oh, andrew…
the guy couldn’t get off of ivan’s mind.
no wonder why. ivan had loved him. more than his heart, his brain could handle it. he’d been raised in a homophobic household, so he had conflicting feelings about having romance with another man. his father, although dead, still had problems with ivan merely letting andrew move in in andrew’s time of need. andrew had been so grateful for ivan’s gesture, whilst he had still been oblivious to the world of abuse the offer had opened up to.
“h-hey, ivan… thank you for letting me stay in your apartment… i don’t know how to thank you enough…”
the words of thanking that had spilled from andrew’s mouth that afternoon continuously kept on bouncing about in ivan’s head. he’d never forget the look on andrew’s face, when he first brought up the offer of letting andrew move in for a while. andrew had ended up staying way longer than the intended week or two, & instead stayed for two months, going on to three. nevertheless, ivan had secretly been thrilled about andrew’s extended stay… but he hadn’t executed that happiness in exactly the right way, had he?
ivan had tortured andrew during his entire stay. he’d forced andrew to sleep on the floor, on top of a dinky old raglan sleeping bag, instead of the perfectly good couch. he’d yelled at andrew, nearly every day, & continuously pestered andrew about implementing his writings into the game andrew was producing. no matter how many times andrew refused, ivan always kept on insisting. persisting.
eventually, it had gotten to a point where andrew couldn’t take it anymore.
“im moving out, ivan.”
that night, well… it was christmas eve. they didn’t even have a tree set up, as andrew was continuously working on his game & ivan was doing things on his own path. those words, well, they had sent a shiver of dread down ivan’s spine. he shuddered just at the thought of the words, which had been the opening cause of their argument that followed… & andrew’s death.
the tumour, that little pesky voice in his head that had made ivan hurt the one he loved most in the first place, spoke to ivan that night: get the axe.
that axe, it had been passed down to ivan by his father, after the latter’s death. ivan’s father had been a fireman, & the hatchet hanging on his bedroom wall on some sort of plaque like it was worth something continuously reminded ivan day by day of the cause of his father’s untimely death. the last thing ivan remembered of that night… was driving the blade of the rusty old axe straight into andrew’s head. well, if he couldn’t have andrew, no one could.
he’d kissed the corpse that night as well. he’d done the one thing he’d been dying to do ever since he realised his feelings for andrew, yet it had none of the joy-rush nor happiness, or even reciprocation, that ivan had wished for for so long.
ivan’s days, after that fateful one, passed by all in a massive blur of black & white; he could recall anything from the past day, couldn’t remember what he had to do the next day or even on the current. he missed andrew, so bad it made ivan’s world turn to monochrome around him & made his chest squeeze every single time he laid eyes upon the corner that he’d forced andrew to sleep in. ivan looked down in shame every time he saw that corner.
ivan’s eyes fluttered open. another restless night of failed sleep had passed, just as usual. he got up out of bed, got dressed, & headed out of the door from his apartment room. he didn’t dare glance up from the floor for fear of looking at the corner again.
ivan unlocked the front door & stepped through. he had just turned around to shut & lock the door behind him when he heard a sound coming from the hallway to the right.
thud. thud. thud.
ivan flinched. the footsteps sounded exactly how andrew’s had done after andrew stormed out of the apartment after another particularly bad argument. ivan looked up, turning his head to the right.
his eyes widened, heart nearly stuttering to a stop as he immediately recognised the flash of yellow & pink heading straight for him.
“..andrew?”