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1.
Ivan stares at Till. His taller figure hunched over a sketchpad, his eyes furiously going back and forth from Ivan and the paper, his hands furiously scribbling at the paper… He remembers their teacher telling Till that he was a good artist, and that Ivan should be a good friend and model for him.
It seems that their teacher’s words got to him, because once they got home from school, Till immediately made Ivan hold still and pose for him. And he does — he tries to hold still, to not fiddle with the flower crown on his head, to not twitch and scratch the itch on his ankle.
He’s halfway to asking if they were done yet when Till jumps up — “I’m done!”
He looks proud, looks happy. He struts over to where Ivan sits on the grass and presents his drawing, grinning.
It’s a drawing of Ivan with the red flower crown draped over his black hair, his abyssal eyes a black smudge that has a dot of red. He’s expressionless, he guesses, and there’s a huge fang that hangs over his lip.
He thinks it’s too exaggerated; the sun is too big, the grass is too green, Ivan is too kind looking. He thinks it looks perfect.
“It could be better.” He settles, making sure his hands don’t crinkle the paper as he holds it close to his chest.
Till looks angry, and they have a little tousle for the paper with the drawing.
Ivan wins, naturally.
(He frames it and has it on his bedside table until he has to leave for college, wherein he had made sure to take it with him for safe keeping.)
—
2.
They’re coming home from the talent show, and Till is silent, only kicking the rocks on the pavement and scuffing his converse against the asphalt ground. The Fifth grade angst was getting to him, it seems.
He murmurs something underneath his breath, something about having to be stuck with Ivan now, even when he already had the worst day.
Till had performed on his electric guitar that day. He played a song that he wrote himself with a music score that he composed himself and he, himself, sang and played. It was raw talent and pure ambition. Still, an older kid won, one who performed a song and dance.
Ivan thinks Till should have won.
“I don’t need that stupid guitar anyway…” He hears Till curse under his breath, and that’s how Ivan notices that he doesn’t have his red electric guitar with him.
“Did you leave it?” Ivan butts in, tilting his head, confused. Till loves that guitar more than anything.
“No. I threw it out.” Till says, clearly bothered.
He thinks he shouldn’t be so stumped over this, not when his talent is clearly better than the one who won. He thinks Till shone the brightest, the most brilliantly between those two. He was the fireflies at night; he easily drew you in, with his life and seeming attainability, in contrast to the stars. He devastatingly realizes Till is the most perfect person to grace this earth. “Why? You clearly need the practice if you wanna win.”
Till seems to get even more upset at the words and remains silent until they reach their houses, just beside each other. Just on time, too, as it starts raining.
(Later, Till finds the same electric guitar he threw out at school sitting at his front door. Ivan’s absent for a few days because of a fever.)
—
3.
Currently, Till’s been busy with trying to get a girl’s attention.
Middle school brought about many changes, it seems. Ivan has gained height, taller than Till now; he also gains the ability to not be so expressionless, inviting many people to like him and befriend him. This also means change for Till, though — he notes, as he watches his dearest friend sketch Mizi, a new student.
He used to be the one Till sketched on the margins of their books, the one he used to trail after during breaks despite pretending to not like it, the one he’d analyze as if he were trying to memorize his face inch by inch.
Now, it was Mizi.
He feels himself frown. He can’t quite confront why he doesn’t like that — jealousy? Because his best friend is being stolen from him? Because he doesn’t have as much time to spend with his best friend? That usually seemed to be the case, back during elementary and even now, in middle school.
“Ivan!” A girl calls for him, and he gives an easy-going smile to her, looking away from Till. “The boys said they’re gonna play soccer in the free period later and are asking if you want to come with?”
“Count me in,” Ivan replies, and ignores the way she seems to blush at that.
“Great!” She says, but hangs around. He takes that as a chance and turns to the silver haired beside him,
“Do you wanna come too?” He smiles at Till gently.
“Huh, me?” Till perks up, looking away from his notebook. He seemed to be making a song, now.
“Yeah,” He gives an indulgent chuckle.
“Oh, sorry, but…” He scratches at his head. He seems to be looking for an excuse, but he knows the reason behind his rejection — because he wanted to be with Mizi. Because of Mizi.
He’s being replaced.
His mouth twitches and he feels his fang cut a bit into his lower lip. His veins seem to go cold despite it being hotter these days, enough to make them wear their summer uniforms. He tries not to look discouraged, look as hurt as he feels.
It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel nice. He doesn’t feel fine. Is Till replacing him now?
“It’s fine,” He shrugs and turns to the girl. “By the way, you needed help with that one homework, right…?”
(Later, while playing, he tries to ignore the fact that the benches look empty without seeing Till on it, or how quieter the whole game feels without him yelling to have the ball.)
—
4.
“Dude,” He hears Till curse from where he’s sprawled on the couch. “Mizi said Isaac and Dewey just beat the shit outta each other!”
Ivan’s gone a long way now, and he finds that he doesn’t twitch at the mention of Mizi from Till, now. He’s over the hurt, for the most part. At least Till doesn’t completely forsake him for her now.
“What happened this time?” Ivan raises an eyebrow from where he’s making the two of them hot chocolate, the living room and kitchen connected. The other seems to be furiously typing.
“Motherfucker!” He sits up, raising his phone as if Ivan can read it from the distance between them. “Apparently, Dewey confessed to Isaac mid-fight, and that just made Isaac angrier because he’d thought it was one-sided this whole time!”
Till goes on to ramble about this or that about the two, but Ivan feels himself blank. Isaac and Dewey like each other? That’s allowed?
From what he’d observed, it was always just a girl and a boy liking each other. It was always that, and never two girls, never two guys. I mean, it’s probably as friends, right? No way two boys like each other…
Ivan laughs at a comment Till makes, and jokes, “Don’t worry, Till, I don’t like you like that.”
(Later, Ivan watches the stars as he feels tears stream down his face — two boys can’t like each other. You’d have to be lucky like Isaac and Dewey for it to work.)
(Ivan was never lucky.)
—
5.
Ivan is packing up his entire room, and he never realized how hard it was to try and fit his whole life in one suitcase. Why did nobody warn him about this aspect of college?
He’s sitting down, carefully sorting through the scratch papers he’d found around his room. He finds a familiar picture, and stops to carefully look at a drawing Till had made of him as a kid, red flower crown and all.
“You still have that shit?!” He hears Till yell and he immediately stands up to hold it away from the other. “Bastard! Using your height isn’t fair!”
“You gave it to me, I get to keep it.” He grins down at Till.
“Correction, you took it from me after insulting me!”
“You know I didn’t mean that,”
“Uhuh, how can you be sure?”
He chuckles, “I’ve said a lot of things I didn’t mean, Till.”
“So you’re not just a stealing tall bastard but also a lying one. Stacking it all up for your future girlfriend, aren’t you?”
I don’t need a girlfriend. I don’t want one. I want you. Why can’t you see, you’re the one I long for? The only one who can deal with me? Or is it that I’m too much, even for you? Is that why you can’t bring yourself to look at me as you look at Mizi?
“She’ll learn to love me,” He winks instead. “I’ve got a pretty good face.”
(Later, on Ivan’s flight away from South Korea, he looks down at the country he’d spent his whole life in. He thinks about Till, their houses that were together, the same school they’d live in. He thinks if Till can’t love him, then nobody can. Not when he bore his whole soul to Till, and nobody else.)
—
+1
“I have a question for Ivan,” One of the many interviewers speaks up and catches Ivan’s attention. He motions for them to speak. “What was your inspiration for writing this new series, Black Sorrow? And what inspired you to act in your own series?”
“Black Sorrow’s born from a lot of built up feelings from childhood,” He hums, answering honestly. He smiles at the press. “It’s not that I had a sad one — rather, I feel it’s more regretful. I wanted to make sure that if there’s anybody out there that’s like me, even a little bit, that they can find the courage to be in movement. To touch the flame, to make the leap. I also felt that I’d be the best option for the actor because I know the script best, but you can all judge in tomorrow’s premiere.”
They clap, and he laughs, and they all continue on with questions until their time together ends.
He finds he doesn’t mind where he settles now in life. A renowned actor and writer, well-known and respected… And it’s not like he’s alone, either; people are drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
Still, he talks to Till from time to time. He can never quite let go of the familiarity they have.
The humor of his whole circle of friends from high school somehow ending up in the limelight in adulthood is not lost on him.
His phone ringing breaks him from his train of thought. Thankfully, he’s now in the comfort of his car. He asks his driver to take him home, and then picks up.
“Ivan,” Till immediately greets. A pleasant surprise. Any day that Till decides to call him is immediately a good day, even if it’s now technically night.
“Till,” He smiles, and leans back on his seat. “What’s wrong? Need anything?”
However, the other didn’t seem open to small talk that night, immediately cutting to the chase — “Is Black Sorrow about me?”
Black Sorrow was marketed as a young love between two high school boys who had grown up together. It was unrequited, but the viewers still don’t know that; not when it has yet to be released. Still, it’s true that Black Sorrow is based on his experiences with Till — how he had given up a lot of himself just to have a little bit of Till.
But he could lie. He could say otherwise, say it was inspired by a song. He could say he just based it off of them, but he never viewed Till in a romantic light. He could silence himself, as he always had.
But maybe the years have made him mellow. Maybe he’s tired, or maybe he’s hopeful. Maybe he’s still on his high from Isaac and Dewey’s engagement, or Mizi and Sua’s anniversary. Maybe he’s too hopeful. Because he speaks —
“Yeah.”
(Later, Till is waiting in front of his apartment. He looks as if he’s been crying, and he immediately kisses Ivan when he comes close enough.)
(Till cries again, in his arms, during their kiss.)
(“I thought I was too late,” Till sobs. “I knew I shouldn’t expect anything after making you suffer alone since middle school. But I love you, I love you so much and I wished you loved me too, still. How did you bear this alone?”)
(“I wasn’t alone,” Ivan kisses the tears away, doesn’t mind the fact that they’re still not inside the apartment. “I had you, even if not like this yet. I knew I could wait.”)