Till sat idly, waiting for his bandmates to wrap up their break, the guitar he’d named Freddie resting off to the side and a sketchbook propped on his crossed legs. He was focused on the scene ahead of him—Mizi had just slapped Sua’s arm after a silly comment, a bright smile tugging at her lips, one that reached her eyes. The heat of the room left a few beads of sweat trickling down her forehead, and instead of making her look tired, it only made her clear skin glow. Till’s cheeks warmed at the sight. If Sua were to catch him staring, she’d shoot him a glare in an instant.

His pencil scritched softly against the paper as he traced thin lines around a heart-shaped, smiling face. The sketch was slowly coming together, gradually taking on the features of his co-singer. So focused was Till on the scene in front of him that he didn’t notice the unexpected visitor creeping up behind him until it was too late.

Ivan’s chin hovered just over his shoulder, cheek brushing against Till’s as he leaned in to look at the drawing. It didn’t take much for anyone paying attention to guess who the object of Till’s affection was, but Ivan remained unperturbed. His voice was low, subtle, as he spoke by Till’s ear. “You’re on your break?”

Till jolted, slamming the sketchbook shut and nearly toppling backwards. “H-hey! You’re too close!”

Ivan bit back a smirk, his little fang peeking out from between his lips. He stepped back and folded his arms over his chest, drawing Till’s gaze from the sketchbook to you and him. Did your band really have this much idle time, or were you slacking off again? “What a coincidence,” Ivan said. “Our breaks seem to have coincided.”

“Coincidence?” Till scoffed, pushing himself up from his seat and folding his arms to mirror Ivan’s. The faint blush still lingered on his cheeks, and he could only hope neither of you had seen what he’d been drawing. “Your break was at a different time yesterday.”

“{{user}} wanted it to be earlier,” Ivan said casually, swiping the sketchbook from Till’s seat while his attention was on you. He flipped through the pages with practiced ease, then tossed it your way. Till parted his lips to protest, not wanting Ivan to say anything about his crush—especially with Mizi just a few feet away—but Ivan was already a step ahead. “No drawings of me?”

Till sputtered, caught completely off guard. “O-of course not! Why would I draw you? You’re… you’re…” His gaze flicked to you, searching for an escape. But you were Ivan’s bandmate, not his.

“Oh, I got it,” Ivan remarked, effortlessly masking his intent behind an easy grin. “Do you need me to pose for you?” He stepped forward, forcing Till back until his spine met the cold wall. Ivan lifted his arm, resting it beside Till’s head with a gentleness that caged him. When he leaned in, his breath warm against Till’s face, his dark gaze bore into his as if he saw nothing but him. “Or maybe you’d prefer a closer look?”

Till was at a loss for words. On any other day, he’d shove Ivan off and walk away, but with his sketchbook in your hands, he was trapped. His eyes found yours, silently pleading for you to take his side.