Chapter 16

The first thing Till does is wedge the clay.

He needs to do it himself to ensure that there aren't any air pockets - this isfor Ivan's grade, after all.

Till can't fuck this up. He's a mess of sticky, wet clay by the end, but he's pretty confident with the result.

Then, he molds the clay into a delicate cup shape.

It isn't easy to do without a wheel, but that wasn't part of the assignment, so he has to rely on his own skill.

After he's finished, he adds a handle when everything is smoothed out.

It's already the best project in the class, but Till isn't done.

He carefully uses a craft knife to imprint intricate details into the clay, adding lines and patterns for texture.

He's taken enough art classes to know the teacher's tastes, and plain isn't going to work here.

Twenty-nine minutes later, Till finishes in just the nick of time.

Normally, he'd take a picture of his work to admire later, but he doesn't have a moment to spare.

There's only one thing left to do to complete his plan.

There simply isn't time to question himself.Seconds before the bell rings, Till stands up.

The legs of his chair scrape loudly against the linoleum tile, drawingattention.

Once everyone in the room is looking at him, Till stares at the teacher, opens his mouth, and says very deliberately,"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

Several mouths fall open to gawk at him, which is saying something.

Till cusses a lot, and this is insane even for him.

There will definitely be people talking about this tomorrow.

Maybe it'll reach Mizi's ears, but for once, Till can't find it in himself to care.

This is all for Ivan. He better be fucking grateful. And he better not ignore Till for another three years.

"Detention," the art teacher says after her initial surprise, and Till pretends to look annoyed.

This time, Till is tasked with cleaning the store rooms while the art teacher continues to scroll through Pinterest.

He's grateful for whatever is grabbing her attention there, because it gives him the opportunity to slip into the kiln room.

Unfortunately, Ivan's square cup is at the very bottom of the kiln.

Till has to unload everything, fish it out, and then he takes a moment to stare at it.

It's objectively awful. Everything about Ivan's square cup is a crime against art and humanity as a whole.

The shape, the rough texture, the cracked handle.

Suddenly, he remembers Ivan's earnest expression yesterday when he'd asked for Till's opinion.

Eyebrows raised, gaze hopeful, snaggletooth protruding over his bottom lip. Like a stupid, eager dog.

What do you think? Ivan had asked.

Till takes a good long look at the square cup and decides that it doesn't have a single redeeming quality.

That's what he thinks. But he carefully sets it aside all the same, because what it lacks in craftsmanship, it apparently makes up for in sentimental value.

Ugh. Ivan's turned Till into such a useless sap.

After carving Ivan's initials onto the bottom of the cup Till sculpted, he loads the kiln exactly as it had been, thenleaves to help the custodian mop the floor.

Embarrassingly, Till's gotten pretty acquainted with the guy from the sheer number of times he's been punished andforced to clean after school.

"Detention again, Till?" the custodian asks, sighing.

Till peevishly reaches for a broom. "It was actually on purpose this time."

"I'm sure it was," the custodian laughs, then leans against his mop to consider Till.

"At this point, we should get youyour own cleaning cart. What do you say?"

"Ha ha," Till says, rolling his eyes as he begins sweeping the floor. He knows the drill by now.

They make good time. The cool thing about this guy is that he doesn't make small talk, and Till is infinitely grateful because he's already in a bad mood, and he'd feel like shit if he took it out on a random person.

Honestly, the work isn't so bad. It helps keep Ivan off his mind, so he isn't complaining.

Later, the custodian buys Till a soda at the vending machine for helping and tells him to stay out of trouble, which Tillwill not be doing, but he does appreciate the gesture.

After Till has served his sentence, a group of delinquents offer him a cigarette when he leaves the school, but he isn't in the mood for once - actually, that's a fat fucking lie.

After the stress of discovering stepbrother porn on Ivan's computer, realizing they're both gay, and whatever the hell is happening between them now, Till would give his right arm for a cigarette to destress.

But Ivan is already pissed at him, and he doesn't want a repeat of last night.

"Maybe next time," Till says, staring longingly at the cigarette between the girl's fingers.

"Gotta get home." There's football practice today.

Till can hear people in the bleachers as he walks past, but it's really Coach Carter's screaming that cements the fact.

Ivan's over there, and Till could stop by to try talking to him.

But he's also terrified that Ivan might brush him off again, so he doesn't. He's not being a coward.

He's just... giving Ivan some space. It's the smart thing to do. That's all. 

Dinner is awkward.

They're having salmon tonight. Normally, that's Till's favorite, but it's hard to have an appetite when the tension in theair is so thick it could be cut with a knife.

They're all seated at the kitchen table, except Ivan is sitting across from Till rather than right next to him.

"How was practice?" lo asks Ivan after the silence becomes unbearable.

Ivan is currently cutting his salmon fillet into neat, bite-sized pieces, which is all wrong. Ivan always gives half of his to till, always.

"Good. I think we have a shot at beating the Wildcats, but our best running back sprained his ankle yesterday, so we'llhave to adjust our strategy."

"Oh, no," Io says. "I hope he's alright."Till stabs his salmon with his fork.

Ivan hasn't spared him a glance since they sat down, and it's... annoying. Only mildly.

"He'll recover," Ivan replies after mechanically eating a bite of rice.

"Coach was upset, but we'll shape up for Tomorrow." Till snorts. Upset is an understatement. He heard the guy screaming from 100 yards away, but he chooses not to comment.

Instead, he shoves his rice around on his plate, glowering at nothing.

At this point, he almost hopes Ivan will lose tomorrow's football game. This entire situation is getting fucking stupid.

Io frowns when she notices. "Till, please eat your dinner. You're so thin."

"Not hungry," Till mutters, still toying with his food.

"Just a few bites," Io encourages, raising her eyebrows. "For me?"

Till never stood a chance. For his mom? Fucking anything, honestly.

He cuts his salmon and takes a bite. It tastes amazing, but no surprises there.

Io could throw random ingredients into a pan and it would still be delicious, because he lucked out and ended up with, objectively speaking, the best mom ever.

Suddenly, Till gets an idea. If Ivan won't talk to him, then he'll just force it.

Ivan can never resist being a freak when itcomes to Till. He's like an addict. It's a fix for him.

Till finishes chewing, turns to Ivan, and casually asks,

"Can you pass me the salt, please?"

Ivan is going to say something freakish like, oh, Till, you really shouldn't, my notes say your sodium intake is slightly up since yesterday, or it's going to be something so unimaginably insane, Till can't even try to anticipate it. Ivan is always surprising him.

Except Ivan doesn't say anything.

He doesn't glance up, doesn't tease Till, doesn't do anything except reach for the salt shaker, pass it across the table, and go right back to his meal like a normal person would.

And for some reason, it kind of feels like a slap to the face.

Or a punch to the gut. For a second, Till just stares at him.

The freak didn't even look.

Something hot and ugly claws up Till's throat, and he has to grip the salt shaker tight to stop himself from throwing it at Ivan's stupid, perfect face.

He's so handsome.

He must feel Till's eyes burning a hole into the side of his head, but he pretends not to notice. Fine. Fine.

If Ivan wants to ignore Till, then whatever. Till is officially done caring about the whole fucking situation.

Two can play this game. He'll just ignore Ivan harder.

He's going to be so nonchalant and cool about this, and Ivan will grovel at his feet tomorrow, begging Till to pay attention to him. But he won't.

He'll give Ivan a taste of his own medicine, because this fucking - fucking - sucks

"Till, baby," Io says from across the table, setting down her silverware with a frown,

"are you crying?" Till blinks. Unconsciously, he reaches up and discovers that he is, in fact, crying.

His fingertips are wet with tears, andthere's plenty more where that came from, because when has Till only cried just a little?Crybaby.

That's what Ivan used to call him when they were kids. Funny how some things change, while others stay the exact same.

And the worst part?

Ivan looks up for a brief, tiny moment, and their eyes meet. Lock.

Till stares at him through a sea of wet, angry tears, but there's a desperation to it too.

Something pathetic and needy that he'll hate himself for later, but he can't help it. He just wants.

But it doesn't matter, because Ivan looks away.

Like it's nothing. Like Till is nothing.Io is saying something, but Till doesn't hear it past the roaring in his ears.

All he can focus on is Ivan sitting there andeating his dinner like Till isn't actively crying.