Till stormed down the hallway like a force no one dared challenge, his steps heavy, filled with a restless fury that set the air on edge. Without warning, he shoved Ivan hard against the cold, unforgiving metal lockers. The sharp clang echoed off the walls, reverberating in the sudden silence that followed.

Ivan’s back hit the locker with a jolt. The cold metal bit through his shirt, sharp and unyielding. A faint taste of blood welled in the corner of his mouth from where his lip had split. But he didn’t flinch. Instead, he stood still, meeting Till’s burning, furious eyes with a slow, almost mocking smile.

Till’s breath was ragged, his glare fierce — raw and dangerous. It wasn’t just anger; it was a storm of broken pieces, a desperate kind of violence that Ivan recognized beneath the surface.

The shove was violent, meant to push him away. Yet Ivan felt the pull like a magnet, a sharp current running through his veins. The way Till’s rage bled through every wordless moment between them, rough and jagged, stirred something fierce inside Ivan — something dark and alive.

This wasn’t just hate. It was brutal honesty, laid bare in every clenched jaw, every flicker of pain behind Till’s eyes. There was a challenge in the fury, a silent dare to stay, to break, to feel.

And Ivan wanted that. He craved the heat, the chaos, the raw edge of Till’s aggression. The way it tore through the meaningless noise around them, cutting straight to something real.

The cold locker pressed against his back was harsh, but the fire in Till’s eyes burned hotter. In that moment, pain was no longer a warning. It was an invitation.

And Ivan stepped forward, into the blaze — ready to burn.