Till’s fist connected with Ivan’s side, shoving him hard against the lockers. The metal jarred sharply under the impact, the clang echoing down the empty hallway like a gunshot. Till’s breath came out ragged, his muscles still tense from the sudden release of frustration.

He expected the usual reaction—a flinch, a stumble, maybe even anger or fear. But Ivan didn’t move. He just stood there, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, eyes locking onto Till’s with that slow, crooked smile. It wasn’t a smile born of pain or fear. It was a challenge. A dare.

That smile twisted something deep inside Till, something raw and unfamiliar. A cold knot tightened in his gut, squeezing away the anger he thought had full control. Why wasn’t Ivan scared? Why did it feel like he wanted this? Like the shove, the violence, stirred something alive inside him? like he was enjoying it?

Till’s mind raced, confused and tangled. He hated how much that idea unsettled him, how it made his blood pound faster in a way that had nothing to do with rage.

He hated how the rawness of it all—Ivan’s defiance, that stupid smile—pulled at something he didn’t want to admit was there.

This wasn’t just about anger anymore. It wasn’t just a fight or some meaningless schoolyard power play.

It was something darker. Something messy. Something dangerous.

And as Till stared into Ivan’s eyes, he realized the line between hate and something else was thinner than he thought.