Chapter 10: Something's Gotta Give

Ivan stared at the stir-fry on his plate, moving the food around with a fork, lost in thought. The once neatly distinguishable rice and vegetables had already been turned into an unrecognisable mush.

"Food is to eat, not to play with," Yao pointed out without even looking up from the newspaper article he was reading.

Ivan sent him a guilt-ridden glance, but after shovelling a mouthful inside, he went back to making his plate resemble a Picasso painting.

Yao and Ivan occasionally got together to exchange recipes nowadays, a bit of friendly banter, relaxation. They took turns cooking and always made sure to bring something new to the table. However, today Ivan didn't much feel like thinking about food. His mind was too occupied by the wedding of last weekend. By Alfred. By their kiss.

"Yao?" Ivan tried, wondering if he was really the right person to ask these things to.

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever…" He rolled his tongue around in his mouth, as if tasting the different possibilities, speculating on how to best say what he wanted to say. "When you…do something for someone that you specifically said you would never do, simply because they made you want to do it…does that mean anything?"

Now, Yao did look at him, expression scrupulous. Completely deadpan. "Well, that would depend on what it is you did, and who you did it for." Obviously. Even though Yao was only a little short of being two years older than Ivan, he had this wisdom about him that always made Ivan feel like a child.

Ivan carefully placed his fork on the table, looking around, putting on an air of nonchalance. Yao's apartment has always looked too cluttered, too intimate, as if you didn't have any room to breathe or be alone. Maybe a result of him having so many siblings to look after, siblings who still liked to crash on Yao's couch for the night or drop by unannounced. On the other hand, it made Ivan feel like he had stepped into a different dimension, as if he could speak more freely here, because it was so unlike his home.

"That someone would be…someone I used to have feelings for, but not anymore. And that something would be kissing him, just to help him out of a difficult situation." Because he had looked so frustrated, so in need of someone to support him.

"Are we talking about Francis?" Yao asked casually, helping himself to a second plate.

Ivan snorted. "No! That is in the past." The only reason Yao knew about that was because Francis had liked to call Ivan at unexpected moments just to leave flirtatious messages. Yao had been the one to answer his phone that one day, while Ivan was out to buy groceries for their next meal together. Yao hadn't asked a lot of questions, but nevertheless Ivan felt like he was a teenager again, caught red-handed.

Yao was looking him over, scrutinising. Ivan stared back at him, resisting the urge to squirm. Usually he was a master of feigning indifference, but somehow, whenever it came to Alfred, he was prone to undergoing a temporary system failure.

Yao was tapping his chin now. "I don't know of any other people you have been close with on a romantic level these last few years, unless you have been keeping secrets from me."

"It does not really matter who it is," Ivan said, even though that was a filthy lie. The question of who was what had gotten him into this whole mess. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have felt so conflicted. But no. It had to be Alfred.

Alfred, Alfred, Alfred.

Alfred with hair the colour of the sun, with eyes that stared right into your deepest core, chasing away the darkness and bringing only warmth. Boyish, loud, far too energetic, aggravating at times, do first think later, with freckles all over his face and oh, how Ivan would love to pinch them off, one by one, thoughtful, kind, lovable Alfred. Who worked at a gym with pool but still got flustered over nudity. Was he a virgin? Not exactly a question you could just ask, out of the blue. Ivan still hadn't even asked him when he begun to wear glasses.

"And there you have your answer."

Ivan blinked himself back to reality, finding Yao to be looking at him with a knowing mien, smirk satisfied. Ivan hadn't even realised he'd been zoning out. Daydreaming about Alfred. Which was bad. Very bad. He had never meant to feel these things again.

Yao tilted his head. "You know, I haven't seen you look that love-struck ever since…" A flash of realisation, then suspicion. "No, that couldn't be." Fingers tapped. "Could it?"

Ivan had lost his appetite. "You are imagining things," he said, perhaps more curtly than he normally would have.

If he closed his eyes right now, he knew exactly whose face he would be seeing.

After another agonisingly long once-over, Yao made a noise of sympathy. "I am simply trying to help. You are the one who asked for my advice, after all."

Ivan chuckled. "Remember how you only used to like me for helping you with your homework and leaving you alone during lunch? Now look where we are."

Yao's next expression was one of bewilderment. "Ivan, what are you talking about? I liked you for you." He was frowning. "Did you really think I would have hung out with you just so you could make my homework? You think too lowly of me."

Ivan stared back at him with something akin to awe filling his chest, a sudden warm fondness. It was a time of revelations, it seemed.

Ivan was completely out of it at work as well that week. He kept absentmindedly picking up the wrong flowers, had to ask his customers several times exactly what they wanted, lost count while putting away cash in the register. He needed time alone to think, but wasn't allowed such reprieve. At work, there were customers and Francis, and at home, there was the very thing he was trying to avoid thinking about. It didn't help that Alfred was extra clingy these days, showing up earlier and leaving much later than he normally would've, almost waiting for him to get home, like a dog would for its master. As if he was expecting something to happen.

"Ivan, tell me what's on your mind. Please," Francis finally asked, after Ivan almost sent a funeral order to a wedding. "I don't want to pry, but I can tell you are brooding."

"I am not brooding," Ivan protested, but Francis didn't believe him.

"It is perfectly fine if you don't want to tell me, but I will have to send you home for the day if you keep it going like this. Whatever it is you're struggling with, I am more than willing to listen to your troubles." He lightly touched his fingers to Ivan's arm. "I am telling you this as your friend, not as your boss."

Ivan knew it would be safe to tell Francis. However, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the words across his lips. Because that would mean displaying a part of him that even Francis didn't know everything about. Nothing would be the same if he talked.

And thus he looked Francis in the eye, and told him that by next week, everything would be normal again. And as he made that vow, Ivan already saw a plan forming in his mind. He would simply go home, pick up something nice to drink, and pay a visit to Alfred to have a nice evening with him. As friends and neighbours, which he was going to spell out to him. If they both understood completely what their relationship was, then hopefully his unwanted infatuation would go away. Because he didn't need a partner, he needed a friend. He didn't want to kiss Alfred. Well, a part of him did, but the part of him that didn't want him to want that was much more reliable, so that was the part that he chose to trust. That was the part that had a secure future, in which he would definitely be happy and whole. That was the part he chose to listen to.

As expected, Alfred was already leaning out the doorway by the time Ivan made it up to their floor.

"Evening, neighbour! You're back earlier than usual. Nothing bad happened at work, I hope?"

It didn't come as much of a surprise than Alfred had memorised his hours. After all, he himself knew exactly on which days he could expect Alfred home.

Ivan showed the bottle of liquor he was carrying. "I feel like having a drink. Your apartment, tonight."

Alfred whistled as he accepted the gift. "Whiskey, nice! I didn't know you drank anything other than vodka." He laughed while trying to avoid a kick to the shins. "What's the occasion, big guy?"

"The occasion," Ivan explained, opening the door to drop off his coat inside, "is you still owing me from last weekend," Ivan missed how Alfred straightened up, "and me thinking that a nice drink will at least cover half of the expenses. Which, by the way…" He turned around and held out his hand. "Means that drinks are on you tonight."

Alfred sent him a sour smile, but Ivan could tell he wasn't really mad. Quid pro quo. Alfred had promised, and he probably thought he was getting off easy if it only meant paying for Ivan's alcohol.

They ordered takeout that evening, Ivan not feeling like cooking, what with the plan for conversation he had in mind. The whiskey went down easy, and soon Alfred went looking for snacks and more booze to liven things up a little, have a little party, just the two of them. Which was too intimate, really, and Ivan shouldn't have allowed it.

But for some reason, whenever he opened his mouth to try and start talking more seriously, he was interrupted. Mostly by Alfred opening up a new line of conversation, the different topics including work, a new movie that would be playing soon, their siblings, the latest antics of their crazy neighbours, and most importantly, the past. They dodged the most dangerous lines of thought, which really, Ivan should have been steering them towards, seeing as they would make for a perfect segue into what he really wanted to talk about. Instead, they reminisced. Favourite and most hated teachers, what would their classmates be doing nowadays, was the ice cream in that one parlour really as good as they remembered it to be or was it just the nostalgia speaking.

Perhaps it was a need for nostalgia that made Ivan drink more than he normally would have. Or maybe it wasn't that he was drinking more, but that he had simply decided to let go. Either way, under different circumstances, Ivan just knew he would never have gotten this inebriated. Even though he kept proclaiming that he felt just fine, thank you.

Alfred was giggling like a madman, clinging to an empty glass as a drowning man would to a lifebelt (he had previously emptied said glass over Ivan's foot). They were sitting next to each other on Alfred's couch, Alfred's legs slung over Ivan's, despite the other's protests. Ivan kept trying to push him off, but either he didn't succeed, or Alfred always came right back. It was hard to tell which was real and which actions were just imagined at the moment.

"No, I'm telling you! Mrs. Pegsworth ado, adora, adorn…she loved you, man!"

Ivan resolutely shook his head, even though that made the room spin a little. He had given up on trying to remove Alfred's legs, his free hand now resting on top of them. The other kept pulling absentmindedly at his scarf, because it was too hot.

"She did!" Alfred insisted, and were Ivan's eyes playing tricks on him or was his host shirtless? Ivan squinted, looking around the room, but he couldn't find the missing piece of clothing.

Alfred slumped against him, sighing. "Watcha lookin' for, goodlookin'?" He spluttered at his own terrible attempt at a pickup line.

Ivan gave up on trying to locate the shirt, suddenly much too aware of how close they were sitting. He felt tired, and it was nice, this. A warm body leaning against him, comfortable, familiar, trustworthy. If he tilted his head to the side, he could just make out that amazing blue that had to be Alfred's eyes. It was somehow hard to focus on them.

There was something he'd been wanting to say. What was it again? It was terribly important. Alfred had to know. He had to tell him.

Ivan jolted when something touched his lips. Alfred's hands. His fingertips were stroking almost curiously, touch feather-light, next to non-existent. Ivan breathed out and Alfred retracted, as if startled by the gust of air on his skin.

"What are you doing?" Ivan asked slowly, accent hardened by the liquor. It wasn't so much that it became harder to speak; in fact, it was much, much easier. To open up. To let go.

Alfred's face was so close to his own, nuzzling into his shoulder and neck, tilted up just enough for his nose to slide along Ivan's jawline.

"You kissed me," Alfred murmured.

Ivan swallowed. "I did."

It suddenly clicked. Alfred's glassing were missing. That was why his eyes seemed so much bigger. And he was definitely shirtless, even though Ivan still couldn't figure out when or how that had happened.

Alfred's lashed fluttered, tickling at Ivan's chin. "Why?"

Ivan didn't answer, not immediately. They both knew why. But there was that something else, that wall that was usually there, but now, while he was watching it crumble down, he couldn't remember what it had meant, why it had even been erected in the first place. Why it had been so hard to just say yes. Because he wanted to say it, he really did.

Ivan clumsily brought up a hand, touching Alfred's cheek. He wasn't supposed to. Why wasn't he supposed to?

"Snot fair," he mumbled darkly.

"Whatis?"

"You. Popular, smart, and beautiful. Unfair."

Alfred's eyes definitely widened that time, and he moved back to look at Ivan. "You. You said beautiful." Wonder. Delight. Hope. Nothing of the usual comebacks. "Really? You think I'm—"

But Ivan would never hear the end of that thought, as he let his head lull forward, all but crashing into Alfred. Like a moth drawn to the light. He kissed Alfred, desperately, needing him as he craved oxygen to fill his lungs and sustain him. All the "no"s had been exchanged for a single, loud, "yes". He still couldn't recall why there had even been a no in the first place, not even when the mere act of kissing Alfred made something miserable fill his stomach. He couldn't tell if he was sobbing or gasping, or if it was Alfred, or perhaps they were both panting, clinging, clawing, pulling and twisting. It didn't matter in that moment. He just wanted to feel loved, to be happy, to ignore all those dark thoughts that usually held him back. Goodbye uncertainties, goodbye armour he had carefully crafted, lest he get hurt.

Hurt. Right. That was he had meant to tell him.

But when Alfred grabbed his face with both hands, kissing him so fiercely the world tipped upside down, he found that it didn't even matter. Not now. Not when he was feeling so warm and fuzzy and hazy and simply ecstatic. And so desperate it became palpable.