Chapter 9: Give me a chemi-call
Alfred looked up at the imposing apartment building before him, then back down to check the address quickly scribbled onto a paper scrap for what had to be the twentieth time, and back up. This was it. This was where Ivan lived. Ivan Braginsky, the love of his life, his soulmate, the guy he absolutely had to bang before the year was out. Or, Ivan had to bang him, at least. Which was a fact he hadn't even openly discussed with Kiku yet. Guy gotta keep at least some things secret, amiright? And the fact that he was a size queen wasn't something to brag about. What could be bragged about was Ivan's dick, once Alfred finally got to see it, since he was absolutely certain it had to be size XXXXXL.
But back to the point. He was at Ivan's place.
Quickly crumpling the paper and shoving it into a pocket of his low-hanging levis (maybe if he could show off some hip action Ivan would swoon), he adjusted his glasses and leant in, peering at the row of names hanging next to each bell. There was a Héderváry, a Laurinaitis, a Wang, Jansen Carriedo Bonnefoy Kirkland—and there. Braginsky. Written in neat letters, Ivan's handwriting.
Alfred swallowed. Pushed the bell. Waited. Definitely didn't push three more times for good measure. Almost jumped out of his skin when sound became audible, something staticy before the low tones of that deliciously hoarse voice made him sigh in relief and almost moan with want—there he was. Ivan. Ivan. God, he had it bad.
"Kto tam?" his voice came, audibly tired, making Alfred want to rush up there and take care of him.
"It's Alfred," the blond spoke into the intercom, pushing himself flat against the wall as if he could teleport up to Ivan's living room by using his voice alone. "I have some stuff for you from Munchk- professor Munch."
"Alfred?" the other asked, and now it was Alfred's turn to swoon as his soon-to-be-boyfriend spoke his name. It was heavenly, hearing the six letters fall in accented tones from those pale thin lips, lips that were often drawn back in contemplation but sometimes quirked up in the most delicious of smirks. Oh God—why weren't they in bed yet?
"Yeah, it's me," he said happily, wagging an invisible tail like an overly excited puppy. "There's some papers he wanted you to correct, nothing more."
"How do you know my—" There was a moment's pause as Alfred's heart beat so loud it made people turn heads across the street, wondering if they should call an ambulance for the poor boy who seemed to be about ready to fly off into space. Then the buzzer went, and Alfred was allowed inside. Just like that. He was invited into Ivan's home. He. Him. Alfred F. Jones.
Finally.
Being far too impatient and needing to release some energy, Alfred decided to forgo the elevator and ran up the stairs instead. After five sets of them, he was panting slightly, but his excitement hadn't diminished any bit. A door at the end of the hallway began to open, and he bounded towards it, unable to keep a huge doe-eyed smile from his youthful features. Skidding to a halt, he came to a stop right before the slight crack of an opened door, a rather tired Ivan peeking out. His cheeks were rosy from the fever and his expression was both imploring and faraway, making for an appearance that was both sickly and scandalously cute. Like, really. It should be forbidden to look this cute when you were sick. Alfred didn't want to feel blood running down to his groin when he was supposed to be worried about the other's health.
"Oh gosh I'm so sorry you got sick do you need medicine is there anything I can do for you do you—"
"Alfred," Ivan said softly, cranking the door open just a bit further so he could more comfortably lean against the doorpost. Alfred instantly cut himself short, bobbing his head in an obedient nod. "You said something about papers?" Ivan changed his stance, and only then did Alfred's eyes shoot down- and oh dear lord he was wearing pyjamas beneath his bathrobe. The cutest set of PJs at that. Fluffy and oversized, and with a weird brown big-eared creature on them.
Ivan noticed him staring, and self-consciously pulled the bathrobe tighter to his body. He gave Alfred an odd owlish look, as if to ask "what is so interesting about my clothes?" before Alfred remembered that a question had been asked.
"Oh right—the papers." He put up a finger, a signal for Ivan to wait as he slung his backpack onto the floor and squatted, rummaging through the all-but-tidy contents of his bag. Then he pulled out the map with a small victorious titter, and rose to full height again, which was still noticeably shorter than his crush of crushes.
Ivan held out his hand for Alfred to hand over the papers, but he wasn't going to get away that easy. Now that Alfred had finally made it to Ivan's apartment, he was going inside, or his name wasn't Alfred Freedom Jones! (It wasn't, but who cares.)
"I can put them away for you!" he quickly interjected, curiously trying to catch a glimpse of Ivan's home. "And do you have anyone to take care of you? Did you visit a doctor yet?"
"I can look after myself," Ivan huffed. "I am an adult. I do not need anyone to take care of me."
"But you did call a doctor, right?" Alfred repeated, now looking Ivan in the eye, leaning in a bit too close to be socially permitted. Ivan didn't seem to care, or perhaps he had different standards when it came to personal bubbles.
"Why do you care, Alfred?" Ivan asked, rubbing his eyes.
"Because we're friends," Alfred promptly finished for him, waiting with anxious nerves for agreeance or approval, any sign that he wasn't completely fooling himself, that he did have a chance, even if it was only a tiny one.
Ivan paused, eyes widening as he looked at Alfred, studying the boy as if he'd never truly looked at him before. "Friends?" he said hesitantly, as if tasting the word on his tongue. Another small pause, making Alfred almost pee his pants, as nervous as he was. And then—
"…Da. I suppose we are…friends." He smiled at that, cheeks tainting slightly more pink, and Alfred fell in love all over again.
"Yeah, of course we are!" he said enthusiastically, standing on his tippy-toes to bring their faces even closer. "And friends care about each other. You… If I got sick, would you worry?"
The ultimate test. He was truly crossing dangerous waters here. But he had to know.
Ivan seemed to mull it over for a bit, hand being brought to his neck as it unconsciously stroked along his silky scarf. "If you were sick… If for one reason, you suddenly would not show up… Da. I suppose I would worry." He gave a small giggle, and Alfred instantly wished he could hear more of it. "I suppose I have grown used to having you around, Alfred." And when he smiled at his visitor, those amethyst eyes bright and cleared from all work-related stress, it was as if clouds were sliding away to reveal a radiant sun, as if angels had come down to sing arias and ballades, as if everything was right in the world.
"Can I come in for a sex-sec?" he croaked, almost forgetting how to breathe.
And when Ivan, after long consideration, gave him the go-ahead, he was about ready to die and go to heaven.
