Chapter Text
Everything was a fucking shit.
Till, a young gray-haired guy, was cursing under his breath as he sat on one of the benches in the shade of the campus.
His expression was so harsh and his bad mood so palpable that people walking nearby gave him a wide berth.
He even clicked his tongue when some guy with glasses stared at him for too long, making the guy jump in surprise and ran off with a frightened look.
Good.
The last thing Till wanted was even more unwanted attention.
But no one could help being curious when they saw him. After all, it wasn’t every day you saw someone relatively well-known around campus covered in bruises.
Till, a first-year fine arts student, was also part of the university’s basketball team. Although he wasn’t the tallest on the team, he was undeniably skilled.
Talented enough to have been part of the main lineup for games practically since he joined. Latest rumors had it that he was a top candidate to become the next team captain once the current one graduated at the end of the season next year.
And that was precisely why Till was in this situation.
Till knew he was good, clearly one of the best on the team. Even as just a freshman, he deserved the honor of becoming the next captain. The problem was that others didn’t think so.
Especially Marty, a second-year student who was also up for the position. The idiot claimed that, just because he’d been on the team longer, he deserved the spot more than Till.
Ha! Don't make him laugh. As if seniority outweighed skill.
Since the blond guy felt threatened by Till’s presence, he’d spent all his time pestering him. From passive-aggressive comments (who cared if Marty was a few centimeters taller if his accuracy was pitiful?) to dirty plays on the court, ignoring logical moves just to keep Till from standing out.
Till, who wasn’t exactly famous for his patience and self-control, finally exploded when Marty refused to pass him the ball when he was markedly open. A pass that would’ve given them a clear win in the last game.
Obviously, it came to blows.
By the time the rest of the team managed to separate them, Marty’s face had been “carefully rearranged". Till didn’t come out unscathed either, with a split lip, a black eye and, worst of all, a sprained wrist.
The scolding the coach gave them still rang in his ears.
Till knew he shouldn’t have resorted to violence, but tensions were already high, and with the adrenaline from the game, he lost what little control he had left.
Only now, sitting in the park, did he start to feel regret. Not for hitting Marty, the jerk deserved it, but for the consequences of his actions.
The sprain alone would keep him off the court for at least two weeks, but because of the fight, he’d been suspended for the rest of the term.
The university’s athletic board was even considering revising his scholarship for next year (he didn’t really need it, but money was always welcome).
They reminded him how lucky he was not to be expelled from the team altogether, since he’d thrown the first punch, but thankfully everyone knew Marty’s provocations had been building for a while.
Both Marty’s and Till’s candidacies for being the next captain would be reviewed once the next term began.
Honestly, Till didn’t know what the team atmosphere would be like once he became captain. He figured he’d just bench Marty until the blond got bored and quit on his own.
Yeah, that sounded like a good plan.
In the meantime, Till suddenly had too much free time and nothing to do.
As an athlete, he followed a strict routine, always keeping up with his projects and classes to make time for training. Now, he had to find something to fill that void.
He kicked a rock and slouched deeper on the bench, grimacing as he thought about his situation.
Damn Marty!
Some squeals in the distance caught his attention. A group of girls was surrounding a tall guy in a tracksuit whom Till recognized instantly. And how could he not?
Ivan was a well-known figure on campus. So handsome he could’ve been a model, always with a perpetual smile and impeccable manners, he constantly had a flock of admirers following him.
On top of that, he was smart (a member of the student council) and, as if that weren’t enough, athletic too.
Another successful perfect university’s jock with a promising future.
Till usually didn’t hang around someone so popular, someone who could have stepped straight out of a teen romantic drama, but fate had its ways of crossing their paths.
Ivan happened to be the cousin of the girlfriend of Till’s childhood friend.
They’d met at a party hosted by Mizi, his embarrassing childhood crush (embarrassing because everyone except him had known she was a lesbian), who’d ended becoming his best friend through high school.
His first impression of Ivan had been, “Holy shit!”
If he hadn’t already realized he was bi years ago, Ivan might’ve been his sexual awakening. The guy looked like he'd just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine.
But soon he found out that he was a bit weird.
With that picture-perfect smile, too flawless to be real, he interacted with everyone the same way, as if he was playing a role. As if he was hiding himself.
With everyone but Till.
Since their first meeting, there was something weird in his eyes when he looked at him. Something that stirred a strange, uncomfortable feeling deep inside Till.
From that moment on, they’d had a curious sort of relationship.
Something more than mere acquaintances but less than friends. Close enough for Ivan to greet him cheerfully in the hallways or strike up small talk whenever they crossed paths, earning Till even more unwanted attention.
Till didn’t know exactly what Ivan’s sport was, only that it was something involving ice and skates, so probably ice hockey. It fit a popular jock like him perfectly.
A sport so perfectly masculine, full of testosterone and violence.
Just what Till needed right now to cure his boredom and bloodlust.
So, deciding right then and there, he chose to follow Ivan and watch one of his training sessions.
He didn’t know it at the time, but that impulsive decision would change his life forever.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
The university’s ice dome was stunning, almost Olympic in scale.
It was clear this was a campus that poured time and money into shaping the country’s next elite athletes.
Regretting not having planned his visit better and not having brought warmer clothes, Till buried his face in his sweatshirt for warmth and sat down on the bleachers.
He looked around curiously.
It struck him as odd that there were so few people: just a small group of giggling girls on one side of the stands and a few scattered onlookers like him.
Only four people were gliding on the ice, Ivan easily recognizable, if his imposing figure and the excited squeals that followed him weren’t enough of a clue.
Normally hockey teams had five or six players, didn’t they? Till wasn’t sure as he’d never cared much about the sport before.
So where was everyone else?
And suddenly, Ivan started really moving on the ice.
With perfect posture, he glided as if he were flying. It seemed as though there was no resistance between his skates and the ground, his movements so fluid they almost defied gravity. The swish swish of his blades slicing through the ice only emphasized the freedom in his motion.
And what movements they were!
Till had never seen anyone move their legs so fast or lean their body at such an impossible angle toward the ground. And make it look natural and effortless.
Then there were the spins.
How could anyone spin around that many times and then just keep going as if nothing had happened? Till got dizzy just doing a few feints on the court.
A murmur of excitement rose from the group of girls. They seemed to be anticipating something. Till looked more closely and noticed Ivan picking up speed, the others on the ice giving him plenty of space. What was he going to—?
Till’s heart jumped in his chest. If he’d compared Ivan’s movements to flying before, he hadn’t been exactly wrong, but this time it was literal.
Ivan wasn’t in the air for even a full second, yet in that brief moment he spun several times, landing only to jump again instantly, finishing in a pose with one leg extended behind him in a feat of balance that made Till’s muscles tense in sympathy. He didn’t even realize he was gripping his seat when Ivan’s leg wobbled slightly. Thankfully, he held the pose and kept gliding, arms raised high.
People started clapping, and Till had to resist the urge to join them.
What had just happened? What was all that Ivan was doing and why did Till find it so impressive?
Then, suddenly, dark eyes met his. He could see the flash of surprise on Ivan’s face before one of his perfect, magazine-cover smiles appeared.
Till immediately started planning his escape, but it was too late. Either Ivan was on a break or done training, because he soon skated to the edge of the rink and waved him over. Till wanted to ignore him, feeling the sting of the girls’ stares on the back of his neck, but that became impossible once Ivan started calling his name.
“Till!! Hey! I wasn’t expecting you here. What a surprise! Come over!” he called.
Reluctantly, and mostly to make him stop making such a scene, Till walked closer. It was even colder by the rink, and he couldn’t understand how Ivan was fine wearing just a short-sleeved shirt. A very tight short-sleeved shirt, at that.
Now that he looked more carefully, Ivan was slimmer than he’d thought, usually hidden under layers of loose clothes. The expanse of his broad shoulders ended in a waist so narrow it didn’t quite match the rest of him. Till's mind thought about the width of a basketball and couldn’t help but make comparisons.
Would his fingers meet if he held him by the hips?
“How come you’re here? Don’t you have basketball practice?” Ivan asked, snapping him out of his daze and his sudden interest in the shape and feel of those hips. Ivan’s gaze flicked to his tracksuit.
“I’m on a break for a while,” Till explained shortly, holding up his bandaged hand. The guy didn’t need to know more. “I was bored, so I came to see what all the fuss was about.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d suddenly be interested in figure skating.”
“Figure skating? That’s what this is? You just… move and jump around on the ice?”
“That’s a simple way to put it, yeah,” Ivan laughed. “It’s like dancing on ice.”
“Dancing? Doesn’t really sound like your thing…” Till commented, not realizing how that might sound. “Shouldn’t there be music, then?”
“There is. Right now we’re just warming up. If you stay a bit longer, you’ll see us practice some routines.”
Till wasn’t keen on staying much longer than necessary in that freezing place, but the mention of music caught his interest. He was an art student, after all, and music had always been one of his passions.
“If you stay till the end, I’ll buy you a coffee afterward to warm you up. What do you say?”
Till didn’t have time to agree or refuse before Ivan was called back.
In silence, he returned to his seat, ignoring the accusing stares of the girls for stealing the black-haired skater’s attention.
What was he even doing there? He wasn’t even friends with Ivan.
And now that it was clear the most violent thing he’d see was someone taking a fall, why didn’t he just leave?
Curiosity.
That same curiosity about what Ivan’s discipline actually involved was what kept him glued to his seat. He’d already seen the kind of movements they made on the ice but how would it all look once coordinated with music? And what kind of music would it be?
Was it like rhythmic gymnastics, with all those poses and graceful turns?
One of the skaters on the rink began a choreography accompanied by music, and Till’s attention snapped back to the ice.
He didn’t know anything about the sport, but he’d seen enough to notice the movements weren’t nearly as impressive as Ivan’s. His observation was confirmed when the coach made the guy repeat the same spinning sequence several times. The music, something that sounded like the opening of a kids’ cartoon series, quickly became irritating as they looped the same section over and over.
Two more athletes tried their routines, with varying degrees of success. The music changed completely each time: one used a ballad, another a more upbeat track.
In the end, Till hadn’t been far off comparing it to rhythmic gymnastics.
Which brought him back to his initial thought: what was Ivan doing in a sport like this?
It seemed too delicate, too feminine, for a big guy like him. He didn’t get it.
Until a new song began to play.
Another ballad but with darker tones this time. Sadder.
And Ivan began to move across the ice.
The rink fell in a respectful silence; only the music and the sharp, slicing sound of skates cutting through the ice could be heard.
Till didn’t even realize he was leaning forward, tense in his seat, barely blinking.
He’d seen Ivan do those same moves and jumps during practice, but now, paired with music, it was something else entirely.
Ivan wasn’t just dancing on the ice, he was becoming one with the music, letting his body and expressions tell a story. The anguish and sorrow on his face were a world apart from the idiotic smile he usually wore.
The contrast was mesmerizing.
Everything about Ivan’s routine was captivating: the fluidity of his movement, the yearning in his gaze, the way he extended his arms as if reaching for something or someone to hold. Till could feel his chest tighten with every jump, and he had to fight the urge to cheer after each perfect landing. He didn’t want to break the solemn spell that had fallen over the place.
When the routine ended, with Ivan standing in the center of the rink, arms wrapped around himself, the silence shattered at once. Cheers and screams from the group of admirers pulled Till abruptly out of his trance.
Even so, he remained lost in thought, replaying what he’d just seen, when the practice finally ended.
“So, what did you think?” Ivan asked, having slipped on some guards to walk off the ice toward the stands where Till was sitting.
The gray-haired boy looked up, suddenly feeling smaller under Ivan’s imposing figure which the extra height from his skates didn’t help. He looked like a giant next to him. Till opened his mouth to answer, but words failed him.
“Speechless… That good, huh?” Ivan teased with a smug grin.
Maybe the dark-haired skater had just shown him a side of himself Till hadn’t known existed. An entirely new world full of unexpected delicate and awe inspiring art.
That didn’t stop him from wanting to wipe that smug little smile off his face with a punch.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Till couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
Sitting in a campus café, he could feel dozens of eyes on him. On him and, more specifically, on his companion, who was currently at the counter paying for their drinks.
True to his word, Ivan had invited him for a coffee as thanks for staying through his training session.
Everyone in the café turned their attention to the skater the moment they walked in. A few people spared curious glances at Till too, but he still felt the pressure of the judgmental stares.
How could Ivan tolerate that kind of constant attention? Till was on the verge of snapping.
“Here you go, your coffee,” Ivan announced, setting their drinks on the table. “Everything okay?” he asked, noticing Till’s obvious discomfort.
“Yeah. Fine,” Till muttered, looking away. He just wanted to finish this coffee and get the hell out of there.
Ivan watched him in silence for a few seconds, tilting his head like a curious dog, before glancing around. Several people blushed when he met their eyes.
“Do you want to go outside? We can drink them while we walk,” he suggested, pointing at the generic paper cups.
“Yes, please,” Till growled, already halfway to the door before Ivan even finished speaking. Ivan’s laughter followed him out, but Till didn’t care.
At least there wouldn’t be as many staring eyes outside. And, if he reached his breaking point, he could always run for it.
“Wait for me, Till! You’re too fast,” Ivan complained, his tone playfully childish.
Till grunted grumpily at that.
Ivan was whining as if, with those long legs of his, he couldn’t catch up in only a couple of strides. Which, of course, he did seconds later.
They walked in silence for a while, each sipping their coffee.
Ivan was cheerfully humming some tune as he strolled beside Till. The gray-haired boy glanced sideways at him. It was hard to believe that the goofy scatterbrained puppy walking next to him was the same person who, just earlier, had expressed such raw emotion on the ice.
His eyes drifted unconsciously toward Ivan’s waist. Covered once again in loose clothing, it was impossible to tell the kind of figure that was laying beneath.
How many other secrets was the dark-haired skater hiding?
Till felt a strange desire to uncover them all. Out of pure curiosity, of course.
“So?” Ivan asked suddenly. “What did you think?” Till looked at him, not immediately realizing what he meant. “My performance,” Ivan clarified. “What did you think of it?”
“Oh, that.” Till took a moment to think. “Surprising, I guess. I didn’t expect that to be your sport.”
“Too delicate for someone as big as me?” Ivan teased. Till nearly choked, unable to respond to such an accurate accusation. Luckily, Ivan didn’t seem offended.
“You’re not the first, nor the last, to think that,” he laughed. “You should’ve heard the comments I got when I used to do ballet with Sua.”
Ballet. Ivan had done ballet.
Till was in the middle of imagining Ivan in tight leggings, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination about his strong thigh muscles, when the other kept talking.
“So, what did you think of the routine?”
“Hard?” Till wasn’t exactly an expert, so he had no idea what the right answer was.
“And the music?”
“Normal? …Fitting?” Honestly, he had no clue what Ivan was trying to get out of him with this interrogation.
“Really? You didn’t think it was too sad or flat?”
Till blinked, confused, while Ivan huffed, his smile disappearing for the first time since they’d left the arena.
“Is there a problem with the song?” Till asked, noticing the shift in his mood. What could’ve caused that change?
“Not a problem exactly, but…” Ivan tilted his head from side to side, as if searching for the right words. Till couldn’t help but watch, fascinated. His expressions were so much more interesting than that usual poker-face smile.
“It’s like… something’s missing, you know? It feels as if my body and the music are moving side by side. Together, but never really connecting. Does that make sense?”
Not really. Till hadn’t noticed anything wrong with the performance. But at the same time, the artist in him did understand what Ivan was trying to say.
Sometimes, the emotions inside you, the things that were swirling in your chest, were stronger and clearer than what you could ever express outwardly.
“Mizi told me you do music too,” Ivan continued, glancing at him expectantly. When Till nodded, he went on, “Could I ask you a favor? Since you’ve got some free time now, maybe you could take a look at my song and adjust it a bit?”
“What? But I don’t know anything about figure skating! I mean, I don’t even know if there’s a specific structure or rhythm you have to follow…”
“Don’t worry,” Ivan interrupted. “You can learn as you go. I’ll answer all your questions.”
Till wanted to say no, but the skater’s huge, pleading eyes froze his tongue in place. Was it normal for a guy to have eyes that bright, or eyelashes that long?
“I’ll pay you!” Ivan added quickly, with puppy eyes and a pleading expression.
Damn it. Till was caught.