschool” or “friendly strangers”. Maybe it was better to keep out of his personal life. Till never did like hearing about the hook-ups. Maybe it was better to at least keep out of his apartment uninvited.
But better didn’t soothe his aching muscles or kiss the bruises on his skin. Better didn’t check if his nose was broken, better didn’t look at him with the empty eyes ready to be filled with adoration. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. He briefly thought about how stupid it was of Ivan, a celebrity no matter how minor, to be living alone in a ratty old apartment that a highschooler could just waltz into at two in the morning, but let go of the thought in favour of focusing on not getting scratched up by the tree he had to climb to reach the window. Whenever they’d sleep together, Till would hear the rustle of it against the window. He knew the branches tilting toward the window were pretty thin from how much they’d move with the wind, but it was his best bet.
When he finally seated himself as high as he could, he looked down to see his destination. Ivan looked up at him from his window, eyebrows raised in surprise, mouth hanging open in a wide smile as if he’d just watched presents fall from the chimney right into his living room. Till’s skin flushed down to his chest instantly. The eye contact was suffocating despite the crisp air. Ivan laughed disbelievingly.
“Well don’t stop on my accord, Till,” he drawled sleepily. He pushed his hair out of his face. Till briefly forgot to be embarrassed as he took in the sight of him so… Happy? He looked good like this. Lit by moonlight and grinning like a child, all for Till, he looked better than he did on stage. He nodded sharply, going back to calculating how he was going to make it inside. The bark of the tree dug into his palm where he was holding it, and even into his knees through the fabric of his jeans. He took a deep breath, standing up on the last branch that he thought would hold his weight.
“Can’t you just let me in?” He muttered under his breath, but Ivan couldn’t hear him from where he’d retreated into the room to give him space to jump in. He huffed, gathering whatever courage he had and tossing himself forward with as much force as he could muster. Unaware of the fact that he’d screamed as he did so, he grabbed the top of the open window, feet unsteadily planted on the window sill. He could hear Ivan cackling from inside before he felt an arm wrap behind his shins. His other hand supported his weight from right under his upper thighs, which made him almost dizzy with need. He let the man haul him inside, eventually ending up nestled in his arms. Ivan gazed down at him, eyes still sparkling.
Till felt his heart ache every time he saw those empty eyes fill with love for him. Only he could do this to the void that was Ivan. Only he could make him feel these things, Ivan had told him as much, but it was so much more intense to see it on him.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Ivan asked, squeezing him a little.
Till huffed. “Turn on the damn light, you’ll see.”
Ivan made a soft noise, something like a giggle. He leaned down to nuzzle against his face like a dog. Till cringed as he felt the tip of his nose smear blood over to his cheek.
“You’re insatiable,” he muttered as his face was peppered in chaste kisses.
“I’m having an early breakfast,” Ivan said. Till could feel him smile against his skin. “It’s only fair it be you since you woke me up.”
“I did?”
“It’s okay.”
Till slumped into his grip. It didn’t help the unease he was feeling with everything on his mind. Here Ivan was, being sweet and loving and acting like a good boyfriend when all Till could think of was that this had gone on for far too long for Ivan to not have picked up on his scent.
Ivan breathed out against him, the scent of toothpaste and smoke briefly replacing the iron coating Till’s senses. “I’d never complain about having you here,” He whispered.
“Let me go, idiot.”
Ivan chuckled, pressing one final kiss on Till’s swollen lip before gently setting him on his feet. He moved away to give him space, before the white light of the room blinded both of them.
“This thing sucks, y’know,” he complained, squinting. “You should get a warmer colour. It’s better for the eyes.”
“You look like a cat,” Ivan said quietly, before fixing himself back up. His hand lingered on the light switch, debating within himself if he should listen to the complaint and turn it off. “You’re talking?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve seen your posts, Till.” His hand dropped back to his side.
Till raised an eyebrow.
“... The drawings? All those characters posing on, what’s that colour, straight white?”
“It’s called true white,” he mumbled. Why was Ivan making casual conversation while Till was all battered up? What part of beaten black and blue looked like a cat?
“True white,” Ivan repeated, putting the information in his pocket for safekeeping. “I see. All those characters posing on true white, and you’re telling me my light’s bad? You look at your screen directly, you know, at least I don’t make eye contact with my lamp.”
“You’re acting like this is normal.”
“Plenty of people have white lights, it’s normal.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he watched Till roll his eyes.
“Not what I meant.”
“I happen to like being under the light,” Ivan continued.
Till groaned. He turned to where Ivan’s bass was sitting faithfully. The moonlight highlighted the edge of it, giving it a beautifully stark shape. He wanted to draw it, now that Ivan had put the idea in his mind.
“You’re under enough light,” he mumbled, turning away. He walked past Ivan to go somewhere more comfortable. Ivan tracked Till’s movement with hungry eyes as always, lingering on the dirt on his jeans and the slight stumble of his step. He followed the boy into the living room.
Till turned on the living room light, which was a yellow desk lamp that he had brought from his own bedroom after deciding he wanted to use Ivan’s way too empty space as his workshop for his more hands-on pieces. He had an ashen brown sweater splayed out over the surface. He'd been trying to distress the edges to create a certain look, but he'd kept getting scared of ruining it, so it'd been sitting there for a while. He still did his digital art at home, but there was something cosy about smelling Ivan’s cherry menthol cigarettes while working on clothing. He liked that the scent lingered, sue him.
Ivan approached behind him, tucking his face right against his neck. His hands found Till’s hoodie pocket, an amused huff leaving him as he found the pencil sharpener with the ever-loosened screw. “I’m sorry, Till,” he said softly.
“The hell are you sorry for?”
“Lots of things,” Ivan sighed. His tongue darted out to lick the sweat behind his ear. He paused, holding Till tighter to himself, then leaned up to worry the boy’s helix piercing between his teeth. Till shivered when he let go of it. “Lots… I just don’t think life is fair to you.”
“We all have shit going on. You have…” He tried to prompt.
“Do you get jealous, baby?”
“Wh- Why would I? You-” Till yanked himself away, looking up at Ivan, scandalised. “Are you sleeping with other people?!”
Ivan laughed, shaking his head. He placed a hand on what was now Till’s workbench, letting it carry his weight. “No, no, damn it Till, I meant what you said about the lights, the stage, attention, whatever. I’d never dream of other people.”
Till couldn’t help the smirk. He’d at least gotten Ivan to admit he didn’t have a partner. He was playing the older man so well.
His expression fell quickly though. That was underhanded…
Ivan frowned. “I mean it.”
“I know,” Till mumbled.
“Really.” He approached again until they were chest to chest. “I would never. Not even if you leave me.”
Till sputtered. “No way, dude-”
“Yes way, Till.” He cupped his face, tilting it up. The tips of his ring fingers met behind his head, in the little dip right where his skull met his spine. Till wanted to cry. Ivan was memorising the blooming bruises on his face and treating them as if they were Xs on the map to pick apart for treasure. “Yours always, that’s what I said.”
“You’re exactly what girls complain about when they say artists only wax poetry, y’know.” He tried to push at his chest, but he was held steady.
“What part of my obsession with you is poetic, Till?” Ivan asked, squishing his face in his hands, unable to help the fond smile as Till pouted.
“Everything. The way you talk ‘n’ stuff…”
“Maybe you just like me,” Ivan mused.
“Yeah, you’re lucky.”
“I am,” he preened. He gentled his hold.
Till sighed, moving to hug him. He lazily draped his arms around his waist, pressing his ear against his heartbeat.
Ivan made a soft shushing noise. “Life really isn’t fair to you, is it?”
Till shook his head, feeling that sour feeling in the back of his mouth again.
“Poor baby,” Ivan cooed.
“You’re terrible,” he said, voice thick as tears welled up in his eyes. “Y- You’re fucking- You’re fucking with me again-”
“You’re the one who woke me up,” Ivan chastised. “I didn’t plan anything.”
“Still!” Till sobbed. “You’re- You’re just-”
Ivan kissed the top of his head, taking in the scent of someone else’s cigarettes from his hair. Till gripped his shirt. He hit his forehead against Ivan’s sternum, frustrated, and continued, listing every thought that had gone through his head since the start. “You’re t- toying with me. You think I’m just some groupie, you’re gonna get bored of me and- and- and leave me stupid and in the dust and-”
“Not toying with you,” Ivan countered each one with a soft voice, slotting his words between Till’s while he threaded his fingers between the greasy strands of hair. “You’re not a groupie. I could never get bored of you. I’ll never leave you.”
The words came so easy to Ivan, while Till ripped each one out of his throat. “You just like me because I look weak to you!”
“You don’t look weak to me.”
“You- You fucking- Creep, I bet you get off on this!”
“I see you as you are, Till. I know you’re not weak.”
Till pulled back, only to hit his head against him again, and again. Ivan made no move to stop him. He let Till tire himself out, let the boy cry until his eyes dried out and his head hurt from all the movement and lack of water. When he was done, Ivan was ready with kisses on the corners of his eyes. He pulled back, leaving Till alone in the vast living room. Till’s eyes widened at the sudden disappearance, his gaze lingering where Ivan had been just moments prior. He was about to call out to him when he saw Ivan walking back in with a glass of water.
Till didn’t want to thank Ivan. Ivan was an adult man fucking a highschooler, and Till was having the best night of his life by having his attention all to himself, but he did not want to thank Ivan. “It’s my dad,” He blurted out, not knowing what else to say.
Ivan stiffened. He put the glass of water down on Till's workbench. “Your dad’s here?” He almost looked at the window before snapping back to Till.
“No, idiot, do you listen with your ass? This” – He gestured towards his face– ” was my dad. He did this.” He kept gesturing as he spoke, mocking.
“He punched you in the face?” Ivan’s eyebrows furrowed, confused rather than empathetic like Till had expected. Hell, he didn’t even react to the implication that Till was living with his parents.
“What, you never fought your dad before?” He clapped back. Perfect, he thought to himself, now he has to tell me about his family life. I’m so smart.
Ivan gave him a scrutinising look. He took in his whole frame, starting from his shoes tracking mud into his house, trailing up his slouching torso, tracing the folds in his hoodie, going no lower than where his sleeves were bunched around his elbows. Eventually he landed on the blood drying on his cupid’s bow. A warm smile replaced the cold judgement. “I didn’t have a dad until I was old enough to hit him back,” he informed curtly. “He didn’t take his chances with that. Or maybe he just wasn’t that kind of man,” He mused at the end, as if he hadn’t even considered it before.
Till bristled. “You have songs about that shit,” He pointed out.
“We have other members too,” He waved a dismissive hand, smile fading into a mocking grin. “You don’t know how tragic Marty’s life is. Don’t judge a book by its deflated hairstyle.”
His hands returned to Till’s face, angling it into the light. His hands were cold, comforting against the heat lingering under his skin. Till felt his eyes flutter shut as Ivan felt the bridge of his nose for any abnormal bump. When he didn’t find anything wrong, he leaned in and pressed a kiss there too. Warmth bloomed behind Till’s eyes at how easy the affection came. He couldn’t open his eyes, lest he start bawling, but he could feel Ivan’s gaze on him, always watching him, always looking at him.
Ivan prided himself on being able to hone in on Till, find him in a crowd instantly. He’d say it was the least a good boyfriend should be able to do. He had eyes like cameras, sensing the movement of every hair on Till’s body like that was what he was made to do. He liked seeing. He liked watching. After the first time they’d hooked up, Ivan had spent every performance looking for Till in the audience again. He’d been the one to find Till after every performance he’d seen him at, he’d been the one to chase him down on his way to the bus stop, the one to beg him at least let me give you a ride home, baby, you look tired. And all Till had ever said in protest was stop calling me that.
He must have still been staring at him.
Till opened a single eye with difficulty, so much so that he could swear he heard the unoiled muscle creak after he’d squeezed it shut for too long. He wasn’t looking, no. His eyes were instead trained on his left arm, taking in the wounds he guessed were days old.
Till’s expression hardened. He was about to scold him for pitying until-
“Do you come here just for me to pity you?” Ivan looked back up. Till felt like he was being swallowed whole, like the floor had just given underneath him and-
“N- No, of course not, I just-”
“What do you think I feel when you show up like this?”
His breathing stuttered, eyes widening. “Are you mad at me?”
Ivan grinned, all toothy and cute in the way Till loved, squeezing his face and tilting it one direction then the next like playing with a big dog. “No, idiot, do you listen with your ass?” He repeated back at him. “I asked a question. I wasn’t even loud.”
“Shut up.”
Ivan let go. Till finally had room to breathe, and he used that room well, feeling the oncoming short panting breaths before they even set in. He knew better than to by now, but he still hit his ribs in hopes of loosening them, because breathing suddenly felt like a stabbing sensation.
Ivan was angry with him, enough to just step away after Till told him to shut up, as if Ivan ever listened to him, as if he’d ever spent a moment not tucked away into some weird spot on his body, as if he wasn’t the same man who had cried asking him why he’d left and- There was a thud. Ivan was on his knees, looking up at Till.
“If you won’t look at me, I’ll just go where you’re looking,” Ivan explained, far too proud of his idea.
Till shuddered. He didn’t even notice what he was doing when he reached down to hold Ivan’s face, it came naturally at this angle. Ivan nuzzled into his hand, just as Till was used to him doing, pressing a kiss right into the centre of his calloused palm.
“... I should go home.” Till muttered.
Ivan made a low noise in the back of his throat, glaring up at him like the suggestion was idiotic. It was. Till wasn’t sure why he’d even said it.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, Till contemplating what to do and Ivan placing an urgent kiss into his welcoming skin whenever he felt Till was coming too close to asking to leave. Eventually, Ivan stood back up. The hand holding him fell limply at his side.
“So,” He started, eyes lidded like he’d grown cosy and sleepy where Till had been holding him. “You broke into my apartment because your dad was mean to you?”
Till could already see the smirk form on Ivan’s face when he opened his mouth to say “I can leave-” only to be interrupted by Ivan grabbing him by the waist.
“Sit the fuck down, Till.” He didn’t even have to say the words, having already manoeuvred him onto the couch. He gently pushed his knees apart, slotting himself between them to rest his cheek on his lower thigh. It all happened so quickly, Till could do nothing more than let it happen. Ivan put his middle and ring fingers through the ripped jeans, stroking the skin hidden away. “Just sit down, yeah, stay with me since you bothered to come all the way here.”
“I’m here,” Till said quietly. “Not leaving.”
“Not gonna leave me again…” Ivan nodded, which felt more like he was just rubbing his face onto Till’s leg.
“I already told you, I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t know it mattered to you.”
“How could it not?”
“Why would it?”
Ivan’s lips curved down, bottom lip jutting out. “You’re so insecure.”
“How is that-” Till sputtered. “How was it insecure to think a famous guy who slept with me once is not in love with me?”
“What should famous guy have done for you to believe him?”
“Nothing!” Till grabbed Ivan’s hair, pulling him away. “I believe him now, so he can stop complaining about it all the time!”
Ivan debated how to respond, Till could see it in the length of his silence. “Okay,” He said eventually.
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
Ivan paused. “... Okay sir?” He tried, smiling in confusion. “Are you into tha-”
“No, freak! I meant-” Till groaned, letting go of him. “I meant, like, what the hell does okay mean?”
Ivan chuckled. “It means okay, I love you.”
Till’s lips curved despite himself.
“I love you too, idiot.”