Chapter 10

Ivan's so, like.Virile and healthy and stuff.

He probably cums buckets.

Till hates this train of thought so much.

Ivan finally blinks, successfully rebooting.

Oh, good.

He's going to nix this, Till thinks.

Ivan tacks on a slimy smile and turns to the teacher.

There's a weird vein bulging on his temple.

"Can I have permission to use the restroom?"

The teacher is still watching them owlishly.

"Take the hall pass," she manages.

Ivan does not take the hall pass.

He's out of the room as soon as she gives him vague approval to leave.

And that's how Till finds himself alone at the table,

with twelve pairs of eyes boring a hole into his head.

Ivan fucking left.

He didn't even try to clean up Till's mess like he always does.

Not that Till needs Ivan for anything,

but it was still a monumental dick move to leave him here.

Till miserably buries his face into the table.

Ivan's allowed to talk about Till's nail polish chips and phlegm without getting a single odd glance,

but Till is a weirdo for wiping clay from Ivan's face.

It's humbling to be the freak for once.

The art teacher is probably mentally filing this incident away to tell her friends over wine later.

Sena is whispering to her friend.

If rumors spread — if Mizi hears about this —

Till will super glue Sena's locker shut, he swears to god.

Ivan doesn't return.

Till thinks it should earn him disciplinary action,

but half the teaching staff is madly in love with Ivan,

so he gets special treatment.

No surprises there.

By the time the bell rings,

Till has made zero progress on his own project.

Not that it matters.

He could slap a lopsided lump of clay on the table and still score higher than Ivan's stupid square cup,

provided the teacher doesn't take points off for Till being such a freak.

Till gathers his things.

Escapes into the crowded hallway.

That cheerleader's boyfriend doesn't come and find him —

Ivan must've talked the guy down during his stupid team breakfast last Saturday.

It's a bummer.

Till was hoping to let off some steam and get in a fight.

Whatever.

They always come looking for him eventually.

The walk home in the rain is miserable.

Ivan's car isn't in the driveway.Or the garage.

Till is pretty sure there's no football practice today,

so maybe Ivan's having glorious penetrative gay sex somewhere,

who knows.

And no, the thought doesn't anger Till.

If Ivan is sleeping around, then it's a good thing.

Less freak behavior directed at Till.

Besides —

Till is still the only step-brother Ivan has.

So in all likelihood, Ivan's not even into the sex.

He's probably got a beautiful blond twink under him,

and Ivan's thinking,

ugh, what a chore, I wish this was Till's hole.

Io isn't home from work yet.

She texts Till:she'll be working late —he should go out and grab a bite with Ivan.

Uh, yeah.

Fat fucking chance.

Ivan is currently MIA.

At least, that's what Till thinks —

until Ivan calls an hour later.

He's lucky he just got out of the shower,

or he wouldn't have heard the ring.

And Ivan always gets so pissy when Till doesn't pick up,

so Till slides his thumb across the screen to answer.

Still pissed about ceramics,

Till grits out a low,angry,

"What."

Ivan isn't even phased.

"Hello to you too, Till."

"Fuck you," Till hisses.

"Are you offering?"

It's a completely normal comment for a freak like Ivan.

Or — it would be.

Now Till is burdened with the knowledge that Ivan's Ivan-ism

stems from a deep and forbidden lust for his younger step-brother.

So it's hard to brush Ivan off

like Till would have done even just a week ago.

Something about that makes Till want to be a little mean.

"I don't fuck losers," Till snaps.

Not technically a lie.

He hasn't fucked anybody yet.

Losers included.

He glares up at the ceiling,

still half-dressed.

"Why are you calling me —"

"You've had sex?" Ivan asks, quiet.

Pfft.

Till bites back a laugh.

Ivan can be so fucking pathetic sometimes.

Till can't believe he fell for that.

"What, are you jealous?"

Silence.

Ivan's voice is deadly calm.

"Who?"

Till blinks.

He pulls the phone away, squints at the screen.

He's known Ivan for the better part of a decade —

he's familiar with Ivan-speak.

That who wasn't asking for vague details.

It was asking for a name,age,possibly address, too.

No worries.

Till can play it off.

Change the subject.

"It's actually none of your fucking business."

"I asked you a question, Till."

Till would never admit it —

but Ivan can be fucking terrifying.

At least this conversation isn't happening face to face.

This is cigarettes-after-school level weird for Ivan,

and it's pissing Till off.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

His skin breaks out in goosebumps.

"I don't have to answer you."

Ivan doesn't even suppress his freak.

"Was it your guitar teacher?"

"What? No," Till replies, then frowns.

Wait.

"You said she was a lesbian.

Were you fucking lying to me?"

Ivan doesn't respond.

"Please tell me," he says."I'm asking nicely."

"Oh my god, Ivan.

You're such a freak," Till breathes.

Already so fucking done with this conversation.

"I was joking.My body is untouched and pure."

"Good," Ivan sighs, barely audible.

Maybe relieved.

"That was mean, by the way."

"Uh, yeah. Did you forget who you're talking to?"Till asks.

Fork found in kitchen.Seriously.

"Never."

Till crinkles his eyebrows.

But he lets it go.

"Whatever. Did you call for a reason, or am I suffering through this phone call for nothing?"

"We're on our own tonight," Ivan says, suddenly casual,

like he wasn't just vaguely threatening the imaginary people Till has slept with.

"I was thinking about getting sushi for dinner."

Fuck.

Till perks up.

"You're paying?"

Ivan's low, smooth laugh rolls through the receiver.

And it does not send a shiver down Till's spine,

thank you very much.

"Have you ever paid when we go out, Till?"

"Fuck you,"

Till snaps, embarrassed.

He spends most of his allowance on clothes, piercings, accessories —

unlike Ivan, who saves his money for days like these.

"You like paying.

You've got this, like, perverse provider martyr complex.

You'd thank me if I drained your wallet dry."