Exhibit A:

"Everyone, line it up in the kitchen! We're doing shots!"

Though Ivan isn't familiar with many of the others at this party (that he's been invited to only because he had been standing next to Toris when Feliks approached him to announce his party) he follows everyone's lead and stands up next to the bar in the kitchen where a line of shot glasses are being filled with either vodka or what he's sure is tequila. He makes sure that he's within reach of the vodka shots, he can't say that he's had too much experience with the other.

"Nervous?"

His attention is diverted to the speaker next to him; a tall blonde around his own age, glasses hiding his blue eyes, and a small smile still plastered on his face while he obviously waits for a reply.

Ivan responds with a small unsure smile of his own. "Do I look nervous?"

The other man shrugs. "You look really determined to get to the vodka shot in front of me. Sorta looks like it might be a cover for feeling nervous."

For some reason, hearing of the odd expression he must be wearing, has him relax and even smile a little at how ridiculous he must look.

"Do I really look that nervous?"

"A little bit yeah."

"I don't mean to," he laughs. "Just that I don't like tequila much. I'd prefer to get as many vodka shots as I can."

Instead of receiving a reply, Ivan watches as the other's smile grows a little on one side, making it lopsided, and as he moves his hands around and switches a bunch of the shot glasses so that the ones in front of them are nothing but filled with vodka.

"How's that?" he asks.

"So much better."

There's no reason for it, but they share a laugh. Perhaps it's because over the course of the evening he's lost sight over Toris who he had appeared with, and has spent most of his time loitering in different corners of different rooms and nursing the same drink he's been handed to from the start, and now there is someone taking interest in him and actually talking to him.

"My name's Alfred," the other introduces and offers his hand.

"Ivan," he replies and takes it into his own.

Again, the same voice that's called them up to the bar rings out over them, and this time Ivan is able to see the speaker as he marches in front of them all with a lime in hand. It's one of their hosts, he thinks his name's Gilbert, Ivan can't really remember which name belonged to who when Feliks pointed them out.

"Grab a lime if you're taking tequila shots," he calls out. "And get yourselves ready we're taking them on three!"

"But I don't have a lime!" Alfred shouts at him.

"Fuck off then!"

"Fuck you!"

From Alfred's other side, another of the hosts appears with a small bowl of limes cut into wedges that he offers freely.

"Thanks, Tony," he says and grabs a few of the wedges. He promptly offers one to Ivan. "You sure you don't feel like doing anything daring?"

"Hmm… Maybe. Although…. I still don't want tequila."

Alfred raises an eyebrow and a smile grows on his face. "Yeah?"

Ivan smiles back. "Yeah."

It's a moment. The two of them can both feel some form of spark shining bright between them and even when Gilbert, or whoever it is, calls out for everyone to take a shot, none of that gravitational intensity fades as their attention is turned away from each other and to the small glasses before them.

Ivan takes his shots as they keep being called with gusto and no trouble at all. He's able to watch Alfred do his own between them. He finds himself smiling fondly at the routine of his head being thrown back, to the lick of the salt on the back of his palm, and to him sucking on the lime wedge again and again. When it's all over and done and the crowd cheers from the shared buzz, Alfred grabs on to Ivan's arm and pulls him in close so that he may hear better.

"You wanna get a drink?"

"You haven't had enough?" Ivan laughs.

"Not even."

From there, as those who had joined the crowd around the bar go back and spread themselves out back into the party still happening outside the kitchen, both Ivan and Alfred remain near each other and grab a drink. The rest of the evening is played out with the two of them keeping each other company, and when the evening soon melts into the early hours and then into dawn, the two are forced to say their goodbyes as they're being kicked out of the house.

Alfred grabs at Ivan's phone and puts his own number in. He texts himself and grins like the Cheshire Cat himself when his phone goes off.

"So, we definitely need to hang out again," he says.

"Hmm, just hang out?" Ivan asks and raises a brow.

"Maybe. I'll text you."

"Please do."

The two are standing in the middle of the street, clearly in the way of those trying to leave, and Gilbert is shouting at them from the balcony to get a move on, but Alfred goes up on the tips of his toes quickly to press a small kiss on Ivan's lips and breaks away. He waves goodbye at Ivan and soon trots on his way down the opposite side of the street.

Now Ivan is left to stand in the middle of the street, the cars that were waiting merely go around him, and Gilbert has been tossed over the side of the railing of the balcony by his boyfriend and into the hedges below.

There are enough people around to laugh at the scene, but Ivan is not one of them.

He's too busy smiling at the promise of seeing Alfred again. It only grows when his phone vibrates in his hand; he already knows who it is.

Exhibit B:

Alfred's only excuse on breaking down their door is that his hands had been full. The fact that they had been full of Ivan as he insisted on carrying him over the threshold of their new home makes the teasing light and not all that serious when the two of them are busy replacing it with what they can.

They end up using a torn off desktop to patch up the bottom of the door Alfred's foot went through…. And then a bit more for where Ivan's hand went through at the same time.

"You think the landlord's gonna notice?" Alfred asks. There's a laugh in his tone that just has Ivan smiling fondly.

"Since the door was already patched up? No, probably not."

It's then that Alfred stands up straight with his hands on his hips and looks around. Ivan joins him and all he really sees is the same rundown apartment the two of them had seen a weeks ago when they took the tour and signed the lease. They has asked themselves – really asked themselves – if this was the best they could do before hand, and it turned out it was. The splintered wooden floor, the peeling walls, and leaking ceiling is indeed the best they could do. For now.

From their first meeting nearly an entire two years ago, both have come to inevitable decision of moving in together. So, with Ivan leaving his family home and Alfred finally getting off from his brother's couch and having a place of his own, the two came to the conclusion that while this is the best for now, they will better their situation.

And they'll do it together.

"What a piece of shit," Alfred mutters and looks to Ivan with a grin.

Ivan is the first to laugh. It starts off as a low giggle and when Alfred joins in they both escalate into a full belly laugh. They only stop when Alfred tackles Ivan; he grabs him around the waist and is able to spin him around. Ivan loses all dignity with the startled noise he makes, but he's realized long ago that he doesn't mind. The first time Alfred had shown off his strength it had been a pleasant surprise, and Ivan would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it.

With his feet back on the floor, Ivan leans forward to kiss his boyfriend, and Alfred happily returns it.

"I hate that we don't have a bed," he grouses. "I want you naked, but not on this floor."

"I don't want that either," Ivan laughs. "We'll need some blankets at least."

Alfred hums. "We should probably bring our stuff in them."

They laugh again. Today just seems to be a day full of laughter, and neither one of them can really see a reason why it shouldn't be. It only seems natural for as happy as they are.

Both help in dragging in their luggage. They don't have a lot to unpack, and even what they do have to unpack they don't have much to go by as to where to put everything, they have no furniture. They do have blankets though, many of them that they combine and layer and fluff and use to serve as a makeshift mattress they spend much time in sharing.

Eventually they start to gather some things that resemble furniture. A hand me down dresser that came from one of Alfred's friends, some chairs that they had found on the side of the road, dishes from a yard sale, tables and bookshelves made from duct tape and milk crates. Their bed gets an upgrade too, an old full sized mattress from who knows how long ago kept in the back of a thrift store and passed their bed bug test.

From there, living together just seems easier. There's a seamless domestic blend to their lives; each one goes to work, whoever leaves first will be seen off by the one who is still getting ready, each one comes home and they'll talk about what to eat. They might watch something for a while, and then curl into bed and fall asleep.

It's easy.

It's serene.

It's perfect.

Picture perfect.

Alfred is the first to gain a promotion. They go out to eat at a slightly fancier restaurant and come home. Ivan thinks that maybe they should do something else to celebrate the moment, but they both fall into bed fully clothed in their sleepwear. He doesn't really think about it too much, especially not when Alfred is talking sweetly to him.

"We'll have a better place to live soon," he says sleepily, and there's a shadow of a smile on his face. "Somewhere nicer, and we'll have furniture our friends won't fall through."

Ivan smiles, but he doesn't laugh. He is glad though that Toris wasn't hurt too badly when he fell through Alfred's attempt at constructing a sofa from pallets and cement blocks.

"We could even afford a nice wedding," Alfred goes on to say. His eyes are closed by now, which Ivan guesses is a good thing because he's not sure what kind of face he makes when his heart clenches at the thought of them getting married.

Not that he wouldn't want to. He does. It's the next logical step after all. They've done so well together, why not?

"Or if not the wedding, we could at least have a nice reception."

Alfred's voice goes wistful. Most likely because he's already falling asleep. Ivan doesn't mind, it's been a long day and things are changing. He grabs at Alfred's hand and clutches it with him own.

"That sounds like it would be nice," he tells him, and sleep soon overtakes him too.

When he wakes up in the morning, Alfred is turned away from him, still asleep, and hogging most of the blanket. Ivan is used to that by now. He lets him keep the blanket and grabs at the sheets. He pulls them up and turns over himself, and falls back asleep.

Exhibit C:

It's really because of Ivan's growing career that they're finally able to afford their own home. While Alfred's dramatic climb up kept going and they were able to move into a nicer apartment and have that reception that was a passing comment at one point, with a second large income they can finally say that they are paying a mortgage instead of rent.

They have their own furniture. They have a set of new dishes. Of new linens. A larger kitchen, that they rarely use if they're completely honest since they don't really have their meals together nowadays, and a larger bedroom that holds a larger bed, one grander and bigger than any they've ever had before. They now have the space and the money for that kind of luxury.

It leaves a weird feeling in Ivan's stomach, but he's not quite sure why. He chalks it up to always having the bare minimum that now that they have disposable income it just seems a bit overwhelming.

"Arthur was telling me today that there's a chance that our sales would increase if I were to be the one to give the presentation myself."

They're both in bed when Alfred says this. Him on his laptop, typing away and not even glancing away from the screen, and Ivan on the opposite side with a book opened on his lap and his lamp flicked on to the lowest setting.

"Is that so?" he replies. Mostly because he doesn't know what else to reply with.

"Yeah. Think I should go?"

Frankly Ivan couldn't really care less. It's not the first business trip Alfred has gone on. Just as Ivan's work takes him away, his does the same. It's never been an issue actively discussed, is there even a point for it to be now?

"Where would you be going?"

"Los Angeles."

"Oh, that's not too far."

Which it isn't. Alfred has been t0 Sydney after all, he has the mug to prove it.

The corner of his mouth pulls downwards though and Ivan just knows that he's said the wrong thing. He seems to be doing that a lot these days and it just annoys him. So much to the point where it feels like he's walking on eggshells and he hates that, especially when it involves his husband and in their own home.

Alfred stops typing. He shuts his laptop and sets it aside. Ivan watches as he slinks further down into the blankets and turn away from him. He hunches the blankets up higher over his shoulders and settles down for the night.

"Hit the light soon, yeah?"

Ivan snaps his book close and tosses it on his own night stand. He didn't have to do such a thing now, true, but it's one of those times where he's just annoyed by whatever it is that's wrong with Alfred and would just rather sleep than anything else. He snaps the light off and settles himself down, turns away from his husband and falls asleep.

Alfred does leave for his trip and Ivan didn't really expect different. He comes back home in little more than a week and Ivan greets him at the door. He helps him out of his coat, takes his luggage and sets it in the living room while Alfred tells him about his trip. His sales are high, naturally. He did some sightseeing, naturally. He bought a new mug, and that too is not an entire surprise.

"Have you eaten yet?" Ivan asks him.

"No," says Alfred. "Just what was on the plane, but I didn't stop for anything.

"We should go out for dinner. We haven't done that in a while."

For a second Alfred looks surprised, but if he was the expression is gone in a blink of an eye. Still, there's a bright little spark in his eyes that Ivan swears he hasn't seen in a long time and he places a hand on Ivan's shoulder and gives him a soft smile. It makes Ivan's heart swell, just a little. But for some reason that overwhelms him too and he ends up laughing awkwardly.

"We kinda have to anyway," he says jokingly. "I was so wrapped up with the new gallery exhibit, I completely forgot about groceries."

Alfred is still smiling, but that spark is gone now. Ivan's eyes drop and he ends up staring at their shoes. Alfred's hand slides down to his waist, and for a second Ivan remember the way he used to spin him and thinks that maybe…. But now, Alfred's hand falls away. He tells Ivan that he's going in for a shower and get comfortable again before they choose where to go out to eat.

Ivan nods his head and doesn't move from his spot.

It was a stupid thought really. A foolish want. They're decades older and there is no doubt that Alfred isn't able to do things like that, and Ivan isn't as fit as he was when they were young.

Anyways, it's been years since he has. There's no reason to get upset.

Exhibit D:

They don't have a tree up this year. They didn't have it the last year, and the only reason why it had been put up the year before was because Alfred's brother had brought over his newly born grandson and had questioned it. Alfred had only shrugged and began to explain that it seemed like too much work when it's just the two of them, but Matthew had been doused with so much holiday cheer that he talked them both into getting out the decorations. Ivan won't deny that the small visit was the highlight of the season.

Because the ensuing argument when it came time to put everything was definitely the lowest point.

"We got Matthew's Christmas card this morning," he tells Alfred.

The two of them are both sitting in their living room with the television turned low. It's a holiday re-run – some movie Ivan remembers watching with Alfred when they were first dating, but can't remember the exact plot of it now – and even though they're together in the same room, Alfred is scrolling through an article on his tablet doing his own thing. Not that Ivan is any better, he can't say that even being as old as they are and technically he is retired, he is still micro-managing his favorite gallery through his last protégé via e-mails on his own laptop.

"S'nice," Alfred mumbles, and that's all.

Ivan sighs through his nose. He doesn't know why he tries anymore, but he does anyway.

"That little one is getting big," he goes on. "I bet your brother is having fun spoiling him."

Alfred doesn't reply right away, but he does stop scrolling. It has Ivan look over at him, but Alfred does not look back.

Eventually, he say, "Must be nice. Grandkids, I mean."

Ivan turns his head back towards the television. A woman is embracing her friend in a comforting manner, and he can't help but think that must be nice too.

"I suppose," he says, because he really doesn't know what to say.

"Yeah."

Alfred stands then with his tablet tucked under his arms.

"I'm heading off to bed," he says.

Ivan doesn't move.

"I'm going to stay up a little longer."

Alfred nods once and walks away. Ivan can hear him mutter, "Figured." under his breath, but not much else after that.

He's not watching the television anymore, and he's lost interest in his not-work. He closes down his programs and saves what needs to be saved before closing the lid entirely. He still doesn't get up though. He just sits silently and wonders, not for the first time, if having a child would have made things differently. He thinks that maybe a long time ago, Alfred would have wanted one, but he was never so sure of himself. Still, they never talk about it, even after getting married….

He looks down at his hand, sees the glinting gold wrapped around his finger and worries at it. The bitter realization of bringing a child into something that nowadays he feels may have been allowed instead of wanted could have just made everything worse. Especially for the child.

Not that it matters, he supposes. It's too late for that. Too late for a lot of things.

Ivan stays to watch the rest of the movie. He still can't remember what it is about, but he decides it's time for bed anyway. He enters the bedroom and Alfred is already asleep, on his side and curled in on himself. Ivan readies himself and soon slips into his half, curls up on his side, and falls asleep.

He briefly wonders how many more years of this he'll have to put up with, and isn't that a thought to have when falling asleep…

Exhibit E:

Ivan knows he's dead. There's no sense in considering anything else, and much like the majority of his life it was anti-climactic even that he simply accepted. Just like everything else.

The place he finds himself in is sepia toned and dimly lit. He walks through nothing really, not sure where he's going, only that he needs to move on forward to reach wherever it is he's destined to be now. Eventually he comes to a large door, and it's not so much that which surprises him, but who is standing there.

He really shouldn't be surprised to see Alfred there; he had passed just a month earlier, in his sleep while Ivan was out and it had been a very classy affair. Something seems off though, just as the many years between them had, something about Alfred waiting for him and seeing him again without much change in his expression, doesn't feel warm.

"That didn't take long," he says.

"Maybe we were meant to be one of those couples that can't live without another?" Ivan guesses.

It's meant to be heart felt, meant to mean something, but even as he says the words they really don't mean anything. He can tell Alfred doesn't buy it either, he just raises his eyebrows without as much as a smile.

"Why did you wait?" Ivan can't help but ask.

Alfred shrugs. "I didn't know what else to do."

It feels like the first honest thing he has heard in such a long time, and it moves something in him that is both equal relief and devastation. Before he can even stop himself, Ivan is crying. His tears start slow, but even then they become harsh wracking sobs he can't control. Alfred comes to hold him and that only makes things worse.

It feels like an age before he's able to calm himself down, and when he does he can only look to Alfred, and finally ask what he'd been afraid to ask for so long.

"Did you ever love me?"

Alfred raises his eyebrows again and instead of answering asks back, "Did you ever love me?"

Ivan slowly nods. "Once. I'm sure. Answer my question, Alfred. Did you love me?"

Alfred lets him go. There's a resigned fall to his posture as he sighs himself. There's no reason to hold back now. Not here at the end.

"I don't know anymore. Does it matter?"

xxx

Disclaimer: Don't know how long we've been lying here in fear.

-Written for vodkaliciousunflower on tumblr who wanted something painful.

-I am so bad with gift fics.