Ivan had always been the kind of guy who moved through life like he owned every moment. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a confident grin that rarely left his face, he was the star athlete of the campus dorms. Till, by contrast, was the shadow to Ivan’s spotlight—pale, always dressed in black, with silver piercings catching light like tiny stars against his skin. Till lived off-campus with his mom, far from the noisy energy of the dorms, and their interactions were always brief, sharp, and charged with unspoken tension.

That night, a small fire broke out in Ivan’s dorm room. It started near his cluttered desk—maybe a candle knocked over, or a forgotten cigarette—but the smoke billowed quickly, thick and choking. The fire alarms shattered the usual nighttime silence, sending everyone scrambling. Ivan’s heart hammered so hard he thought it might burst. The confident bravado that usually defined him dissolved into something raw and vulnerable. His breaths came fast, eyes wide as he rushed outside, the acrid taste of smoke burning his throat.

Once safe, Ivan didn’t want to return to the chaos of the dorm or the judging stares of his teammates. Instead, on a sudden impulse, he texted Till. Surprised but not unkind, Till invited him over. So Ivan found himself, shaking slightly, sitting beside the boy who had always been his “enemy” on his large darkly coloured bed, in a dimly lit room that smelled faintly of incense and old books.

Till watched quietly as Ivan’s chest rose and fell, the fire’s fear still simmering in his eyes. Ivan’s usual swagger was gone—his strong hands now gentle, almost hesitant as they moved. He reached out slowly, fingers trembling, tracing the delicate line of Till’s jaw, moving carefully over the small silver rings and studs piercing his skin. The cold metal was a shock to Ivan’s warm touch, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands explored with a newfound reverence, as if discovering a secret map.

Till’s breath hitched, not sure what to say or do. The loud jock was gone—the boy before him was softer, quieter, almost like a frightened puppy seeking comfort. Ivan’s fingers lingered, caressing the edges of Till’s piercings, following the curve of his collarbone, his touch both reverent and unsure.