Chapter 11: Your Name

Kissing Alfred was heaven. The softness of it all, slow and hesitant at first, until the ice melted. Addictive, that was the word he was looking for. Having someone so close you could distinguish the exact shade of their eyes, count that myriad of freckles sprawled across smooth cheeks. Feeling warm and conscious of every single part of your body, but in a good way.

The way Alfred slipped his hands into Ivan's hair, almost unconsciously tugging at his strands in an attempt to get them closer, instinctively, translating the very desire Ivan felt into action. The way their knees would bump, until one or both moved their legs out of the way and into the other's, until someone lost patience and flipped the other onto his back. The want, the need to be held, to hold, underlined by pants and giggles and sensual whispers. Even the way their lips would catch on each other's braces.

But even though kissing Alfred was heaven, that didn't mean no one else could intrude. Which was exactly what happened.

Ivan had been lying on his bed, Alfred on top of him, as they were busily engaged in their favourite occupation. When they heard the door opening and a soft exclamation of "oh!", Ivan had been the first to look, but Alfred had been the first to move away, scrambling back as if Ivan were suddenly on fire. Standing in the doorway was his older sister, Yekaterina, with a face like a cooked lobster, only outmatched by Alfred's current complexion.

He had been sure that the door was locked. Seems like they forgot in the heat of the moment. Ivan groaned and grabbed a pillow to hide his face in, while Alfred quickly pulled his shirt back over his head, looking absolutely mortified.

"I am so sorry, I will, um, I will leave you alone for now!" In an attempt to smooth things over, Ivan's sister only managed to make their current situation even more awkward.

Ivan made a noise that could have meant "please do", or "please kill me." But Alfred was already up, laughing like a broken record. "No it's okay, I was just leaving! I was uh…homework!" A more pathetic excuse had yet to be invented.

Alfred darted past Yekaterina, keeping his head low so he didn't have to look her in the face while she kept uttering apologies and please-don't-mind-mes. Ivan waited until he heard the front door slam shut before throwing the pillow away and quickly scuttling over to his bedroom window, stealing a glance outside. He caught Alfred pulling his bike out of the garage, but before the boy left, he looked up and met Ivan's eyes. Despite still looking like his worst nightmare had just become reality, Alfred flashed a shaky smile and a thumbs-up, mouthing something that looked like "I'll call you."

Ivan offered a smile and wave of his own, waiting until Alfred had disappeared out of sight before taking a deep breath and slowly turning around. Katyusha was still standing in the exact same spot, hands folded in front of her stomach, waiting patiently. She was taking this unusually well, and Ivan was preparing for a storm of sisterly concern to wash over him.

Instead, before he even got the chance to start talking, his sister rushed over and pulled him into a strong embrace. Ivan struggled to get away.

"K-Katyu—I—can't—breathe!"

"I am so, so sorry for not knocking, but I heard noises and I thought you might have been choking or fighting with a burglar, but I am so happy for you Vanya!"

She finally released him from the deadly grip, keeping Ivan at an arm's length while he gulped in fresh air. She was positively beaming.

"I have been so worried for you, because you never bring home any friends or go to parties—but oh! I should not have worried at all. You have just been hiding your friends from me, haven't you?"

Ivan stared at her, dumbfounded. Almost didn't have the heart to tell her. But now that they had started this conversation, he might as well get it over with. If he could trust anyone with this, it was his sister. "Katyusha…Alfred, he—well, he is not exactly…a friend."

She laughed. "Oh, I know. I was just talking about your relationships in general."

Yekaterina winked when she noticed him gaping.

"Wait, I, you, I mean, you are okay? With me being…with me having a…" He gulped, licked his lips. "Boyfriend?" It was the first time he ever spoke that word out loud. Not even to Yao had he said it; they never really talked about Ivan's love life, even though Yao had seen Alfred and was well aware of their developing relationship. Yao was cool about those things.

She nodded. "Vanya, how could I not be okay? All I want is for you to be happy. Whether that happiness is found with a boy or with a girl, or neither, or both—although I would not like it if it was both at the same time—I support you. Through and through."

He had the biggest urge to hug her. But that would mean risking his life.

Ivan studied her grinning face, heart pounding. She knew. And she was perfectly fine with it. He hugged her anyway.

"So, this Alfred. Is he a keeper?"

Ivan didn't look her in the eyes, but couldn't keep the stupidly happy smile off his face. "I hope so. I like him. I like him a lot."

If it were up to him, his relationship with Alfred would last forever. Because it was pure and utter bliss.

If it were up to him.

~o~

Ivan was swimming upstream, trying desperately to keep his head above water. From the riverbank, people were shouting at him. The spare glimpses he got from them told him that for whatever reason, they all had Alfred's face.

"Traitor!" "Coward!" "You don't deserve this!"

Ivan didn't understand. Couldn't they see that he was drowning? Yet somehow, the water felt like a warm embrace as it tried to pull him under, again and again. As if it was trying to protect him from a worse fate. So Ivan let go, and saw his world go blue.

Waking up felt exactly like that; as if he had just drowned and was now being reborn. Even though it was a lot less wet and a lot more comfortably soft in an almost stifling heat. Ivan didn't want to open his eyes just yet, already feeling a headache gnawing at the inside of his skull. Must've been drinking again the night before. Good thing it was what, Saturday? Must be; he wouldn't be so irresponsible as to get wasted on a night before a working day.

The dream was almost completely forgotten, all that remained being a feeling of dread, like something terrible had happened that he simply had to remember. But thinking hurt. In fact, his body hurt too, as if he had been sleeping in an awkward position.

A sound of breathing that was not his own. Oh. He hadn't invited someone over, had he? Ivan supposed that was a possibility. Not that he remembered anything about going out. Then who…?

When the body beside him rolled onto its side, it began to dawn upon him. The wedding. The liquor. Alfred.

Ivan's eyes snapped open too fast, blurring his surroundings for the time it took them to adapt to sudden light. Ivan didn't care, immediately looking over. Alfred was indeed lying next to him, curled up into a little ball, shirtless. From what Ivan could see, his neck and upper torso were covered in marks. The only explanation was that Ivan had put them there. He vaguely remembered thinking something along the lines of wanting to rid Alfred of those annoying little freckles of his. It appeared he had tried, only, instead of pinching, he had wanted to kiss every little spot he could find.

Despite the headache, Ivan's mind was buzzing with thoughts. When had they gotten to the bed? He remembered them sitting on the couch, talking nonsense, but nothing after that. A brief dip under the covers told him that at least he was still wearing his underwear, so perhaps that hadn't happened. Unless Ivan had put his briefs back on after the act. Was he that rational when drunk? He supposed it was a possibility.

Ivan's heart was hammering against his ribs as he took a deep breath to steady himself. No need to panic. Not even when both his and Alfred's body were thoroughly accessorised with a wide variety of hickeys and bite-marks, making them look more like Jackson Pollock paintings than actual human beings. He didn't remember Alfred to be a biter, unless it was on actual food. Then again, he didn't remember ever waking up in Alfred's bed almost in the nude. They had never went that far, after all.

This was a disaster. That was the correct word for it. Even if he was going to handle this calmly and rationally and like the proper adult he was, it remained an absolute disaster. Staying over was not the same as setting boundaries and spelling out that they were friends and nothing but friends. What did he have to make of this? That they were now friends with benefits? What if Alfred expected a repeat? What if things would go awkward and the relationship they'd been building up had been ruined? What if it wasn't ruined, but would instead deepen? What if nothing had happened? What if everything had happened? What if this had been all that Alfred was after?

Swallowing down the anxiety in his gut, Ivan did the only reasonable thing. He quietly sat up and began looking for his clothes, and if he wouldn't find them fast enough, he'd just slip outside like this. He had to get out of here. Maybe if he pretended like it didn't happen, Alfred would do the same. He didn't want a friend with benefits. He didn't want Alfred to think he was easy, or that he actually liked casual sex. Which he had previously thought he did like, because he definitely didn't want another steady relationship, but not when it was with Alfred. Anyone but Alfred. And most of all, he didn't want to not remember their first time together. So it didn't happen. Simple as that.

Ivan located his keys, which were lying on the floor, then his socks, and began pulling them on. However, his pants and shirt were nowhere to be found. At least he wasn't completely naked. And for once, it was a good thing that he lived next-door, because now there would be no one to witness his walk of shame.

The bed shifted again. Ivan froze. "Leaving so soon?" Alfred's voice croaked, heavy with sleep.

Ivan didn't dare to look behind, not wanting to see Alfred's expression, whether it be blissful, hopeful, or derisive. He didn't want any false hope, nor did he want a confirmation of his worst fears. He just wanted to get out.

"Yes," Ivan said after a brief hesitation. "I…forgot to water the plants."

The mattress dipped a little behind him, as if Alfred was sitting up. "Water the plants. That's why you're leaving."

Ivan could hear shrieking in his head when two hands snaked their way around his waist. "Come on, stay. It's the weekend. We can sleep in."

With a jerky movement, Ivan pulled himself free. He stumbled as he pushed up and away from Alfred, quickly turning around. Alfred was looking up at him, mostly sleepy, but also a little aggravated by Ivan's behaviour.

"No thank you," Ivan said, sounding far too polite for the situation they were currently in. He wished he had his scarf, which always managed to keep his hands busy when he was agitated, but he hadn't located it yet. Instead, he passed a hand through his hair, further messing up the undeniably messy locks.

"Look, tonight…I did not mean to, I never should have—"

"Ivan," Alfred interrupted him, and Ivan cut himself off immediately, despite the other's voice being so soft it was barely audible.

"I'm not asking you to stay so we can do stuff, okay? Besides, I don't think…" He didn't finish the sentence, but Ivan understood. They were both still wearing their underwear, after all. What should have come as a relief only helped to further twist the knot in his gut.

"Just stay." Pleading. Oh so hopeful. "Please."

Ivan was already shaking his head, even before Alfred could utter that last word. Why would you want me to stay, if not to have sex with me? is what he wanted to ask, but instead the question leaving his lips was "Why should I?" What reason could Alfred possibly have in mind? What use was there in further complicating things, what could Alfred possibly hope to gain from—what? Cuddling with him? Having an old-fashioned sleepover? Did he need a human body pillow to sleep?

Alfred's hands were trembling. He tried to hide it by balling them into fists, but Ivan noticed anyway. "Isn't it obvious?" his neighbour asked, voice raw.

A part of him, hidden deep within, wanted to understand. Wanted to reciprocate. Wanted to love and be loved, to hold him, kiss him, do all the things they used to do and more, so much more. A part of him wanted to stay and cuddle, wanted to more than cuddle.

But that part failed to escape Ivan's heart to his head, which was clouded over with doubt, which simply failed to understand why on earth Alfred would want him here, which only remembered what had happened last time he opened himself up to someone. How much it had hurt. How no man after had ever made him feel the same. How he could feel himself lock up every time a relationship threatened to become just that, a relationship. Deeper, more meaningful, more personal, intimate.

A part of him only wanted Alfred. The rest of him couldn't fathom Alfred wanting the same, always wanting it, not even when he practically threw himself upon Ivan.

Thus, wildly shaking his head, Ivan stumbled backwards, out of the room. "I have to go," he mumbled, shaking. He never heard Alfred's reply.

~o~

It was the day before moving-day. Everything was packed into boxes, but that wasn't what made Ivan's room look so barren. He'd had a fight with Alfred. A big one. An earth-shattering one. And now he was staring at the message that had just pinged on his phone.

We're done talking about this.

Just like that, everything had been blown apart. Like the wolf in that story with the three pigs. Or was it a fox? Ivan could never quite remember.

Just like that. Months of pining, then months of the happiest he had ever felt in his life. He had been ready to start arranging his life around Alfred. From the college they'd go to, to which state was best to raise children in. (Ivan had never told anyone how much of a hopeless romantic he actually was. Watching soap-operas while eating sweets and clinging to a pillow hopeless romantic.)

We're done talking about this.

Alfred had given up on them. He didn't think there was anything left to try and save. Ivan was moving, and apparently, that meant the end of their relationship, not even a year long now, even though it already felt like a lifetime.

Ivan didn't want to believe it at first. That couldn't be it. He kept staring furiously at his phone, waiting for the rest of the message, for some kind of explanation, for a simple goodbye. Nothing came. Alfred hadn't even deemed it worth it to come say this to his face. Ivan was tossed aside like a used napkin.

He should feel used. He almost did. But first and foremost, he felt heartbroken. He had never expected Alfred to be the type to break it off via message. To ditch him, first chance he got. To play with his feelings like that.

What was it? A bet, after all? Had he simply gotten tired of having to hide, had he gotten tired of Ivan? Did he realise he preferred girls after all, had Ivan just been an experiment?

He didn't want to be thinking about this. He still had to pack his books. Arrange them neatly into stacks that could be put away in an orderly manner. But every time he tried picking up one of the books, his hands started trembling so furiously he had to put it down again, in fear of messing up the paperbacks. It was hard seeing anyway, what with the tears constantly threatening to spill.

They were done. A single message, no follow-up. The day before he moved out of town, making sure they'd probably never have to meet again. The bastard. (The angel.)

It was Yekaterina who found him like that when she came to get him for supper, hunched over a still empty box, hugging himself, softly rocking back and forth. Tearless weeping, the water filling him up, not quite spilling.

She never asked what had happened, but Ivan could tell that she knew. He could tell from the way she wordlessly packed the book-box for him, how she covered for him when he didn't come downstairs to eat, coming with the excuse that he was too caught up in saying goodbye and would be eating in his room.

Ivan never did get another message. And while they were driving out of town the next day, he removed Alfred from his contacts, vowing to never let himself get hurt like that again.

Vowing to never fall for blue eyes and a brilliant smile again.