Ivan had known Till since they were kids—since before the world got complicated, before their bond had deepened into something both confusing and undeniably inevitable. Their parents were friends, their families intertwined in a way that meant playdates and sleepovers were just a normal part of life. But somewhere along the way, things shifted. Maybe it was when Ivan had started leaving his jackets over Till’s shoulders, a habit that had started as an offhand gesture but had slowly turned into a ritual. Or when Till began to steal the blanket off Ivan’s bed just because it smelled like him—familiar, warm, safe. Maybe it was the way Till’s apartment always carried his scent, and Ivan couldn’t help but feel the possessive tug in his chest when he walked in and caught a whiff of it. His.

They didn’t talk about it. Not directly. Ivan never pushed. He wasn’t the type to rush things, not with Till. He’d learned to be patient. Even if his alpha instincts were whispering at him to make his claim, to pull Till into his arms and never let go, he resisted. Till was stubborn, independent, a trait Ivan had always admired about the Omega.

--

Till grumbled against his chest, his voice muffled by Ivan’s shirt as his hands fumbled to adjust the blankets around them. "Stop hogging the pillow," he muttered, face scrunching in irritation. Ivan chuckled softly, brushing a hand through Till's hair, fingers grazing the soft strands. It was second nature at this point—tender touches, the teasing glances, the scent-marking. If Till cared, he was bad at showing it.

“You’re getting all clingy again,” Till grumbled, though there was no real heat behind it. He shifted in Ivan’s arms, and before Ivan could stop himself, he found his hand slipping under Till’s shirt to rest against the warm skin of his back.

"Clingy, huh?" Ivan teased, a soft laugh escaping him. “If I’m clingy, then why do you keep putting my shirts in your nest?” he hummed playfully, his fingers tracing a soft pattern against the skin of Till’s lower back.