Work Text:
“I knew there’s something wrong with you! So, what are you? A drug-dealer? Or maybe a human trafficker?”
“…Excuse me?”
Ivan is sitting next to Till on a cold metallic seat of the Seoul airport waiting room, phone in hands. The seat is a bit uncomfortable, but they’ll manage. Sua should be arriving soon: she just texted him she needs to get her bags. Crazy how much stuff she managed to drag over from Saint-Petersburg. Dresses, shoes, coats, a hand-crafted mug with bunny ears, small paper inserts with pictures of the city that went with chocolates, and even her student pass. Then again, it’s not like Ivan would be any better.
“You’re using telegram,” Till says triumphantly. He is leaning over Ivan’s shoulder, looking at strings and strings of Cyrillic on the screen. Till’s cheek almost brushes his, but he barely leans into the touch. Unlike Till or his sister, he has some dignity. (Or, perhaps, receiving attention in the form of fists to one’s “ugly mug” is easier and much less obvious).
“Yes, I am indeed using telegram,” Ivan sighs. Till leans in closer, practically hanging over Ivan’s shoulder. His finger is pointing at the screen. Oh, another message from Sua. She’s almost here.
Hurry up…
“No, no, no, you don’t get it,” Till says. He breathes out a gust of air in Ivan’s direction. The air is slightly alcohol scented and sweet. Mizi, who went away to buy some water to help Till sober up (“I didn’t even drink that much!”) has no idea that he was trying to drown his hapless sorrows away today’s morning. After all, even he, no matter how dense he is, can notice the way Mizi is straight up glowing at the sheer mention of Sua.
“You don’t get it,” Till repeats. “The only people who use telegram are drug-dealers and human-traffickers. Also, like, hackers and maybe robbers… And…” he starts listing out the options. Unfortunately, Ivan is neither of those. Not even a robber: he didn’t manage to steal Till’s heart.
“I’m literally using it to text Sua right now.”
“Good. I knew I were up against a criminal.”
“My mother uses it, too. Do you think she is a drug-dealer?”
“Might be. Would explain why everyone in your family is so fucked up,” Till says, pulling back from Ivan’s shoulder falling onto his ass. His hair seems a little electricized, probably from Ivan’s woolen sweater. Nevertheless, it makes him look like a cute, angry little cat as he’s folding his arms indignantly and sulking with a tiny petulant pout.
“Personally, I’d settle for a trafficker, though,” Till continues. “She clearly took the prettier sibling with her for a reason.”
Rude.
“Oh, so Sua is pretty now?” Ivan asks, a little bitter perhaps. Till lets out a whine.
“Yeah, she’s pretty and smart…” another whine. “I got nothing against her.”
“Yes, indeed…” Ivan says quietly, nervously tapping on the phone screen. Sua, where the fuck are you?
“Why's all your family like that…” whine-whine-whi- what? Ivan turns around to see Till covering his face with his hands. He leans back on the cold wall, slightly banging his head against it. It’s barely noticeable, but, if you look really closely (or if you’re just really attentive, like Ivan is), you can see the pinkish color of Till’s cheeks underneath his hands. Ah, there comes another whine.
“Hm?” Ivan hums. “What did you say?”
“Eh?” Till is opening up one of his hands, his eyes blurry. “What did I what?”
“What did you–“
“IVAN!”
Sua, why do you… Why are you… Always, always at the wrong time!..
Sua, with a hefty backpack on her back, and an enormous purple suitcase, glares at him from a few meters away. He waves at her sourly. Till next to him loses it completely this time and buries his head in his knees.
“Where’s Mizi?” Sua asks, approaching them. Her hair looks a little uncombed and her eyes are outlined with deep dark purple. She never did like flights.
“Went to get some water,” Ivan answers. Sua frowns, then turns her glare to Till, who is still trying to become as small as ever or, ideally, disappear off the face of planet Earth. Sua smells the air. A disapproving shake of her head immediately follows.
“We wait for Mizi then,” she says, sitting down near Till and sweeping invisible dust off her skirt. Even when he’s like that, she still prefers him to Ivan. Why do you hate me so, sister?
“Then I’ll take you to a restaurant,” Sua continues. “But you,” she points at Till, though he cannot see it, “you are not drinking.”
“What, not even coffee?” Till asks mildly.
“No.”
Whine-whine-whine-whine-and-whine…
In the crowd, Ivan thinks, he notices a girl with pink hair. He sighs. Hopefully, the food will be good.