Work Text:
Bzzzt. A mobile order. Bzzzt, bzzzt. A really long one, at that.
Just when Till thought the sticker couldn’t get any longer, it finally finished printing.
An order from someone named “Ivan.” Trenta black iced tea. Strawberry base. Mango base. Pineapple base. Apple juice. Peach juice. Strawberry puree. 2 scoops strawberry inclusions. 2 scoops dragonfruit inclusions. 2 scoops pineapple inclusions. Extra ice. Blended. And, the cherry on top, extra matcha cold foam.
What the fuck.
Till stared at it for a couple moments. Where do I even begin…? He poured all the liquids into a shaker cup, added the fruit… it was already difficult to tell where the extra ice would fit in. And the extra foam. Whatever. He moved everything over to a blender in hopes it would fit better.
It did blend, which was better than Till expected. It didn’t blend well, though, so he had to scoop out the icy purple beverage with a spoon into the cup instead of pouring it normally. The green foam looked nice with the purple drink. Someone must’ve ordered it for a picture, not caring about what it tastes like.
Till glanced between the finished drink and the remnants of the sludgy ice mixture on the blender. A lingering, morbid curiosity in the back of his mind urged him to pour the rest into a sample cup, walk into the dishwashing area, and take it like a shot. First, the overwhelming sweetness of the mixture hit his tongue, teeth aching from the sickly-sweet mixture. Then, the tart taste of the pineapple and peach combining together made him pucker his lips. The aftertaste was revolting, enough so to make him spit into the trash can.
“Ew…” Sua side-eyed him. “Please wash your hands before going back on the floor.”
Till rolled his eyes before doing as she asked. Food safety, and whatnot. Even if whatever abomination of a drink he just made wasn’t food by definition or safe to drink in any way.
The jingling doorbell caught his attention. From it, a tall man dressed in business casual walked in and immediately waved to everyone behind the counter. Till had never seen him before, but something about him seemed oddly familiar. Sua grabbed onto the fabric of his sleeve and tugged him until he lowered his ear to her mouth.
“That’s my brother,” she whispered. Ah, that’s why.
“I guess I can see the resemblance,” he whispered back. “Though your eyes are pretty different.” It wasn’t just his eyes. The way he carried himself was different; confident, poised. Sua rarely smiled, but this man was nothing but smiles. The upward tug of his lips didn’t quite match the empty, soul-breaching effect of his eyes, though. At least, the few times that he did manage to make Sua laugh, her eyes scrunched up with the effort.
“Different mothers,” she offered as an explanation.
Her brother stood at the counter, fingers curled over the marble. Sua sighed before walking back to get his drink.
She came back with the bright purple, sludgy concoction Till had just made. So, this is Ivan.
“Thanks, Sua.”
He didn’t seem phased by the color, texture, or smell of the drink, taking a hearty sip. Till couldn’t help himself.
“So have you, like, ordered that before, or…?” It took every ounce of his self control to keep his tone level, to mask the disgust seeping behind his words. He repeated “This is not worth losing your job over” in his head like a mantra.
“Nope.” Ivan took another sip with a smile. “I like to try something new every time I visit my dear sister.” He batted his eyelashes, much to Sua’s dismay.
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” she retorted.
“Didn’t order, or didn’t visit?”
“Both.”
Ivan held his hand over his heart and pretended to faint, as if fatally wounded. “After I went through all the effort to see you…” he swooned. “At least Till was nice to me before my unfortunate and untimely death!”
“How the fuck do you know my name.” The words came out before he could make them PG-13. Fuck, there goes my job…
“It is on your nametag,” Ivan reminded, unphased by Till’s foul language. Sua made sure his crime didn’t go unnoticed, stamping on Till’s foot.
“I think it’s time for you to go, Ivan,” Sua suggested. “Wouldn’t wanna be late for your meeting…” Ivan pouted, but sighed and nodded in agreement.
“Well…” he started, “I guess I’ll see you around?
Sua didn’t respond, which made Till think that maybe the question was directed at him? Weird. He hadn’t even met the guy before today, hadn’t even talked to him all that much. He let out a half-hearted “Yeah, sure,” that made Ivan smile as if he just won the lottery.
Once Ivan was gone, the two resumed their normal work. Sua, washing the dishes and frantically cleaning everything in sight, and Till, making drinks and taking orders. They didn’t say a word to each other, even though Till’s mind was racing with questions.
Did he normally order… things…? like that? How had Till never seen him before today? Why’d he bother mobile ordering when he could certainly cajole his sister into giving a free (but definitely against corporate policy) drink?
Ultimately, he figured asking any of that might’ve been too much. Certainly he could get some better information about the ominous creature this Ivan guy is somewhere down the line. Now’s just the time for basic questions, for testing the water…
“Soo…” Till piped up, hoping to drown out the awkward silence. “Are you the older or younger sibling?”
Sua looked down for a second. “Older.”
“Cool.” Till trailed off. Sua was never much for conversation, not unless she was the one bringing up a topic. “What does he do? Like, for a living.”
“Dunno.” She queued up some shots for a drink. Her own, probably, considering no stickers had come in for a bit. “Some sort of finance thing.”
“Ah, okay.” The conversation ended there.
Bzzzt. Bzzzt, bzzzt. A really long sticker, again. It better not be who I think it is…
Another mobile order from Ivan. Venti iced caramel macchiato. Whole milk. 12 pumps of vanilla. 7 pumps of sugar free vanilla -- you’re already gonna get a kidney stone with this drink, literally what is the fucking point of the sugar free syrup… 5 shots. Extra caramel drizzle. Upside down. No ice.
He wasn’t yet sure if this drink was better or worse than the last one. Nor, if this was a normal order, or just something he was trying out for the first time again. Sua wasn’t in today to consult. At the very least, this drink was easier to make than his last order.
Till finished it up soon enough, the steady rhythm of the day’s rain lulling him into a daze. He needs another drink. Preferably an alcoholic one, if he has to sit through another 2 hours of no customers showing up, but he can’t be drunk on company time. Legally, at least. Cold brew will work just fine.
As he was mid-pour, the door opened, the roar of the storm outside audible for a brief moment before it shut again. Till looked up. And proceeded to spill cold brew all over himself after he forgot to turn the tap off.
The rain outside had seeped through Ivan’s dress shirt, the rigid outline of his torso on full display. Till didn’t stare, but he was ripped. Don’t ask how he knew that without looking. He wiped the excess cold brew on his apron and locked his eyes somewhere off to the side as he handed Ivan’s drink over.
“Genuinely, how do you stay fit after drinkin’ all that…”
“I work out.”
Till faux-gasped. “No shit… I need specifics. This is chemically impossible.”
“I think you mean biologically. Or we can specify it down to metabolically, if you’d like.” He left a pause for Till to laugh. After no reaction for at least 10 seconds, he added, “...I run a mile every morning, and then lift weights for about an hour. The rest is genetics.”
This guy is actually not fair…
Ivan smirked. “So, you’ve been checking me out this whole time, or…?”
The thought alone was enough to make Till gag, blood rushing into his cheeks from the, frankly, disgusting idea. No way in hell have I been looking. Nuh uh. Ivan just smiled. Menacingly.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“The answer is no,” Till half-shouted. A couple heads turned from the cafe area. “It’s just… noticeable, is all.”
“Ahh, I see.” His ass did not see. Ivan pivoted the conversation quickly enough. “Has it been busy today?” he asked, leaning over the counter.
“Considering it’s pouring rain and the only customers brave enough to venture here are regulars and people who need the wifi… it’s been slow.”
“Well…” Ivan pulled out something from the inside of his pants pocket, tsk-tsking at the paper being dampened by the rain. “I don’t know if it’s still legible, but if you need someone to curb your boredom…” He slid it over the counter, did a pilot salute, and made a hasty retreat.
Just as soon as he entered, he was gone.
Till turned the post-it over in his hands. A phone number. Ivan’s phone number. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. Surely not a romantic thing, right…? I never got that vibe from him. He shoved it into his apron pocket.
Till spent a bit pondering, not a single customer entering the store as the storm picked up. There wasn’t much to do other than some pre-close cleaning, but even that soon reached its end. One hour left until the store closes, nothing else to do… His fingers clasped around the post-it in his apron.
Even if Ivan did mean it in a romantic way, texting him wasn’t necessarily leading him on, was it? If he made his feelings obvious, Till could just say sorry and move on. Besides, this Ivan guy was pretty… mysterious, in a way? Even Sua didn’t seem to know that much about him, or, rather, she at least gave off the impression that she didn’t. He’d just be solving a mystery. That’s all, nothing more than that.
He glanced around the empty store. No witnesses. He pulled out his phone, typed in the slightly-smudged number, and said hi.
The response back was immediate.
Okay, Till and Ivan texted pretty consistently. That didn’t mean Till was fond of the guy, or anything. It’s just… the rainy weather was common this season, so the last hour of his shift was always pretty boring, and Ivan just so happened to get off of work around that time… A relationship borne out of convenience, really.
That didn’t change Till’s exasperation whenever Ivan ordered.
His phone pinged. Ivan. Speak of the devil…
ivan
------------
I’m ordering~~
if it’s gross i’m throwing the drink in your face
Gross is subjective
that’s not comforting at all
Bzzzt. A shorter mobile order. Till pulled the sticker.
Since when did Ivan order drinks with normal sized stickers…? Tall vanilla cream cold brew. Add lemonade.
…
Somehow, that’s even worse.
ivan
------------
you disgust me
genuinely
I’m honored
The drink took approximately two seconds to make, so Till got to watch in slow time as the citrus from the lemonade interacted with the dairy from the sweet cream. While mildly fascinating from a scientific standpoint, Till was no scientist. That shit was gross. He was definitely going to throw that drink at Ivan when he showed up.
He stared down at his phone screen, debating if he should tell Ivan to order something else. Surely, drinking this would make him sick, right…? He didn’t want to risk seeming too… welcoming of Ivan’s presence in his life. Or something of that sort. He didn’t send the text.
By the time Ivan showed up, the milk in the sweet cream had already separated due to the acidity of the lemonade. The dairy contents had curdled slightly, leaving flecks of some mysterious white substance floating around that Till wanted to stop thinking about.
“Dude. Seek help. Please.”
An unnervingly symmetrical smile overtook Ivan’s cheeks. “I’m glad to see you care so much about my mental wellbeing, Till.” He took a sip as if nothing was wrong. “How has your day been?”
“Normal. Until you showed up,” Till retorted.
“Oh? So my presence makes your day abnormal? Abnormal in a good way, I assume.”
“I can still hold my promise to throw your drink in your face.”
Mizi bounded over after overhearing that. Lightly slapping Till’s shoulder, she scolded, “Till! Don’t talk to customers like that! Especially if they’re Ivan!”
Ivan chuckled. “It’s fine, Mizi. That’s just Till’s way of expressing affection.”
It was not affection.
Speaking of, Till still wasn’t sure what to make of Ivan’s feelings towards him. His words towards Till always toed the line between playful and flirtatious; it was, honestly, driving him insane trying to make heads or tails of it. He hadn’t outright made a move, so Till had no reason to stop talking to him. Moreover, the company on slow days was nice, even if said company happened to be Ivan.
Till narrowed his eyes in Ivan’s direction. Maybe if he stared hard enough, he might be able to see right through him, right into his heart.
“Something on my shirt?” Ivan asked. He looked down to confirm his shirt was, in fact, clean. “Ahh, you’re just checking me out again?”
Mizi clamped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing as Till went through something akin to the five stages of grief. He couldn’t ask Ivan about something as personal as his feelings. Not in front of Mizi. Not even that directly. He would come off as… desperate. Not good. Even if he wasn’t trying to end up with him in the first place.
Ivan punctuated Till’s thoughts with another sip of his cold brew, as if he knew the very second Till’s anxious stream of consciousness reached its end.
“Well, work calls. See you around.”
Till couldn’t piece his brain back fast enough to say goodbye. Thankfully, Mizi grabbed his arm and wiggled it around in some sad attempt at a wave for him, so he didn’t seem like too much of an ass. Un-thankfully (Till was pretty sure that wasn’t a word, but whatever), as soon as the door shut behind Ivan, she turned to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively in Till’s direction.
“Soooo, you and Ivan…?”
Till stared at her, blank-faced. He’s not playing this game. Nope.
Mizi pouted. “C’mon, Till! Entertain me! You two seem to get along really well,” she added with a smile, angry facade breaking.
“We don’t get along,” Till barked. “We just talk when I’m on the night shift alone and it’s boring. So I don’t stick my hand in the blender in front of a customer or somethin’.”
“Ew,” Mizi replied to his choice of imagery. “Well, clearly you’re downplaying. You two talk as if you’ve known each other since you were kids!”
Till sighed. Once Mizi got some sort of romanticized idea of anything, she wouldn’t let it go. Better to just let her assume things than to continue on with the endless back-and-forth.
Mizi gasped in realization of something. “That reminds me! Till! You know how I proposed to Sua?” Till nodded. “Soo… we’re having a party to celebrate, and it would be really, really fun if you showed up!”
Parties weren’t his thing. He can’t even think of the last time he’d been to a party more grand than a small birthday gathering. More than likely, the answer was never. But Mizi’s eager face, her eyes shining in anticipation… were both really hard to say no to.
“F-fine…” Till glanced off to the side. He could go for a little bit. Just long enough to appease her.
Despite his lukewarm response, Mizi was overjoyed and jumping all throughout the store. A party’s a small price to pay to make her this happy, I guess.
He underestimated the power of a party. Mizi and Sua ushered him in and managed to get halfway through the house tour before someone came to drag them away for some issue. Probably someone who got too drunk or something. Whatever it was, Till was alone, left to cling to the wall for safety.
It was crowded, most of the invitees likely friends of Mizi’s. Whoever they were, he didn’t recognize a single one of them. Well, it’s fine. Told myself I wouldn’t be here long anyways, even if Mizi pulled some strings to get me the day off tomorrow. He scanned the crowd once again, hoping at least someone would be here.
A familiar face showed, finally. Much to his dismay.
“...Why are you here?”
Ivan chortled. “Am I not allowed to attend my own sister’s engagement party?”
Till could only retort with an animalistic growl. The worst part is that he’s totally within his right to be here. Meanwhile, I’m the one out of place. Ivan reveled in his victory and swirled the mysterious contents of his cup around with a grin.
“I’m gettin’ something to drink,” was his excuse to escape from Ivan. He safely made it to the kitchen, no Ivan in sight. Till constantly glanced over his shoulder as he threw a ton of ice in his cup, half-expecting Ivan to appear like a phantom in the night. Rum mingled with the ice soon enough. The kitchen was a safe space. No Ivan, no Mizi, no Sua. Just him.
As he was pouring Coke into the red solo cup, spindly fingers grabbed onto his shoulder. “I didn’t take you as the type to drink hard liquor,” Ivan whispered in his ear.
Till yelped and tilted the can too far forward. A rush of soda crashed down on his hand, the counter, the floor. Everywhere, really. Ivan stood and watched, arms crossed, as Till did everything in his power to minimize the damage, even if that meant using almost a whole roll of shitty paper towels that absorbed next to nothing.
“Would it have killed you to help…?” Till grumbled as he washed sticky sugar off his arm.
Ivan topped off Till’s drink with a new can of Coke, pouring whatever didn’t fit into his own drink. “There. I helped.”
“Gee, thanks…” Till grabbed his cup from the counter.
Ivan reached over to tap his cup to Till’s, exclaiming “Cheers!”
Till got a glimpse of Ivan’s drink. Unfortunately. Whatever was in there before wasn’t meant to be with Coke. He could smell it. He downed a large gulp of his normal beverage before pointing at Ivan, liquid courage necessary to even think about what concoction he whipped up.
“What the hell are you drinkin’? It smells like shit.”
“This?” Ivan took a meager sip. “Malibu rum and pineapple that Mizi made for me. At least, before I added the Coke.” Till couldn’t suppress his nose scrunching up at the thought.
“Did you lose your taste buds in a freak accident or somethin’?”
Ivan peered into the cup. “I think it’s fine.”
“Fine doesn’t cut it.” Till didn’t know why he was pitying the guy all of a sudden, but he found himself filling a cup with whatever sounded good together. Amaretto and ginger ale. Whatever. Fancy party drinks and whatnot. Surely better than coconut pineapple Coke.
“Not making one for yourself, too?” Ivan inquired as he took the cup handed to him.
Till stared down at the still-75%-full drink in his hands. “I’m not even close to done, dude.”
Ivan just blinked and drank a hearty gulp. “What if I want to make you a drink in return, though?”
“Hell no!” Till barked. “I know what you order, and I’m not putting myself through that…”
Ivan snickered. Apparently that asshole was aware his orders were disgusting. Ugh, gross. Till took another drink to hopefully ignore that fact. And then another to ignore the fact that, realistically, Ivan was the only person he knew at this party besides the hosts. And then another after that when he realized that Ivan likely knew a lot of people here if he ran in the same circles as Mizi and Sua, but chose to be here with Till. Probably out of pity. Till was gonna hurl.
Ivan perked his head in Till’s direction. “So, how’d you meet Mizi and Sua? Just work?”
“Yeah,” Till replied. A bit of a stupid question, honestly, but it’s better than silence. “Obviously you knew Sua for… yeah. But did you meet Mizi through her?”
Ivan nodded as he finished up the rest of his drink. “That’s right. We’ve known each other since elementary school…” he trailed off. He shook his empty cup. “Would you care to make me another drink? This one was really good.”
Till’s brain screamed to just tell him to make it by his damn self, but his hands instinctively reached for a bottle of something, who knows what. Tequila, it seemed, once he looked down. Whatever. One margarita won’t kill Till, or permanently endear Ivan to him.
He was wrong. Apparently Ivan really liked margaritas. And, apparently Till’s margarita was the first one he tried. So, Till kept on making them for whatever reason, and they’d ended up spending multiple hours just in the kitchen, talking and drinking.
Multiple times throughout the night, Ivan sidled himself closer to Till. Normally, his response would be to scratch and claw, growling something about personal space. But, in the clamor of the party, having someone pressed up against his side made the crowd feel more manageable, especially when other people came in to get their drinks. Without fail, every time someone entered the kitchen, Ivan’s hands ended up somewhere on Till. His shoulder, his hair; one time, he even poked his cheek.
Till was too wasted to analyze it, and he bet Ivan was too wasted to even be conscious of what he was doing.
A large group waltzed into the kitchen, their presence pushing the two further against the counter. So much for the kitchen being a safe space; it was quickly becoming co-opted by this other group. Till narrowed his eyes and threw a side glance over at Ivan.
Ivan’s fingers wrapped around his shoulder again, mouth pressed close to his ear. “It’s a little stuffy ‘n here, don’tcha think?”
Till felt all the tiny little hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Y-yeah, it’s, uh… yeah.”
Ivan’s hand clapped against his back as he pulled his head away from Till’s. “Stay, or go?”
“Go,” Till replied, slightly too quick for his own good.
The two chugged down the remainder of their drinks before scouring the whole house for either Mizi, Sua, or maybe the two of them if they were lucky. It felt like the whole room was spinning, but thankfully Ivan was willing to guide Till by the wrist around the house. He knew the place well. Till silently wondered if this was his childhood home, or if he just visited often. Before he could come to any conclusions, Mizi popped up in the corner of his eye.
Mizi rushed forward to clasp her hands around theirs. “Are you two leaving? Please tell me you aren’t driving like that!”
“No worries, Miziii!” Till slurred out. “Uber!” He wasn’t even sure if they were leaving leaving, but that felt like the right response.
She nodded and told them to be safe before Sua grabbed her hand to lead her off to some unknown destination. Sua didn’t look back at them, but at least Mizi waved goodbye.
The night air was refreshing against Till’s slightly damp skin. At least, until some warm, fluffy thing clamped down around his shoulders. A jacket…? Till looked up to see Ivan smiling down at him. Some warm, painful feeling panged in his chest.
“You looked cold, without long sleeves ‘n all,” he offered as an explanation.
Till tightened the bomber jacket around himself, trying really hard not to look at the form-fitting tank top Ivan had underneath it. He already has this weird idea of you checking him out all the time. Don’t need to make it worse. Just be normal.
“Thanks…” Till mumbled out. Yeah. Normal response.
Ivan sat down on the stairs leading to the front door and patted the ground next to him. Till joined, watching Ivan call an Uber over his shoulder. It was pretty boring stuff, honestly. The night was catching up to him, his head drooping closer and closer to resting in the crook of Ivan’s neck.
Eventually, he settled in on his shoulder. Ivan’s arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him a little closer. Till relished in the warmth radiating off of him. He closed his eyes for just a second.
When he woke back up, he was in the backseat of an unfamiliar car. Ivan was tugging at his seatbelt, helping him up to his feet. Till groggily examined the luxury apartment complex before his eyes that he could never afford to live in. “Mmh..? Wait-- why’d we get in the same car…?”
“...Did’ja not wanna come home with me?” Ivan curled his fingers through the hair resting at the nape of Till’s neck. Till’s limbs felt like jello with that simple tug of his hair. Feels so damn good… “Not like I could’a asked you when you were asleep, but I can order another Uber.”
“Iss fine,” he replied out of instinct, hoping Ivan’s hands would stay on his neck just a little longer. “It’ll be easier if we take the same car back ‘t Mizi’s…” Good reasoning. Yeah.
The two stumbled inside, shoes discarded by the front door and Ivan’s jacket haphazardly tossed on the floor. In the rush, Till felt the gross, sticky soda stains on his shirt rub against his skin. He was used to being sticky (unfortunately) because he’s spilled a fair share of drinks on himself throughout his year-long tenure as a barista, but sticky on bare skin and not an apron was a different level of nasty.
In the midst of a drunken haze, the correct solution to Till was to undress himself unceremoniously in the staircase leading up to whatever room Ivan was guiding him to.
Ivan looked back to check on him and nearly fell down the stairs. “What…” a deep, leveled inhale coursed through his body. “...What are you doin’?”
“M’ clothes are sticky…”
Ivan’s eyes flitted down to the bundle of t-shirt and jeans Till was holding. “I, uh, I see. I can wash them for you?”
Till trailed him to the washing machine and watched him throw the clothes in alongside a pile of other dirty items. Ivan led him back to another room down the hall, one with a big bed topped in fluffy covers and walls covered in records, illuminated solely by a star-shaped lamp hanging from the ceiling.
“You can, um, sleep here,” Ivan offered, still staring anywhere but in Till’s direction. Till didn’t hesitate to jump in the cloud-like mattress, relishing in how it didn’t so much as give a squeak in resistance. Ivan waved and made to close the door.
“Wait,” Till whined. Ivan peered out of the small crack in the door. “‘M cold.”
Ivan opened the door a little more. “I can bring you some clothes?”
“No. Wanna cuddle…” he mumbled. He didn’t quite know why, but having someone next to him seemed appealing for the night. Ivan sighed before doing as asked. He kept space between himself and Till, but Till made it his mission to remove any semblance of distance between them, even if it meant the two of them were sleeping on the left side of the mattress.
It felt nice, curling up to Ivan’s side, draping an arm over his torso. When Ivan relaxed and stopped sleeping in a ramrod-straight position, pulling Till closer to his chest, that felt nice too. Naturally, Till drifted off to sleep as well.
Till didn’t remember his pillow being this hard. Or… warm? Maybe he brought something odd in with him last night. He perked his head up to check, and…
“Waahahhghh! What the fuck are you doing in my room!???!?”
Ivan rolled over in his sleep, eyes still closed. “Iss my room…” he mumbled.
Till’s eyes darted around in search of an exit. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way. Why am I in his room. In the same bed as him. Lying centimeters away from him. Something is wrong with me. His eyes met what he assumed to be the hallway door and he threw the covers off himself to bolt for it.
The open air brought a chill to his bare skin. A piercing headache made him crash back into the mattress.
“Ivan.” Till picked up his -- no, Ivan’s pillow and threw it at him. “Where are my clothes!?”
Ivan’s eyes peeked over the pillow. “In the washing machine.”
Calm, Till. Calm. “Why?”
“You asked me to. Said they were too sticky.”
Why were my clothes sticky. Please don’t tell me. Please don’t tell me they’re sticky ‘cus we… Suddenly, Ivan’s room wasn’t so cold. It was hot. Blistering, even. Till bolted back into a seated position from shock.
“Did-- did we, uhm. Did we… do anything?” Till’s eyes darted around the room for signs. Evidence of illicit activities. Ivan wasn’t wearing a shirt either.
“You perv.” Ivan grinned, catlike. “We did nothing of the sort.”
“T-then where is your,” gulp, “your shirt?”
Ivan grabbed it from the nightstand to his left. “It was too hot with you all cuddled up against me. Not that I mind, but I would’ve overheated had I worn that all night long.”
There is definitely something wrong with me.
Till stared down at the comforter, lost in thought. He knew he was pretty drunk last night, but he can’t imagine that any amount of liquor would make him want to curl up on Ivan’s soft pecs or anything… Stop that.
“...Can I just get my clothes back?” Till asked dejectedly.
Getting his clothes turned out to be a multi-hour affair. Turns out, Ivan put them in the washing machine overnight, so they still had to dry. And then, he insisted on bringing Till breakfast in bed (not like Till could leave bed in just his underwear, and he sure as hell wasn’t borrowing Ivan’s clothes just for that). His idea of “breakfast” was a three-course meal, which probably took longer to make than it did for the clothes to dry.
Whatever, it was free. …And really good.
When he was (finally) sufficiently clothed to step outside without permanently getting a misdemeanor added to his record, Till also had to come to grips with the realization that he took an Uber to Ivan’s place last night. Meaning, his car was still at Mizi’s house. Or Sua’s. Or their shared house. One of those. It didn’t really matter to him; either way, it was practically in the same vein as a walk of shame the night after a one night stand at your neighbor’s.
Apparently, Ivan had a second car, so he could drive the two of them there and get someone to drive his other car back. How he afforded two cars in this day and age on a single salary was unbeknownst to Till. Maybe he was secretly a sugar baby or something. The idea made Till giggle out loud, Ivan quirking an eyebrow in his direction.
The ride there was quick, silent, save for the muffled alternative rock coming from the radio. Till stared out the window the whole time, willing himself to not so much as glance in Ivan’s direction. When the streets turned half-familiar, he realized they were in the neighborhood.
“What type of car do you drive?” Ivan asked.
“...A Prius?” Till didn’t see the importance of the question, but whatever.
It made sense soon enough when Ivan pulled in to park right in front of Till’s car, a dinky, washed-out teal Prius he bought off of Craigslist for a fraction of the original cost. Granted, he probably ended up spending just as much repairing the thing, but it drove well so he didn’t really give much of a shit.
“Bye,” Till offered before slamming the car door shut. Weird situation over. Maybe Ivan got the message and would stop bugging him at work now. Though, rainy days would be pretty boring without him around… maybe Till could keep him around. Just for that purpose, obviously.
He heard Ivan roll down his window. “Till!” he called out, drumming his fingers on the car door as if Till were a kitty that would be attracted to his side by the noise. Unrelated to that, Till ended back up at Ivan’s car door.
“Before you go,” Ivan started. “I don’t know if you ended up having a good time, but I know I did, at least. If you want to do something like that again…” he trailed off, eyes roaming over something in his car. “You know where to find me,” he winked.
So that’s it. Him making his move. Shooting his shot. Till opened his mouth to reject Ivan, to get it all over with, just like he prepared himself before when he first got his number.
Something caught in his throat.
Actually, a really weird sound came out of Till. And then, he had a really strong urge to run to his car and nearly activate the airbags with how hard he slammed his head into the wheel. Why is telling him “no” so hard? It’s literally one word, Till.
His phone buzzed.
ivan
------------
Everything ok?
yup
so fine
finest i’ve ever been
Why’d I have to be born as such a bad liar?
Bzzzt. Till pulled the sticker and noted Ivan’s name at the top. It’s short, but I still have to prepare myself for the worst…
Grande iced vanilla latte.
Why is it normal? Why am I scared that it’s normal?
“Suaaa,” he called out. She perked up from where she was washing dishes in the back.
“Huh?”
“Your brother’s back. He ordered something normal this time!”
“Okay? Don’t see why it’s a big deal…” A devilish grin overtook her features. “Although, I guess it must be quite exciting for you, considering you two, you know…
“We…?” He didn’t like the implication.
She set down a spoon she was vigorously scrubbing gunk off of. “You went home together after the party. I don’t want to think about what happened, considering that’s my brother and all, but I’d have to be stupid to not know. Congratulations, by the way.”
Till could feel his face heating up. From anger, naturally. No other reason.
“We did nothing like that!”
The doorbells jingled. Mechanically, Till and Sua called out a “Welcome!” before realizing the incoming customer was none other than Ivan himself. Till couldn’t erase the pink on his cheeks and ears before he made it to the counter.
“This is-- this- this is your order?” Stupid, stupid. Try to sound normal.
“Well, my name’s on it, so I’d say yeah,” Ivan smirked.
Embarrassed, Till focused on making his drink while Sua occupied Ivan with a staring contest. Drink finished rather quickly, he turned around to a Sua with watery eyes, trying really hard not to blink. She eventually gave in, wiping the tears on her sleeve.
“I’ll leave you two, then,” she said coolly as she turned on her heel and left.
That left Till alone. With Ivan. Nobody was in the cafe either. Till shakily offered the cup to him. Ivan took it, fingers lingering a little too long against Till’s.
“What’s with the normal drink…?” It came out more sheepish than Till intended.
“I’ve already succeeded in getting your attention, haven't I? No need to abuse my taste buds any further,” he replied with a grin.
“Go-- go fuck yourself,” Till scoffed. He could feel his whole body shaking. From anger. That’s why his face was red too.
Ivan just smiled like the cat that got the cream.