Alfred didn't have any pajamas, so Ivan lent him his. Alfred put them on in the bathroom, his quiet excitement bubbling over into a silly little dance as he tugged a too-loose shirt over his head. This was awesomely romantic, like in the movies. Sharing clothes was that special thing. It was cute and sexy at the same time, the perfect balance of innocence and a certain deviancy. He wondered if this was how girls felt when they secretly wore sexy lingerie.

And Alfred also wondered if somehow, in some impossible way, wearing Ivan's clothes would make him somehow cooler. The clothes made the man, they said, and Alfred wanted to be made like Ivan. He wanted that unaffected air and sly, charming smiles. He wanted to absorb what it was to be Ivan, to know what he was doing and walk with purpose, to be cultured and handsome. And most importantly, likable.

But when Alfred looked in the mirror, he saw himself. He saw Alfred in clothes that were too big and hung on him in all the wrong ways. He still had that bit of pudge around his stomach that never left. He still had chicken legs. He still wasn't good enough.

With his day clothes bundled in his arms, he emerged from Ivan's bathroom. His room was the same as ever, an organized mess if ever there was one. There was an extra pillow and set of sheets on the floor next to the bed. Ivan sat on the mattress, elbows resting on his knees, eyes closed.

"Hey," Alfred whispered, and Ivan jerked awake.

"Ah, Alfred. You are looking very good." Ivan's voice was light and sincere. "I am thinking you should make a habit of wearing my clothes."

A nervous heat prickled along the nape of Alfred's neck. He reached his free hand up to scratch at it, nails biting into this skin. It only worsened. Ivan stood, taking two long, languid steps until he was in front of Alfred, pulling the clothes from his hand and tossing them into the hamper.

Alfred lowered himself to the floor and slipped between the sheets. His movements were gangly and awkward, like his body was foreign, new, needing to be tested out. He found himself staring at nothing, eyes refusing to blink. He fished his glasses from his face, folding them carefully before setting them next to the pillow. He laid his head down without a word, the world a blurry mass of colors and ill-defined shapes.

The floor was not comfortable. It was nice on the feet, sure, but the back was another story. There was no give, no support like with a mattress. It was hard and fuzzy and told Alfred that it was going to leave him sore in the morning. If the floor could be a person, it'd be that one jerk who always played too rough during football and tried to pass it off as friendly competition.

The covers were peeled away as Alfred continued to humanize the floor. He shut his eyes tight at the intrusion, but Ivan's hand rested on his shoulder, shook him with a gentility that seemed impossible for such a large guy.

"Alfred, sleep in the bed."

Alfred groaned and rolled onto his side.

"You are my guest," Ivan said. "It would be wrong of me to have you sleep in the floor."

"S'cool, don't worry about it," Alfred said.

"It is sounding like you think you have a choice."

"Land of the free, baby. Choice is in my blood."

Ivan chuckled throatily, the noise a song-like rumble. Before Alfred could say anything more he felt Ivan's arms tucking beneath him, one under the back of his knees, the other supporting his neck. With one deep breath and one fluid motion, Ivan had lifted Alfred from the floor.

He proceeded to unceremoniously drop Alfred on the bed, the springs creaking as his body bounced from the impact.

"What was that for?" Alfred yelped as his eyes shot open and he sat up.

"You are so stubborn, what else could I do?"

Alfred watched as Ivan's hazy figure went to the wall, flicking off a light switch, the vague details of the room turning to nothing but a blackness. He listened as Ivan lay on the floor, the rustle of the sheets as he settled in. All Alfred could think about was how hard and unyielding it'd been, how impossible to sleep on it it was.

"You shouldn't sleep there," Alfred murmured as he wiggled his way under the bed covers. "You're gonna get, like, zero minutes of sleep."

"Then where do you suggest I sleep, the ceiling?"

Alfred fidgeted, feet rubbing together and he squirmed. The bed was pretty big, and Alfred didn't mind squeezing over to make room for someone else. He could tuck himself up tight against the wall, pretend to be something so tiny he didn't exist. He'd gotten really good at that game when his mom and old man used to fight a lot. If he ceased to be, he couldn't hear their screaming.

"You can sleep in bed with me," Alfred said, swallowing a pitchiness that threatened to rise at the end.

Ivan didn't need telling twice, and Alfred decided he had overestimated the size of the bed. It fit them both, but only barely. Alfred lay on his back, one shoulder pressed against the cool wall while the other one nestled against Ivan's arm. Their hands stayed decidedly apart.

Alfred listened to Ivan breathe. Not on purpose, of course, but there wasn't much else to listen to. Ivan was really good at breathing. A master of it, even. He probably had all kinds of meditative breathing exercises. Maybe that was why he was always so chill. Alfred decided he would be the first in line if Ivan ever recorded some kind of self-help CD that was all about centering your breath or achieving zen.

Ivan had a good kind of voice for talking, too. Especially if he was speaking in Russian, reading to Alfred from one of his many books. Did Ivan read poetry and sweet stories to anyone else? And there it was, that niggling fear that Ivan didn't like him like he used to.

Had his feelings faded so quickly? In the week that he was gone, had he moved on, maybe even found someone else? Did he share his voice, his words, his sweet, insightful opinions with another man? Even now, lying in bed with Ivan at his side, Alfred worried.

Alfred's heart hitched as he ran through the possibilities. There was something more manageable, less hurtful about Ivan not liking him back if there was no one else. But to think his heart was set after another settled a cold, wrenching ache in Alfred's chest. He didn't want to be the third wheel in the romance, the one no one really liked, but kept around anyway.

And what if Alfred was being led on? It was so nice to be liked, to be wanted. It always inspired a sense of well-being in Alfred's heart when others had spoken to him of their feelings, how they wanted him as more. More than someone that was passed in the halls, seen between classes or on the field. To be desired was to be valued, and it was addictive.

Alfred had led others on. He didn't mean to, not really, but it happened. At night he would tell himself to stop, to stop bowing to his fears of being alone and ignored, to stop giving false hope to others. But in the morning he would find himself unable to help himself, allowing a casual brush of flesh or secretive smile to his admirer, carrying on until they wisened up and moved on, sparing Alfred nothing put hurtful glances and short words when he saw them.

"There's someone else, isn't there?" Alfred asked. He couldn't sleep. His body was tired but his mind kept moving, kept worrying. He needed to know.

"Someone else?"

"Yeah, like. Someone else you like. Or you're with. Or─ I dunno. Just someone else."

"Are you being serious?" Ivan asked.

"Yes," Alfred hissed quietly. "This is killing me."

"Why would you think there is someone else?"

"Don't you get all shady with me. It's a yes or no answer. And I mean, it's okay if there is someone, I can deal."

"I do not think you would 'deal' so well."

Alfred sniffled, brows furrowing. "Tell me anyway."

"Alfred, there is no one else. When would I see them? Always I am with you, and I like it that way."

"Oh," Alfred said, his anxiety ebbing. "'Kay, just wanted to make sure."

They spent a few minutes in silence before Ivan piped up again.

"Where did that come from?" he asked.

"Nowhere."

"Alfred," Ivan said, and he did that thing with his voice where it was too kind to ignore.

"I get freaked out, okay? I'm not really all that good with figuring things out on my own. I know you said actions speak louder than words, but I need words."

Alfred's stomach churned as he spoke. There was a growing lump stuck in the base of his throat, all frustration and catastrophic thoughts. This always happened to him. He read too far much into what was said─ or not said─ and it wouldn't leave him. He knew better than to let it get to him, but somehow it snuck right back into his mind when he had a quiet moment.

"I like you," Ivan said.

"Like-like?" Alfred questioned.

"Like-like."

"And there's no one else?"

"I like-like you, and there is no one else."

Alfred's eyes fixed themselves to an invisible ceiling. This was good. Very good. Things were kind of going his way. He liked Ivan, Ivan liked him. There was a lot of liking going around and no one to get between them. And when people liked each other they got together, right? Well, normal people did. Alfred was pretty sure he wasn't the most normal person.

"I don't think we'd make a good couple," Alfred said.

The bed creaked and sighed as Ivan stirred, propping himself up on one elbow. That lovely breath of his skimmed against Alfred's cheeks, warm and wonderful, his blood pooling at the surface of his skin, trying to be nearer to it.

"Why not?" Ivan asked. There was a steady flatness in his voice, like he was waiting to decide how best to react.

"I don't think I'd be very good at this relationship stuff. I mean, I do really like you, but like, I dunno. I get kind of crazy about it. I have those crappy emotional things going on that all the dating columns tell you to avoid."

Ivan's laughter had a relieved layer to it as he dropped onto his back again, his shoulder once again nudged Alfred's. "That's all?"

"It's pretty bad," Alfred said seriously.

"And you think I do not have problems?"

"I bet mine are worse."

"Tell me yours and I will tell you mine."

Alfred debated it for half a second before humming in agreement. "Fine," he said. "I'm insecure and needy as all get out." It sounded a lot worse in his head, but when he spoke the words they seemed like trivial things, small words with hardly any meaning.

"And I," Ivan said in turn, "have been told I am possessive and overbearing."

"Huh, not a good combo for us two, huh?"

"A nightmare if ever there was one."

Alfred lay still for a moment. He listened to Ivan's breathing and the beat of his own heart. He let his toes curl until they cracked, let his eyes lose their sightless focus until they fluttered shut. He thought, and thought, and thought. For once, it didn't hurt to think.

Eventually Alfred's hand stirred from beneath the sheets, fingers feathering out as the meandered into the tiny gap between them until they brushed against the side of Ivan's hand.

"Wanna be my boyfriend anyway?" Alfred asked.

"Only if you want to be mine too."

The two of them laced their fingers together and squeezed.

While I more of less gave this a happy ending, I do think these two would end up being rather dysfunctional at times. Knowing of Ivan's jealousy, Alfred could lash out at him during rough patches by hanging out more with other people.

And in turn, Ivan could always stop mentioning how lovely and amazing he thinks Alfred is. Maybe he'd grab a bit of a love handle or say Alfred's jeans looked like they were fitting too tightly. He'd definitely be able to attack Alfred's insecurity through little words like that.

But at the same time, I see these two sticking together forever. They know each other's weaknesses, the soft spots of their souls and their guilty pleasures. They'll be that one couple that everyone knows will last. They love each other so much they can fight, and don't have to worry about the other leaving.

Basically, they're the high school sweethearts that make it and grow old with one another.