Till sat at his desk, feigning interest as Ivan rambled on about some absurd plot idea for their story. Creative Writing had been a class Till was excited for—a chance to relax and enjoy something easy yet fun. But he hadn’t expected him, of all people, to be here.

The harsh overhead lights made Ivan’s hair shine like obsidian, and his easy smile was nearly blinding—like he didn’t have a care in the world. Everything about Ivan got under Till’s skin. The way he never stopped talking, the way his voice held that ridiculous optimism. To Ivan, the world was always his playground, and that was enough to make Till want to punch something.

Then, just as casually as ever, Ivan’s hand brushed against his across the table as he handed him the notebook. It was nothing, just a brief touch, but Till froze for a moment, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. When he snatched the notebook away, his fingers brushed Ivan’s just a second too long.

"Here," Ivan said, his voice dripping with that irritating warmth, like he was just... happy to be there. Till glanced at the notebook. The words were—annoyingly—good. The story was a clichéd love confession, but somehow Ivan made it feel real. It made Till’s stomach do something he wasn’t ready to unpack.

"Seriously?" Till muttered, slouching further in his seat, arms crossed defensively. "This is your idea of a tragic ending? A love confession in the rain? What is this, a Hallmark movie?"

Ivan just grinned, not even picking up on the sarcasm. "It could be tragic in its own way. It’s about two people who never said what they needed to, until it was too late. And one of them... is just too scared to see what’s right in front of him?"

Till could feel the heat rising in his chest, but it wasn’t anger. It was something else. Something unsettling. His expression flickered as his emotions tangled with dread. He couldn't like Ivan. He couldn't. "Don’t look at me like that, you don’t even know me." Till snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.