Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

TW: THIS INCLUDING MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, VIOLENCE, ABUSE, GAY PEOPLE, AND A BREIF MENTION OF SELF HARM, and yes this includes swearing. Enjoy!

“Give me one last chance, or I kill myself tonight.”

……………………………………………………………
Chapter 1: the panic

..Ivan’s POV until next dotted line..

What if Ivan had never jumped? What if everything turned out as he hoped, and he got therapy to change his ways, despite not wanting to be the monster he turned out to be? He knew he had to change before everything went downhill further, he needed Andrew back, and he would try everything to get him back, even risking his own life..

“Shit shit shit..” Ivan glanced at the clock in the corner of his living room. His apartment was a wreck ever since Andrew had left; he never bothered to pick up around the place. The bottled colas trashing the living room, messy sheets, shelves disorganized… What was the point, the only person who cared to visit him was gone.

Ivan had wanted to get to Andrew’s place before 10:30, but now it's 9:00 and he is still writing down a full apology – his memory has always sucked with remembering simple things.

It takes three hours to drive to Andrew’s place. Ivan hates how far he moved away, but Andrew had every right… He's a monster. After all, who would make their best friend, much less crush, sleep on the ground? Maybe... Andrew is better off with him?

No! What the hell is he saying, he needs Andrew, and Andrew needs him... and that’s the truth, it has to be.

“What the hell are you doing Ivan?” Ivan whips his head around, only to see the shadow of his deceased father again, the skin peeling, charcoal skin burnt beyond recognition. “Don't you remember what I told you? Two men can’t live together, let alone be friends in your disgusting case...”

Ivan collapses, “Please stop... please... he's my only friend, you know this! He needs me just as much as I need him! I can’t go on without him... he's my lifeline...”

“You're gonna end up just as I did, Ivan. I told you to make a name for yourself and you're chasing some... boy like you're some kind of wimp. You're no son of mine, just a disappointment.”

Ivan shuts his eyes tightly, he can’t breathe, he knows he can’t... he’s scared, he's shaking… but he opens his eyes, and in a moment it’s gone. Ivan grabs the papers he wrote and bolts out the door, down the elevator, and into his car. As he starts the engine, the lights are all a blur, and maybe it’s because he’s crying, but he isn’t sure at this point. He just feels numb.

He needs his friend back. His Love.

………………………………………………………….

..Andrew’s POV until next line..

(This is the day before Ivan realized he had messed up badly.)

He felt exhausted, mentally but also physically drained; his whole body ached from the quick moving out and the last minute house he bought.

He had finally saved up enough money to escape that monster. All the abuse, the arguing... but his heart still ached for the person he had come to love so much. His heart felt as if a chunk had been taken out of it, but he knew this was better than going back to that awful place… “That should be all the boxes, I’ll just… unpack in the morning.” He leaned against the box, all of the dust making him cough, but he ignored it, his chest heaving from the exertion. He still didn’t understand why he didn’t bring something to help him carry the boxes; especially the one with his computer and cables..

As Andrew opened the box titled “Food”, he pulled out a ramen packet (his favorite one is the spicy version, it's just better). It’s not like he can afford much, he’s basically in the middle of nowhere, just grass for a little while, but that’s what he liked.

He hated the city –too noisy– but not in the woods –the things that he could find or what could find him scared Andrew a little – though maybe it would have brought a rather peaceful feeling onto him. He liked the sound of flowing water, and how the water felt on his socks... wait, socks?

Andrew looked down to see he was dozing off again and he had overfilled the pot. There goes hundreds of dollars onto the ground. “Dammit, I don’t even have towels yet! Just calm down...” he used his sleeves –he hated the feeling, but it worked better than nothing– dumping some of the water down the drain to the correct level, he put the water on the stove, putting the noodles in to boil. This time he wouldn’t doze off and wouldn’t burn the noodles, overcook them, or burn down his house.

After Andrew finished eating, he got into bed. Well, somewhat of a bed: pillows on the ground with a blanket. This is the last night he would sleep like this ever again. He wouldn't have to be forced to sleep on the ground by the fireplace, he wouldn’t be shoved outside, he would just be... free.

Andrew was stronger than any other and that's no doubt. First he escaped his abusive parents who hated him, then Ivan. He deserves this freedom. He deserves to be free, finally...

……………………………………………………………

The next Day. (Current)

Ivan’s POV until I say it’s not.

It’s pouring down now. Usually the rain would calm Ivan; maybe it’s because he knows rain just washes off mankind’s harm to the earth, watering and giving life to plants & animals to keep them alive, though for others it causes harm, damage. He finally pulls into Andrew’s house, making sure the papers stay dry. The red visor he wears is the only thing making his vision clear during the downpour as he walks up the steps to the door, knocking softly.

Then the door opens.

Ivan’s breath hitches as he watches Andrew’s eyes widen. “Wait, please, just let me speak one more time..” Ivan had shown up a month before, but at the time Ivan was only just saying things, probably thinking Andrew would just come back to him immediately. He's realized what he did now.

“Ivan, why… Why are you here…? You showed up earlier, that was your moment for redemption. It's over alright?” As Andrew goes to slam the door, Ivan shoves his hand into it, cutting his palm in the process.

“Please... I just… I had time to think about what I’ve done, and I’m here to give you a real apology.” He rubs his hand a little, he can’t believe he’d driven 3 hours and walked the rest of 5 minutes to get here. He is exhausted.

It's 1am, but he had to let Andrew know he was truly sorry, that he was scared, and for real this time.

“…” Andrew sighs, running a hand through his hair, should he even allow an apology? He stares at Ivan for a little, before his eyes soften at the desperate look on Ivan’s face

“Alright, just... be truthful. And if it’s any bullshit I’m closing this door for good."
…………………………………………………………

Chapter Text

Chapter 2.: the fault.

Ivan doesn't remember a lot from his past. He only remembers vague stuff: he hated school, he won a writing competition (and continued writing to this day), his parents were nice, his dad died from the fire. But most of his memories were from when he was 17, when he met Andrew in high school, Andrew just 18. He remembers how they laughed, how he would pick Ivan up from his parents’ to have sleepovers when his parents were being shit, him buying Andrew food to cheer him up and read Andrew his latest writings, how Andrew would laugh and smile..

He misses those times, everything was more simple, just them against the world. But Ivan was always more protective of Andrew, thinking of him like some fragile thing.

I mean, who could blame him? Andrew got into fights in school for fun to feel some kind of pain, which worried him –how could Andrew ever want to get hurt on purpose? He was beautiful, so Ivan always questioned when Andrew had new marks and would drag him to the nurse where his parents would get called.

He misses the intimate moments they shared together, when they accidentally kissed during gym class and were forced out of the room and sent to the principals office, how Ivan snuck out of his house to chat with Andrew, how they cuddled on the couch, and how they did everything together... Andrew was his first… everything. He has no idea why he wrecked it.

Maybe it was the voices.

“Make a name for yourself, don’t end up forgotten like I was.”

“Two men living together? Don’t you think that's a bit strange?”

“You’re gonna ruin everything like you always do, Ivan.”

“Andrew will leave you the first chance he gets.”

…was that really it? Did he just feel pressured, so hard to the point he had to mentally hurt his own friend? All he wanted to do was help…

No, Andrew kept denying help for his damn video game. All Ivan wanted to do was help... maybe he thought Ivan wasn’t enough? No.. Andrew wouldn’t think that.. maybe it is really him.
……………………………………………………………

“Ivan, what’s that?” Andrew points at the papers Ivan is holding.

“Ah it’s for me to read off to make sure I say everything I want to say...” He and Andrew both have crappy memories, so Andrew really doesn’t think that much of it, he’s just a bit disappointed that Ivan wouldn’t remember everything. If it's important he knows Ivan would remember. But it’s a long list, so he just sighs.

Ivan cleared his throat and looked at his script. “Words will never be enough to describe the horrible pain I have put you through. The nights I forced you to sleep on the ground, the nights I yelled at you for the littlest things. But I regret it all. I know I said this, but I can’t sleep without you with me, I can’t breath properly, I’m a wreck, I miss our old talks, our old play dates, how I would sneak through your window so we could talk, how we cuddled on my couch when the fireplace broke so I made sure you weren’t freezing…

“I miss you Andrew. I will do anything to make this right, and you have every right to hate me and resent me, hell you can even hit me... just please... don’t leave me…

“I would miss you ever so dearly, I want to please be friends again..” His eyes tear up slightly, and Ivan is NEVER the type to cry. He says crying is a weakness, in public atleast. The last time Andrew saw Ivan cry was over something stupid. He cried over the fact he bought the wrong shirt size, but yet again he said he was just ‘faking it’, so it spoke volumes.

Ivan waits as Andrew stares at him “Andrew... Just please say something… And please don’t say I forgive you... I can’t do that again... I can’t...” His breathing quickly becomes heavy, and Andrew puts an arm on his shoulder.

“Get inside, it’s raining and you’ll catch a cold. Again.” When they were in high school, Andrew had forgotten his hoodie, so Ivan gave Andrew his hoodie. Ivan had caught a cold for a week, Ivan had then stated that he would never go outside with Andrew again when it was raining. Which, of course, didn't last long.
……………………………………………………………

It is Andrew’s POV now

Oh god... what has he done?

He willingly let Ivan inside his house, what if he actually threatens to burn it down? He remembers Ivan said he enjoyed looking at fire, what if that's a threat now...? No... he just needs to calm down. Ivan was passed out asleep on Andrew’s bed.

Andrew didn’t necessarily forgive him. He said that he would accept his friendship, but not his apology –he would have admitted that he had missed Ivan dearly, and that the emptiness was suffocating for himself, but maybe that was the manipulation. Besides, he made 2 new friends when he went out for groceries.

Why was he even doing this…?

He had put his furniture in the place he wanted to earlier, but he couldn’t leave Ivan alone in his bedroom. The guy had a panic attack and passed out in his arms, he could hurt himself more.

“God, why do you do this to yourself Ivan? You really do need serious help...” he murmurs in the quiet room, not wanting to wake him up. He stands up, grabbing Ivan a pair of pajamas if he wakes up in the night. A white t-shirt and grey plaid pants. He walked back to the bed, laying them down neatly before leaving the room to lay on his couch.

“I can’t imagine what you even did to yourself when I was gone.” He didn’t notice any marks on him, which was good, but it’s the thought that matters.
…………………………………………………………

As he’s asleep, his mind slowly drifts into a nightmare. He wants to wake up, but his mind is telling him he’s already awake, and he must face his consequences by letting him back in.

In front of him stands Ivan, with the axe in his hand. He notices with the warm blood running down it his own face is split open, and the flesh parts on Ivan’s axe. Though he’s only half sure the gore covering the axe is his, as Ivan is on his knees pleading, begging, crying for forgiveness in front of him.

“Please... Just one last chance! I beg of you... I swear I’m getting better... I can prove it!” Tears stream down his face, blood mixing with the tears as Ivan drops the axe.

“W-what have you done…?” Andrew chokes out, blood sputtering from his mouth. The dream claws to him like it’s reality, as if he can feel the burning sensation of his bloody throat. He feels light headed.

“I… I can’t forgive you for this!!! What the fuck is wrong with y-you…?!” he stutters slightly, wobbling and gripping onto a nearby wall. Despite the area seeming to be a pitch black void, there is a wall close behind him.

Ivan stands up quickly, grabbing the axe and putting it to Andrew’s throat “Give me one last chance, or I kill myself tonight.”

The tears are gone, and Ivan just has that chilling look; where his visor covers the top of his face, leaving his one eye visible –the white one.

Andrew had always found himself fascinated by Ivan’s different colored eyes, one as dark as charcoal, and the other one as white as snow. He'd always blush when Ivan caught him staring, but now... All he sees when he looks at the two different colored eyes is insanity and fear.

“IVAN STOP!” Andrew tries to kick him, but he feels the axe dig into his skin, and he starts screaming out for help- only to startle awake.

The first thing he saw as he was abruptly yanked back into reality was Ivan’s eyes. Andrew scrambled back on the couch, still half inside his dream. “Ivan, get- I-” As he brought his hand up to his forehead, he found a distinct lack of blood. “But you… you took the… my head…”

Ivan just blinks. “What? You scared the shit out of me!! I wake up to hear you groaning in pain, so I walk out of your room to see you crying in your sleep, grabbing your throat!! Do you have night terrors or something? Like what the hell was that?”

Andrew sits up on the couch, his head still spinning from his dream. “Ah… I apologize. I didn’t mean to… We need to talk.” He pulls Ivan to sit with him, close enough to make sure he’s not dreaming.
……………………………………………………………

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Talking

(It’s Ivan’s POV or I will go insane)

It’s 9pm now, Ivan just woke up. He sits up and his bones pop. He’s not even 30 yet, but he sure as hell feels like he is. He can’t get the sound out of his head, how Andrew cried in his sleep, screaming at him… he never meant to fuck up this bad. He loved his best friend, and Andrew was the only friend he really had.

He stands, his joints aching. Maybe he really did pass out last night. He probably hit his head, because there’s a giant bruise on his head. He exits the bedroom and sees Andrew sitting at the kitchen table –it’s obvious he was zoning out.

“Hey, Andrew, you okay…? Look I’m sorry for passing out on you, I just-“ He’s already overthinking everything…

‘Y0v,11 ju$+ huřț hïm ağæn.. a£Ÿøů A[ŵæÿş ðo.’ Whispers of the Tumor still festering in his ear.

Ivan tries to stay with reality, looking back at Andrew.

“Ivan... as I said we need to talk. I accept your friendship, but not your apology. We need to talk about ways you can get better.” Andrew knows that Ivan hates admitting he’s wrong, especially with the hallucinations. Ivan thinks he is always -ALWAYS, better than others, and constantly being the victim. But maybe, just maybe, now that Andrew left Ivan, he can come back to his senses and realize he’s not always the victim.

“Ah… right, sorry about that.” He takes a seat across from Andrew, placing his hands in his lap.

“You need help Ivan, serious help. You know that, I know that. What are you willing to do?” Andrew took a deep breath before continuing. “If you don't have ideas I have ideas for you.” Ivan watches Andrew stand up and grab a small piece of paper before sitting back down, his knee bouncing up and down rapidly.

“I haven’t thought of it to be honest. But, I guess…” Ivan’s heartbeat raced in his ears, anger and fear building in his chest like a flame, ready to grow and consume him in it. “...I will take your ideas.” He’s angry that he has to change, but it isn’t his anger, not really. He wants to be with Andrew, so he’ll do whatever he needs to.

“Alright, I have three options for you: take medicine, therapy weekly, or the damn psych ward.” Ivan flinches at the harshness in Andrew’s voice, and even though he knows Andrew wants to help him, he can’t help the sharp anger crawling up his throat.

“I dunno. Why the hell are you shoving this on me now?”

“I told you this last night, Ivan. Don’t raise your voice at me when I told you this ahead of time.” He stands up easily to get the higher ground.

“Oh please, don’t act like the damn victim here. You gave me this notice last night while I tried to help you back to sleep!”

“You left as soon as I said I was fine!” Andrew was seething, his fists clenched tightly next to him as he stood abruptly. “Fine! Want therapy and meds? ‘Cause you need ‘em.”

Ivan sat on the kitchen chair, shaking from barely contained anger and anxiety, as Andrew stalked off to his room, slamming the door as he went inside.

…………………………………………………………..

(Have Andrew again <3)

Andrew slams the door behind him before sliding down it, covering his hot face with his hands and groaning. His door and bed are some of the only things in his room not covered in… well… things. The first pace he unpacked was his bedroom, because that’s where all his plants went. Hanging plants, succulents, flowers, his room was his own mini-jungle with so many varieties of flora.

But his eyes always drift to one plant on his windowsill.

Ever since he moved in, it had been wilting. He’s not exactly sure what type it is –he picked it up at a yard sale– but it was the most beautiful one he had ever seen. It kinda reminded him of himself, which was dumb because it’s a flower. But it was yellow and pink with spots of red, just like him minus the red.

He’s upset, it's wilting and he has no idea how to properly take care of it because he doesn’t know what it is, but he gives it a normal amount of water, the best sunlight in the room, and changes the soil well enough… He does all he can for the poor thing.

“It seems no matter what I do for you, you just won’t thrive in my room. I’ve switched your place and I’ve done nothing. I’ll hang onto you for a little while, but I hope you come back.” He stands up, walking over to the flower and gently touching the leaves.

Through the thin walls of the house, Andrew can hear Ivan talking to himself and pacing –or rather stomping– around the living room. A twinge of guilt and hurt shoots through Andrew for just a second.

And then Andrew remembers why he’s doing this.

He feels forced yet again, because he knows Ivan would hurt himself if he didn’t, maybe to make Andrew feel worse. But he wants to believe there can be something between them again.

But that hope felt far away, as if it was a boat sinking, and he was the sailor desperately trying to find help in the middle of an ocean.

With some muffled curses and a slam, Andrew knows Ivan’s left. He breathes in shakily, letting his hands fall to his sides. No matter how much he’s hurting, he can’t help but tear up at the fact that that could very well be the last time Ivan ever leaves his door. The idea that their conversation could be their last chance… forever.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: My Flower, My Love

Andrew’s POV

(Yes, in my mind Andrew loves plants almost as much as gaming)

Ivan has already been going to therapy twice a week for two weeks, and he would often come over afterwards to Andrew’s house to watch him plant flowers.

“What’s that, it’s pretty.” Ivan points to a particular red and white flower, the white fading into a red like an ombre.

“That’s called an Amaryllis, the color is very intriguing isn’t it?” Andrew looks up at Ivan, watching him stare at the flower.

“It won’t wither if you touch it, you know? You look crazy,” Andrew laughs slightly, gently taking Ivan’s hand into his own and guiding it over the flower.

Ivan gently stroked the petals, seeming to relax. “I can always get you one if you’d like.”

“Andrew, that tree you gave me died very quickly –more quickly than I’d like to admit. I think I’m quite alright without a flower, I’ll just admire it from afar.” He pulls his hand away.

“Alright, but just tell me if you ever want one.” He slowly places the flower into its designated pot, with a name on the pot ‘Amber’.

“You're naming the plants now? What are you, five?” Ivan laughs slightly, looking at the name on the pot. At reading it, he starts laughing even harder.

“Oh shut up, should I bring up some of the things you’ve written before? Hm?” He slowly reaches for Ivan’s journal.

Ivan slaps Andrew’s wrist away. “Don’t you dare.” He drags his journal away.

“Alright, alright, fine. But don’t be a jerk about it.” Andrew teased.

“...I should get going. It's late and I have a 3 hour trip ahead of me --besides, it’s deer season. I'd hate to be driving and wake up on the pavement.” He stands up, grabbing his journal, not bothering to look at Andrew.

“Alright, drive safe, and don’t forget your appointment again tomorrow or I’ll drag you there by your hair!!” He watches Ivan leave, no goodbye, just the door slamming shut.

At least it’s a start for what could be. Andrew looks at the flower on his windowsill. It’s started to bloom, small and almost unnoticeable, but there. No longer wilting as it used to.

“Well, looks like I finally found out what to do for you to bloom! Your original flower is dead, but maybe you will come back just as strong.” He approaches his bedroom, sitting in his gaming chair.

Then, he blinks, processing. “Was I just… talking to a flower?” He starts to laugh at himself for that, such a silly thing to do. Just like Ivan said, Andrew was a bit childish.

“Well, I should start working.” He rubs his eyes and stretches. “Man, I’m tired as shit, but I gotta keep up with the bills.” He signs into the computer, starting to type away as the hours pass on.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Driving with my darling

TW: This part mostly focuses on disassociation until next chapter

The roads are slick with rain as Ivan drives. He hates driving at night. It's when his mind wanders the most, and he hates his mind, he hates how it betrays him, how he feels numb whenever he thinks too much.

He feels as if his mind isn’t his own, as if his body is moving on its own and he can’t control it. It's as if his words are his only defense and he can’t take them back, he can’t raise his fists he can’t run; it feels as if his mind is constantly on flight mode instead of fight.

Everything feels dizzy if he thinks too long, or if he thinks of that horrible day, the day he opened his father’s casket to see his dead corpse, burned to ash, his body mangled almost unrecognizable, and how young he was when he opened that damn casket.

That might be one of the only times Ivan felt scared, thinking of how his dad was a hero… but yet no one cared. How only 8 people showed up to his funeral, leaving Ivan wondering if he would end up just as forgotten as he was.

He felt like he was just previewing his life, seeing what he had done his entire life to end up where he was. He felt weak, sick, everything bad all at once and yet nothing at all. The rain didn’t help either. The night his father had died, running into that flaming house to save someone, it had started raining, extinguishing the fire right after, cooling his father’s charred remains.

'Tomorrow is a new day, maybe I’ll be better by then. Maybe I won’t feel as… empty.' He pulls into his apartment parking lot, the rain slowing down slightly to just a drizzle.

The rain pattering on the windows, Ivan walks into the elevator, pushing the button to the 4th floor. The doors shut, and he remembers the time Andrew stormed in… he had walked up to him as he was trying to close the elevator doors, and Andrew had punched him. He regrets what he did, how couldn’t he? He only wanted to stay close to Andrew… and make him want to come back as much as Ivan wanted him back.

…

Oh, right. He never regretted it then, did he. He only regretted it when his karma caught up to him, he never regretted it when he hit Andrew then, or when he made him sleep on the ground… he only really regretted it when Andrew left Ivan alone permanently. How could Andrew ever forgive him…? He really is a tumor, just like he called Andrew.

As he stares at the hallway, the elevator was already at his floor, he realizes he has been drifting off for a while. Had he forgotten to take his meds? He walks down the corridor to his room, unlocks the door, and steps inside.

He had cleaned his apartment, but to him, it still looked messy and dull. He never understood why he bought this place. Probably because it was cheap and the easiest for him to get around with money.

He shuts the door and locks it, and walks into his living room, sitting on the couch and turning on the tv. He looks at the spot where a bed used to lie. Was it ever even a bed? He felt the weight of his guilt on his shoulders, heavy like grief and suffocating like stress. His head was starting to hurt, and his vision was getting blurry, the world spinning around him, the green couch his only tether to the world.

He laid down, tears blurring his vision as he tried to stay conscious against the sea of dizziness behind his eyes.

“I’m sorry Father. I failed you. And… I failed him.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Pomegranate Seeds

Andrew’s POV (This is the next day)

The pancake batter bubbled evenly on the surface as Andrew cracked another egg on the second pan burning on his stovetop. He was cooking his favorite recipe. He’d got it from the cookbook he stole as a kid — he is surprised he didn’t lose it when moving from Ivan’s house. Though he isn’t surprised that much, Ivan lives in a small apartment and he doesn’t own any cookbooks, so Andrew’s was easy to keep track of.

*I’m running out of food. I should probably go shopping today, I have enough money for it. Those games I uploaded have been really treating me well.*

Yeah, he feels guilty for uploading games of Ivan’s abuse… But still, the truth had to come out. It’s not like he included Ivan’s name or face, he just made references about who it could be. And it’s not like Ivan’s full name is known.

…….

A few hours go by, and Andrew walks out the door. He's forever grateful that there’s a store nearby instead of an hour walk like it is to other places from his secluded house. Despite having a car—he’ll use it next month when it’s winter—it’s only fall, and it’s still warm enough outside to walk.

After a good 30 minute walk, he arrives at the store. Not a lot of people on a Thursday morning, but there aren’t many people to begin with. The only people there are the stay-at-home moms of Andrew’s dreams and the old folk that always look angry for some reason.

After grabbing some essentials—instant ramen, toilet paper, eggs—he walks by the fruit aisle on his way to the game section and stops.

*Hm, I wonder if Ivan has ever tried a pomegranate before, I know I talk about them a lot to him, but he always seems puzzled when I do.* He grabbed two and a few other groceries and headed home, not even browning the games section like he had intended to.

When he got home, Ivan was waiting for him in the kitchen, staring out the window over the sink. “Oh? I thought you said you wouldn’t be here until 2—it’s 1:30,” Andrew said, dropping his grocery bags on the kitchen table behind Ivan and standing next to him.

“Close enough, besides therapy ended early. Some kinda meeting he had with the place—or something like that at least." He pushes off the counter and goes to plop down on the couch.

“That works too, I guess. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting, then.” Andrew plucks the pomegranates from the plastic bag and plops them on the counter, then reaches for a knife.

Ivan yawns and stretches over the back of the couch like a cat before his eyes catch on the knife Andrew’s holding. Andrew smiles a bit internally—Ivan’s taking his meds.

“What’s that for? You gonna stab me or somthing?” Ivan’s eyes are locked on the knife, voice teasing and light.

“Just for the pomegranates, not you. Calm yourself.” Andrew smirks and grabs a cutting board, ready to slice up the pomegranates for them to share.

“You should try them, they’re good.” He slices one open, clean down the center. Ivan stands up, walking over to him and grabbing the fruit. And—never in Andrew’s wildest dreams would he ever imagine such a fruit crime—takes a bit out of the whole half, skin and whites and all.

“Dude… What the hell? Do you not know how to eat them you moron?!” He watches as Ivan grimaces at the fruit’s taste, wiping his mouth and looking at the red juice on his arm.

“What?! Is that not how you eat it?! You’re supposed to spit out fruit seeds!” He allows the fruit to be snatched from his hand and watches as Andrew takes out the seeds for him.

“God you cannot be this dumb Ivan. Here, try this.” Andrew puts some of the seeds in a glass and hands it to Ivan, watching as he eats a few.

“… they’re alright I guess.” He shrugs, but keeps eating them despite his uncaring reaction.

“I think you need more therapy if you think they’re just ‘alright’,” Andrew chuckles.

Ivan shifted slightly at that, looking slightly uncomfortable. The small smile Andrew was able to coax out of Ivan falls away in an instant. What had he said?

“You alright?” He steps a little closer, but not too close. Just enough to make sure Ivan is alright.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. These are good, though, I’m just joking.” Ivan smiled again, but it was forced and unnatural.

“Alright, if you say so.”

Being honest, Andrew expected another ‘why do you always ask me that?!’ from Ivan. He’s happy Ivan didn't lash out at him again. Maybe he really is getting better…

(Note from Editor: Hihi lovelies!! I would like to let you all know that I have researched and diagnosed our version of Ivan with 2 main things and given him a prescription. I’m in no way a medical professional, just a weirdo who doesn’t sleep, so don’t take my diagnoses [of this *fictional character*] too seriously. In this fic, he has bipolar I disorder and narcissistic personality disorder (as well as anxiety, but that’s not really important to the story), and the medication he’s on is quetiapine. It’s a bipolar and schizo medication, and it works well on some patients and not as well on others. The medication also tends to cause drowsiness. Neither me or Only have diagnosed bipolar, and neither of us are on this medication, so we’re working from online resources. Please, if you have any suggestions/experience in this area, let us know in the comments!! Sorry for the yap, love you yaoi-lings! <3)

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: New Colors

(This is now taking place a few months later, 3 months or so)

[Ivan’s POV]

Ivan’s driving home after getting his medication from the pharmacy right near his apartment. He's happy it’s actually been working and improving his health a little bit.

He has accidentally lashed out at Andrew a few times, and ghosted him a bit, but he always apologizes, and he’s surprised Andrew has been so understanding and patient about it. According to his doctors, it can be common to feel increased anger with the medications, but it could also be from one of his other disorders. Something with an “n”... He forgets what it’s called all the time.

He’s not sure where he’d be without Andrew, especially since he is Ivan’s only friend. He would… probably be dead if it wasn’t for him, and for that he owes Andrew to keep trying. He owes him… everything, even his love.

He decides that he would stop by Andrew’s house for the day, maybe even spend the night for a sleepover. Who knows? It’s winter now, and his heater is broken —he needs to fix it— and his friend's house is so much warmer than his. Though maybe it’s because he actually has blankets.

…

He finally made it to Andrew’s house, later than he thought he would. They ate ramen again, but who can blame them? It’s good, especially if you put good toppings like ham and eggs and that stuff.

“You know Ivan…” Andrew finished drinking his broth, wiping his face on his arm and looking at Ivan, “...you should really get that heater fixed one day or you'll be an ice block or something." Andrew chuckles as they sit at the kitchen table, some random romcom playing in the background.

“I’ll do it, alright? …maybe next spring or somethin’." he stands up, walking to the kitchen and placing his empty dish carefully in the sink.

“Hey, just ask if you need help or something, alright? You act like your allergic to help”

“You're one to talk.” Ivan glares back at him, and Andrew rolls his eyes.

“Hey, I do my game stuff solo, so shut up.” Andrew stands up, also tossing his dish away. He sits on the couch —Ivan curling up next to him— as they watch whatever stupid Christmas movie is on.

……..

“This movie is ass! The plot is dumb, and I don’t get why people are obsessed with Christmas, it was a week ago! You can’t celebrate Halloween or Thanksgiving without hearing something about Christmas.” He rolls his eyes as Andrew changes the channel.

“Calm down, most people like it for the decorating. And don’t forget about the meaning to some people, don’t be rude!” Andrew nudges Ivan’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s just not my favorite thing. I hate the snow. It's wet, it’s cold and you get frostbite easily in it.”

“Well, then just stay inside and whine about it.” Andrew laughs slightly as Ivan mumbles something incoherently, making fake pouting face that turns quickly into laughter with Andrew.

…

After a few hours they were laughing and sharing a beer because why not? It’s the day after New Year’s, and they had forgotten to celebrate. Not atypical, though, since they’d always had budget or scheduling problems in years prior.

“You're an idiot, you know? You really are, I always question why I chose you as a friend.” Ivan laughs, obviously not meaning it. He snatches the beer out of Andrew’s hands and takes a swig before setting it on the coffee table.

“So what? You love me, and you know it,” Andrew laughs back, but the humor fades out of Ivan’s laugh as he turns to look at Andrew.

“Of course I do… you're my friend.”

“…”

“Andr-?“

Andrew leans into Ivan, pressing their lips close together. For a brief moment Ivan just stays there, not pushing him away, but not leaning in. Then, in a moment of pure, drunken “fuck it”, he leans in, snaking his arms around Andrew’s neck and moving closer.

Andrew reaches his hands up, too, weaving them through Ivan’s hair and bringing them so close together that their legs are pressed up against each other. Ivan opens his mouth, and he can taste the alcohol in Andrew’s breath, the sweet scent of their favourite flavour to share.

He can’t help it, Ivan leans in closer. The feeling of them pressed so close together, their breaths shared, their warmth combining and shutting out the cold of the room outside… It's intoxicating. And then that moment ends.

Andrew’s hands suddenly still, and he pulls away, looking at Ivan in shock. Ivan’s hands also loosen, and they fall beside him like limp dolls. They stare at each other, in both shock and awe.

“I… I’m gonna go to bed-” Andrew stutters, shooting off the couch with his face bright red. Suddenly Ivan feels colder than he ever did in his apartment.

“You can- just take the couch, you should stay. It's a three hour drive ahead of you if you do leave, and… plus it’s snowing. A-and it’s late.” Andrew’s hands were moving around frantically, and his eyes darted around the room to look at anything but Ivan.

“No, it’s alright, I’ll g-“ Ivan goes to sit up but is pushed back down onto the couch.

“I said stay. Just… just listen for once Ivan... please.”

After a moment, Andrew seems to make up his mind, because he leans down and kisses Ivan again. Ivan keeps his eyes open, watching Andrew, trying to process. Before he can, Andrew pulls away, looking at him with a mix of fear and remorse.

Before Ivan can speak, Andrew has run off to his room and shut the door.

“‘Right.” He murmurs to the now empty room, grabbing a blanket from the side of the couch and laying down. He can’t seem to sleep, though...

Had he done something wrong? Why did Andrew run off? Did he… like it? And… What does this mean for them now?

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Can’t Go Back

(Ivan’s Pov)

Ivan blinks awake, the glare from the TV shining right into his eyes where he layed. He had a pounding headache, and he rubbed his eyes before coming fully to his senses and memories.

He sat up abruptly, whipping his head around to try to gather his surroundings. In the kitchen stood Andrew, his old cookbook propped up against the backsplash and what looked—and smelled—to be pancakes on the stove. “H-hey Andrew,” Ivan said, rubbing his temples and trying to ignore the throbbing of his head behind his eyes. “What… What time did you wake up?”

How could he act like nothing happened last night? With Andrew… kissing him, then practically begging him to stay, then kissing him again…

Even worse, he still isn’t stable. What if this tore them apart? What if he hurt Andrew again? What if the therapy and meds and everything hadn’t worked…? Therapy… therapy definitely didn’t work anymore. The facility had shut down three weeks ago, bankruptcy they said. He was planning on telling Andrew last night but… but he couldn’t.

“Uh,, yeah I woke up like 2 hours ago, and I decided to code for a little bit so I didn’t wake you up. …But got bored and was going over my schedule so I had to re-do it, and that was boring so I decided to make us pancakes. If you’re hungry, of course.”

“Oh, uh, sure, I’ll eat some before I go.” Ivan stands up, walking over into the kitchen where Andrew is finishing up the pancakes.

How the hell is Andrew being so calm about what happened last night? Ivan’s head is practically spinning; he wishes he could just read minds at this point to just hear what Andrew’s thinking! What if he forgot or something? No he couldn't, right?! God damn, he’s overthinking this, he needs to calm down.

(Quickly jumping into Andrew’s POV:)
whythefuckdididothatholyshitohfuckiruinedeverythingthatnightwasgoingsogoodwhyishesoawkwardohgodohgodhessocloseicantfocusimgonnaburnthepancakesohfuckohfuckivanpleaseicantfocuspleasejustlookatmewithsomeemotionIVANPLEASEIMDYING

“Take some water, Ivan. You’re hungover.” Andrew fills up a glass in the sink and hands it to Ivan, who takes a big drink before setting the cup down.

“Thanks,” Ivan says, rubbing his temples again. “Aren’t you hungover, too?” He watches as Andrew idly refills the cup again and pushes it towards him.

Ivan takes the cup and drinks again, the pounding in his head still screaming at him. “Not as much as Mr Lightweight over here,” Andrew laughs, nudging him slightly with his elbow.

Laughing, Ivan nudges him back. “I am not a lightweight! I’m a… perfectly-normal-weight.”

Andrew snickers, flipping some of the last pancakes onto a plate.

“Well, to me, you seemed pretty drunk last night.” Ivan flushes, the memories of last night rushing back to him in a huge tidal wave of confusion and shame and embarrassment and everything all at once. He couldn’t admit it, how could he… Just deny, Ivan, just deny.

“Uh, I- Was not!!!” Shit shit shit, why did he stammer so much?? If Andrew didn’t know how fucked he was then, he surely knew now.

“Oh, so what you’re telling me is you kissed me sober last night?” Clearly it was meant as a joke, but out of the corner of his eye Ivan saw Andrew blush and death-glare the pancakes he was taking off the heat.

The silence was deafening. So… so he did remember it… Oh fuck… Ivan’s head was spinning, and not from the hangover. He ruined everything, didn’t he? This… them… it would never be the same again. And how could Andrew be so calm about everything? Did he think it was a joke? Did he… not like it? Looking back, Ivan couldn’t be sure… He didn’t look happy as he walked away… Why did he always ruin everything???

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the counter, spiralling deeper and deeper until Andrew nudged him gently with a plate.

“Hey, uh… your pancakes are getting cold…” Ivan looked at Andrew and nodded, letting go of the counter and taking the pancakes. “Can we… Let's talk.”

They both gathered their plates and sat down at the small dining table, the sound of their forks against their plates the only thing Ivan could hear over his heartbeat and headache.

“Ivan,” Andrew finally says, setting down his fork. “How are you… how are you feeling about what happened last night?” Andrew was always the blunt one out of the two of them, wasn’t he?

Ivan sighs, putting down his fork and leaning back in his chair. “I- Andrew, I’m not… ready. I like you and all, it’s just… I don’t think I’m better enough yet.”

Andrew nods, his eyes flickering around the room and finally landing on Ivan. “I get that. Thanks for trying. And I… I’ll wait for you.

“I also want you to be better. And I get it if you’re not yet. I just want you to be ok, Ivan. So, I’ll wait for you. I promise.” He smiles at Ivan, and suddenly the weight of the secret he’s keeping is crushing. Still, he smiles right back.

…….

Back to Andrew’s POV for this short part

Andrew walks into his bedroom, a small list set for himself before he starts coding, since Ivan’d just left. He doesn’t like how slightly dirty everything is on the floor, and the trash bin’s overflowing. And the plants needed water, anyway. Simple: vacuum the floor, take out the trash, and water the plants. All mundane tasks he could blast music to. All easy tasks he could drown in music for, to get rid of the thought of Ivan…

His hair wrapped in Andrew’s fingers, the way his mouth was warm and soft, the light pressure of them pressed together, the way his face felt in Andrew’s hands, the way he was all flushed afterwards… No, Andrew can’t think of… that… Volume up.

After Andrew took the trash out, his eardrums crying out for mercy, he vacuumed as he told himself he would. He didn’t even need the hundreds of sticky notes he normally did, he would only let himself think of the tasks at hand.

Then, as he was watering his plants, he noticed the flower that was growing ever so beautifully before, was wilting again. Andrew doesn't understand what’s going wrong. He hasn’t changed anything! Maybe it was the season? Why is it wilting again? Should he change the spot? Give it more water? More fertilizer? He had tended this flower the best he could, he loved seeing it bloom.

Eventually, he just decided to let it sit. He would try and do more about it another time, maybe when it was feeling better and didn't need to be constantly looked after. Maybe the flower was just growing spoiled with Andrew’s care.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Unraveling

(Ivan’s POV again)

Tw: thoughts of Overdose.

Ivan startles awake in his bedroom. It’s far colder than Andrew’s house… maybe he should just move in. His apartment only depresses him.

Nah, that’s a stupid idea. He lives off inheritance. Why would it be a good idea to move? He’d be in too deep of debt to live in an apartment for a month… but yet again it would still be a good idea to move. His neighbors downstairs are noisy; he wonders if they’re getting back at him and Andrew for always arguing. The screaming matches always made everyone quiet on their floor…

But now everything was much noisier since Andrew left.

Ivan hates the noise. It only reminds him of how loud his head is… especially now with the Tumor back. It’s been worse recently, with his therapy place shut down and all. He doesn’t even know if his meds are doing anything. Does he… even need them…?

…what if… what if the reason Andrew wants him to take the medication is ‘cause what the Tumor’s saying is… right? What if he is just special, and can understand the world better than other people?

……..

Yeah, what the fuck was he even thinking about?

Even now, tossing and turning in bed, he still has no idea. Obviously the meds are doing something good for him, or it would be 4am instead of 9am.

He should probably be sleeping still, anyways. He read somewhere that it takes weeks of sleep to make up an all-nighter, which fucks Ivan over, because he pulls those all the time. Especially over at Andrew’s, when he’s writing and Andrew’s coding.

He sits up swinging his legs over the bed. He may as well start his day, he’s already up. He stands up, walking over to his closet, which contains his ever so... “various” choices of clothing. He snatches the first pair of pants and shirt he sees and walks out of his bedroom over to the bathroom, turning on the shower.

…..

As he gets dressed, he feels a wave of nausea wash over him. It was a normal side-effect of his meds, but this one felt… different.

Did he forget to take his meds? He could have sworn he took them before he got in the shower, but he guessed it wouldn’t be bad to check how many were left. He opens his medicine cabinet behind the bathroom mirror and grabs his pills. Technically, he should be taking them at night, but he and his doctor decided a morning routine would be easier for him.

As he opens the bottle, he starts counting: “1…2…3...4...” Counting out loud helps him remember, rather than counting in his head, when he always ends up miscounting.

“Just 9 left… Yeah, I took my 10th yesterday. I’ll need to get a refill soon,” he murmurs to himself as he walks out of the bathroom and into the hallway, turning to go to the kitchen to grab some water. Then, as he’s filling up a glass he hears the doorbell.

“I’ll be there in a second!” He quickly took his medication and rushed over to the door to look through the peephole. He didn’t remember ordering... It was Andrew? He opened the door to see Andrew looking rather nervous.

“Hey Ivan… uhm…” Andrew fidgeted with his hands before meeting Ivan’s eyes. “I… look, sorry I couldn’t call ahead of time, but there was something wrong with my power and so my stove and lights were out, and the people I called cut my water to try and find the problem... so I was wondering if I could…?”

“Yeah, ‘course, come in. I’ll have to run to the store later to grab some food for us to eat for the night, so if you want you can come with me.” He stepped away from the door to let Andrew inside.

“Sure, that sounds fine. I’ll grab some of that soup you like, my treat.”
…………

Later that night~

“You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch or something-" Ivan’s words were cut short as Andrew pulled Ivan down to the bed next to him.

Ivan sputtered for a second before trying to push away. “Andrew, wha- what the hell??” Andrew hummed, nuzzling his head in the crook between Ivan’s head and shoulder and tightened his arms around Ivan’s waist, making Ivan grateful Andrew couldn’t see his face.

“Andrew, you can’t-” Ivan half-heartedly tried to push Andrew off him, secretly savoring the fact that they were so close together.

Andrew grunted and pulled Ivan farther away from the edge of the bed, readjusting himself to Ivan’s legs being trapped in between his. “You’re comfy…” Andrew mumbled, obviously not willing to move. Ivan’s face flushed, but he relaxed slightly.

Eventually, he coaxed his arm out of Andrew’s grip to flip off the lamp on his bedside table, plunging the room into darkness, only lit by the faint hallway light. As they laid there, together, a tangle of limbs, Ivan felt more relaxed than he had in years.

As he began to drift off, a single thought floated through his brain: “what if this was the cure? them? …him?”

Finally, he had an answer.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: It’s a Habit

(Ivan’s POV)

[TW: Panic attack, thoughts of/attempted suicide, depression, SH, implied OD]
[This chapter is way heavier than any other will be in this fic, please read with caution]

“Andrew!!! The microwave is going off!!!” Ivan shouted, rummaging through the fridge for some sodas for them. He didn’t want a repeat of what happened when they had beer… at least not yet.

“I have ears, dumbass,” Andrew yelled back, his head popping out of the cabinet where he was searching for a popcorn bowl. “I’ll grab it now! Hopefully it hasn’t imploded again.” Andrew had gotten his electricity back on a few days ago, so now they were back to their normal hangout spot: Andrew’s kitchen and living room.

Ivan pulled out two canned sodas from the fridge and carried them over to the coffee table, where they already had some “home-baked” brownies (Andrew bought a box mix) and potato chips. They were gonna do a movie marathon, all-day-long movie watching. It was a Friday, so they may as well.

A few stray kernels fell out of the bowl as Andrew set the popcorn down, plopping down right beside Ivan on the couch. Right where they were when… “Hey, want me to get the lights?”

“Oh, uh, nah, I can.” Ivan shot up, flicking off the kitchen and living room lights as Andrew found the first movie.

As Ivan went to sit back down, a wave of nausea came over him, worse than before. The whole world was spinning, and it was all he could do to make it to the trash can before he threw up. He hated the sensation, and the burning in his throat and cheeks afterwards. But at least it was gone and done.

Andrew rushed over to him, holding back his hair as he spit out the last bits of bile left in his mouth. “Holy shit, dude, are you ok?? What the hell’s happening with you?”

Ivan coughed again, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “It’s nothing, Andrew, I’m fine.” And he was. Quite frankly, he was feeling better than ever. Maybe he never-

“Ivan, look at me.” Andrew gently turned Ivan’s face towards his, a look of concern tensing his features. “Are you ok? You’ve been getting way more dizzy than normal, should we call a doctor? Maybe we should get you on-”

“Andrew, I said I’m fucking fine.”

Ivan… didn’t know where that had come from. But now he felt it. He was angry. Really angry. Why was Andrew being so bossy? Since when did he care? It doesn’t matter, none of it matters, it’s all-

“Ivan.” Andrew’s voice was steely, angry. “Are you off your meds?”

Why the hell did Andrew need to know? Ivan scoffed, pushing himself up off the floor and standing above Andrew, who was still kneeling next to the can. “I am. I’m getting better, Andrew, I don’t need your medications.”

Andrew stood up, too. “You’re getting better because of the medications!”

“Says who?!” All Ivan could see was red, his heart was beating so quickly he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he needed to breathe, why couldn’t he breathe, everything was spiraling and spinning and he was so going to throw up again and oh God oh God why had he said that-

“Says me!” Andrew shouted, his voice cutting through Ivan’s spiral. “I’ve seen it, you were getting better! Why’d you stop, Ivan? What’s wrong?”

Everything… everything was spinning, everything was wrong… Oh God, why had he said that? Why had he said any of that? Why had he let his anger take hold of him again? Shit, he always ruined everything, why the fuck was he such a mess up? His hands were shaking — no, really everything was shaking. His breaths, his hands, his legs, maybe the whole world. His vision was blurry — was he crying? When was the last time he cried? Why was he being so weak?

His father was right. He’s weak. He’s so fucking weak, he hates how angry he gets, how easily his tears fall, how badly he fucks up everything good in his life. He doesn’t deserve Andrew, he doesn’t deserve anything, he should just leave and disappear forever-

Two heavy, warm hands on his shoulders brought him slightly back to his senses. The sounds around him became clearer, his name.

“Ivan! Ivan, are you ok? Why are you crying, what’s wrong?” Ivan pushed away from Andrew, his breathing sharp and quick. He can’t… he can’t do this right now. He pats his pockets, feeling his car keys and grappling for them. He needs to get out.

Andrew’s hands grabbed his, holding them tightly away from Ivan’s pockets. “Ivan, I can’t let you leave until you talk to me! Please, just tell me what’s wrong! Are you having a panic attack; do you need to sit down?”

His vision blurred more, tears streaming quickly down Ivan’s face. Why was he being so kind? Ivan doesn’t deserve that… He doesn’t deserve anything. He deserves to die. He’s so mean and angry all the time, he’s hurt Andrew so much, he’s done so many bad things, he’s ruined so much, he should stay away from Andrew, he should stay away from everyone…

“Ivan? Please just talk to me, what’s wrong?” Both of them were shaking, and Ivan couldn’t breathe now. Why didn’t Andrew understand? He needed to stay away. So, Ivan did the only thing he could think to do.

He took both his hands from his arms and shoved Andrew back, off of him. He didn’t know how much force he used — just that it was too much. He was falling apart and yet more tense than he had ever been, everything was wrong, he was wrong, everything was spinning. He couldn’t control the words that flowed out of his mouth: “Andrew, please don’t fucking touch me.”

It was like he had slapped Andrew. “What the hell did I do? I’m just trying to help!” Andrew yelled, rubbing his arm where it had bumped into the wall.

“I… I,” Ivan tried, the words he needed getting caught in his throat. “I just… just don’t come near me…”

His father’s voice echoing through his head. “You’re going to ruin everything again, Ivan.” “You’re a mistake.” “You’ll end up forgotten, just like me.” His voice screamed over Andrew’s anger, the words Ivan knew were aimed at him but just couldn’t decipher over the noise in his skull.

“M1$t@k3.”

It was back. It was right, the Tumor was always right, he was a mistake. A fuck-up. He needed to leave. He needed to escape. He couldn’t hurt Andrew anymore.

He rushed to the door, his heart racing and his breathing quick and shallow. “Ivan, where the hell are you going?” Andrew was angry, but he would understand. He had to understand. Ivan was a mistake, he was so, so guilty and so, so sorry.

He got into and started his car, the world still spinning around him. The glare of the setting sun and the screaming of so many voices in his head made driving almost impossible for him, but still he left, needing to escape, needing to run.

Every minute felt like an hour, yet the hours passed like seconds. Before he knew it, Ivan was at his apartment. It felt wrong to call it a home, it was more of a place he went because there was nowhere else. Nobody else wanted him but those cold, soulless walls and that empty, quiet apartment. He belonged nowhere else but that empty hell.

He stumbled inside, the walls swirling around him. The elevator… the elevator he remembered all too well. Fuck, why was everything so blurry? Was he crying again? The elevator doors closed on him, locking him inside until he reached his destination… like a coffin. A coffin, like where his father will forever be trapped. But he’s not really in that coffin, is he?

No, Ivan’s father never died. He was always alive, always haunting Ivan. He would haunt Ivan every day of his life, even into death Ivan could never be alone. Always whispering, always murmuring, always breathing down Ivan’s neck.

The elevator dinged, releasing Ivan from his coffin, and he nearly tripped over his own feet while running out. The hallway seemed endless as he ran down it, finally making it to his apartment door.

His keys clattered and jingled as he fumbled through them with shaky fingers. Why did he have so many keys??? Finally, he found the one to his apartment, a cheap copied key with a desert sunset scene on it. Andrew chose it out for him when they were getting copies of each other’s keys, he said that the cactus against the colours was pretty. Andrew…

Ivan shoved through the door, falling onto his hands and knees in his entry and attempting to breathe. His heart was beating throughout his body, he could hear it over even his rasping breaths and choking sobs. He was a mess — a pathetic, weak, mess.

He pulled himself up and shut the door, leaning up against it and crying even harder. His father, the Tumor, Andrew — they were all right. “You need help, Ivan…” “...just a disappointment.” “You’re an idiot…” Every good moment… Was it fake? Every word, every gesture, every good thing, twisted and warped and changed until he wasn’t sure about anything.

What the hell did it even matter? What the hell did anything matter? Ivan was tired. So, so, very tired. And he was angry. He clicked the lock shut and stormed to the kitchen. He was so, so angry.

All he saw was red. Everything was red, everything was making him so angry, everything was so horrible and disgusting and he needed to break it all. He didn’t know what to do, how to do it, he just knew he needed to put his anger into something. His hands felt around for the lights, finally flicking on the lights in his kitchen.

He reached for a plate, throwing it down to the floor before he could consider it. It shattered with a loud crash, and it felt good. It felt freeing, being able to destroy and hurt and hurt and hurt.

Plates, glasses, bowls, anything breakable he could get his hands on, Ivan broke. The feeling of the ceramic in his hands, the sounds of the shattering, he felt… the same. It wasn’t helping. None of it was helping. Why the fuck wasn’t it helping?

Now his hands were grabbing for anything, anything at all he could break. The salt & pepper shakers, the coffee pot, anything…

His fingers wrapped around a small pot and he stopped. He stared gently at the small succulent inside the pot, what Andrew called a “chicks and hens”. How could he break something so small and delicate? He placed the pot gently back on the table, leaving bloody fingerprints where he had touched the beautiful thing.

Blood… blood… he was covered in blood. He thought he’d be disgusted but… It was truly beautiful. A shade of red unmatched by anything else, crimson and rose and sunset but yet completely different. His palms were covered in tiny cuts and scrapes from the smashed kitchenware all around him, steadily but lightly flowing blood. It wasn’t enough. He needed more.

Ivan pulled open a drawer, carefully pulling out a knife. It was a cheap thing, but his favourite, the one he used in all of his recipes. It was good at carving carefully.

He leaned up against his counter, on top of all the shards and broken dishes. It was like a scene from a movie: a boy with a knife, slumped against his kitchen counter, knife in hand, trash covering the floor.

He would make the scene beautiful.

He lightly pressed it to his forearm, watching a red trail be left in its wake. He dragged the knife along, drawing patterns lightly all over his skin. Lines, squiggles, hatches and even rose-looking shapes, he made each arm that beautiful crimson colour he loved. But his canvas was full far too fast. He started panicking again, the periodic comfort of the pain and the colour fading as he felt up and down his arms, reaching the rolled-up sleeve of his hoodie…

He hated that hoodie. It was his way of connecting with his father… He needed it gone. With fumbling hands, he pulled the hoodie off of him.

Ivan snatched the knife from where he left it on the floor and started slashing at the hoodie. Through the letters, through the “Hello”, through the sleeves and the front and the back and through everything. He cut out the word “Goodbye” carefully, stuffing it in his pocket. He needed that goodbye.

Finally, when he was done, the hoodie was a shredded mess, covered in blood and cut up everywhere. His father could never reach him through that, again.

Suddenly, Ivan felt another wave of sickness fall over him. He pushed himself up, the world swirling around him as he tried to stand. He rushed through his hallway, dripping blood on the floor and smearing it on the walls like paint, and made it to his bathroom just in time.

Ivan heaved over the toilet, coughing and hacking up the bile that was stuck in his throat. He hadn’t eaten since Andrew’s, he wasn’t sure why he was throwing up.

He… hadn’t eaten. Not much. His ribs were poking out awkwardly through his t-shirt, which was stained red. He coughed into the toilet again, his raw cheeks stinging.

Wiping his mouth with his hand, he saw a little pop of bright colour out of the corner of his eye.

It was his pill bottle. He hadn’t taken them in… a week? A few days? He couldn’t… he couldn’t remember. Everything was blurry. Nothing made sense. But it was beautiful.

He stood up, slightly wobbly, and walked to the sink. He grabbed the bottle and poured the pills into his hand. 1… 2… There were 8. He stopped taking them when there were 8. Covered in his blood, they even looked like something… something familiar…

Pomegranate seeds. Andrew loved pomegranates. What did Ivan know about pomegranates? Oh, he remembered. Persephone. Damned to hell. Maybe… maybe he would be, too, if he took these seeds. He would deserve it. He would deserve it all.

And suddenly, he felt like an observer. Someone watching a movie, a sick, disgusting, horrible movie, where you end up hating the main character and cheering when something bad happens to them. The world felt like it had a camera-ish tint, that slight yellowing that made you feel like you were there.

And he watched the plot unfold.

Persephone took 6 pomegranate seeds and was damned for half of the year. Ivan didn’t exactly have 12 seeds, but he hoped they would be enough to send him to whatever hell he deserved. He threw back the 8 seeds, swallowing what was once his salvation, his road to a new life.

As the juice ran out of his mouth, he wiped it away with a trembling hand. He looked up into the bathroom mirror, seeing a haggard figure. Bloodshot, bagged eyes; cracked lips; a thin, trembling frame; a hollow emptiness in the eyes that stared back at him. Who was this person? He reached out to touch them, and his finger left behind a red stain where he touched the mirror.

What was he looking at, again? What was that thing? Ivan… Ivan didn’t want to know. The world seemed to sway, like a boat on the sea, Ivan the rookie sailor forced to brave the storms.

He gripped the sink edge, flinching back when the thorns cut further into his fingers and palms. Yes, the… thorns. From all the roses covering him. He was covered in rose petals. Yes, from the roses he cut. Ivan sat down on the cool grass—no, tile. He sat down, examining the beautiful, delicate flower petals that covered his arms and legs.

Ivan traced their shapes with his fingers, running over and over the silky smooth texture of the petals on his skin. Over and over, feeling his breathing slow. Over and over, to the rhythm of his quickly beating heart. Over and over, as he felt his head grow lighter and lighter. Over and over…

Ivan collapsed on his bathroom floor, his arms laden with flower petals, pomegranate juice still running from his mouth and hands.

(Andrew’s Perspective)

Why had he yelled at Ivan??? God, Andrew was so stupid.

Andrew paced over and over through his living room, going over his conversation with Ivan in his head. He turned it, flipped it, looked at it from every perspective he could, but he still didn’t understand. Why had Ivan freaked out like that? Why didn’t he want Andrew to touch him?

And… why hadn’t he taken his meds? Ivan had been getting so much better, but ever since Andrew slept over that one time, it seemed like he was at a standstill. Had he stopped that morning? Or the morning after? Andrew hadn’t seen Ivan take his meds explicitly, maybe he had stopped that day? But why???

Andrew couldn’t lie, he was concerned. Surely Ivan was home by now, he had left 4 — now closer to 5 — hours ago, around 4pm. Worst-case scenario, he was throwing up in his bathroom right now.

Ivan wasn’t… but that didn’t matter. He had to be alive. And he was probably seriously freaking out right about now. God, that whole conversation was just a huge fuck-up. He had just gotten so confused and mad and he had yelled like an idiot. But he would make it better.

The roses Andrew had gotten to surprise Ivan were sitting on his bed where he had left them, along with a huge blanket he had gotten Ivan as a gift. He was planning on confessing to Ivan during his favourite movie, but that moment was obviously ruined. But the flowers — and maybe the night — could still be salvaged. He grabbed the roses and the blanket, tucking them into a shopping bag.

His keys were hanging by the door near his coat, and Andrew grabbed both, heading out to his car. He threw the shopping bag into the passenger seat, turned on the heat, and headed off to find Ivan.

Normally he didn’t listen to music while he drove, but he turned on the radio now. He was too anxious, and he didn’t want his thoughts wandering while he drove on the dark roads. He needed to stay focused. He switched onto an 80’s station, where Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road was playing. He turned up the volume and lost himself in the song.

~~~~~~~~~

Andrew slammed the car door behind him, the roses in one hand and the bag in the other. This building had so many memories associated with it. Some were good — sleeping in Ivan’s bed with him, staying the night, writing and coding together — and others were… not good at all.

But Andrew was going to try his best to make this a good memory. He had perfectly chosen flowers — red roses, love and passion! — a well prepared speech, and hey, if all else fails, they’re still friends! What could go wrong? Well, a lot could go wrong. But they’d been through rough patches before. They’ll make it through. Together.

He walks into the building, noting the still-empty reception desk and the too-bright lights. It’s the same as the last time he visited, but this time would be different. This time he would actually confess his feelings instead of hoping Ivan would put together the clues. Ivan is a writing genius, but he is dense as a rock sometimes.

Stepping into the elevator, Andrew absentmindedly ran his finger through his hair, adjusting himself in the mirrors to look a bit more presentable. There wasn’t much he could do, but it was still calming.

The elevator dinged, and Andrew stepped out on Ivan’s floor. Andrew was overwhelmed by memories of drinking on the roof, of arguing by the door, of moving things in and out of the apartment, of love and life and death and destruction and hate and him. Andrew took a deep breath and walked forward with hope in his heart.

He made it to Ivan’s door, which was expectedly locked. Andrew relaxed his shoulders and breathed again. He could do this.

Knock knock! Andrew felt his heart race, waiting for the padding of footsteps that meant Ivan was coming to the door, waiting for the click of the lock, waiting for the look of surprise and shock and hopefully not anger in his best friend’s eyes as Ivan would see Andrew standing there, flowers in hand. He waited and listened and breathed-

Nothing.

Maybe he hadn’t heard?

Knock knock! He waited, his mind starting to spiral: what if Ivan was really sick? What if he had seen Andrew through the peephole and decided to not open the door? What if something had happened to him?

No, more likely Ivan had crashed on his couch and was fast asleep. Andrew would try one more time.

Knock knock knock knock! This would definitely be enough to wake up Ivan, a very light sleeper. He’d wake up from a sneeze a room away; this would most definitely wake him. Andrew took another deep breath and waited anxiously, tapping his foot against the ground. He marked that and stopped — he wouldn’t be able to hear Ivan’s footsteps over his own.

Maybe… maybe Ivan was scared? Paranoid? His anxiety could be pretty bad, maybe he was just panicking? Random knocking could be pretty stressful.

“Ivan…?” he called out tentatively, worried about disturbing the neighbours. “Ivan, you in there…?”

Was he even in there? There was a chance — a very slim chance, but still a chance — that Ivan hadn’t even ever gone back to his apartment. He could be in a cafe somewhere, or at a store, or anywhere in the city. Hell, he may not even be in the city. He could’ve gone anywhere, done anything. There was no way Andrew could find him when he could be anywhere within driving distance and when he had a 7-hour lead.

Andrew was about to spiral into panic — what if Ivan was running… from him? — when he remembered something vital. He had seen Ivan’s car in the parking lot. Ivan couldn’t be far from his car. And, if his car was here, Ivan was probably here, too. Ivan just had to find him.

He grabbed his car keys, flicking through the random keys hanging off them until he found his copy of Ivan’s — printed with a cactus flower, the symbol of resilience. He jammed the key into the lock, his hands shaking as he unlocked the door.

Andrew slowly pushed open the door, taking in the scene in front of him. The couch was seemingly empty, and the TV was off. All the lights in the living room were off, only the yellowish kitchen lights lit the room. He walked slowly over to the couch, looking over the edge of it to find it… empty. It didn’t even look sat in, the pillows wrinkle-less and the thin blanket still hanging over the edge of it.

As he looked at the couch, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A small clay pot, the one that had a small chicks and hens inside of it. Andrew had given that to Ivan a while back, to add a bit of life into his bland apartment. But, there, smeared on the side of the pot…

Andrew dropped the bag and rushed over to the ledge the pot was resting on. Smeared on the side of the pot, in the shape of fingerprints, was unmistakably blood. Andrew’s heart sped up rapidly… why would there be…

Finally, he saw the kitchen.

He rushed around and inside the small room, taking in the chaos. Smashed dishes everywhere, most covered in blood, littering the ground and…

Ivan’s hoodie, slashed up on the ground, stained brown from blood.

Andrew started hyperventilating then. What had happened? Why was there so much blood? He could see it now, a pool of it around a cabinet, soaking into the hoodie and pooling in the grout of the tile.

He gripped the roses like an anchor, trying to keep a hold of the situation. How… had Ivan… he had been doing so much better… Suddenly, he grasped a bit of sense and yelled out.

“IVAN??” Where the fuck was he?? He obviously hadn’t left… But where was he?? “IVAN?? WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU???”

Blood… if he was bleeding, he would have left blood trails. Andrew turned and, sure enough, blood was smeared against the walls and dripped on the floor, all leading down the hallway to Ivan’s bedroom.

Andrew ran down the hall, following the trail of blood to the bathroom, where the door was left slightly ajar.

He drew in a shaky breath, trying to settle himself for when he saw Ivan. He was probably just passed out and bleeding a bit, nothing too bad. It… He wouldn’t let himself consider more.

The door creaked open.

The roses fell to the floor, their loose petals falling off and spreading around the ground in a messy halo.

It was worse.

Ivan lay slumped against the wall, dried blood covering his arms, shirt, pants, and the floor around him. An empty pill bottle and a bloodied knife laid next to him. He looked… emaciated…

Andrew sped over to him, kneeling before Ivan’s body and choking back a sob. His hands moved about frantically in the air, grabbing and grasping for a solution that wasn’t there. What could he do? How… How could this be fixed? His head was spinning, thoughts and worries and fears swirling around and around and around.

All he wanted to do was touch Ivan, he just needed to hold him for just a moment…

Slowly, gently, Andrew reached out and grabbed Ivan under the arms, twisting both of them so Ivan’s head was resting gently on Andrew’s legs, Andrew cradling his head.

Then, only then, holding his bloodied best friend, did Andrew cry. He cried and cried, shaking and sobbing and gently running his fingers through Ivan’s hair. Ivan was so light, so thin, so pale… He cried even harder. His tears left trails through the blood that lightly smeared on Ivan’s face.

As they sat there, together, Andrew’s tears running down both their faces, Andrew realised something. Could this… could this all be his fault?

His fault for yelling at Ivan? His fault for letting Ivan leave? His fault for taking so long to go after Ivan? His fault for not realising Ivan was off his meds? His fault for… leaving? Could Ivan be dead because… because of him? Fuck…

He steadied himself with a hand and suddenly found a piece of fabric resting on the ground. He picked it up — it had fallen out of Ivan’s pocket. He squinted to read it, and…

“Goodbye”

From his hoodie… was this…?

Oh Ivan…

Andrew doubled over, sobs racking his body as he thought of it all. It was all shit. All stupid fucking bullshit. He just wanted to be able to love his best friend, he just wanted them to be happy, why had the world done this??? He loved Ivan, he loved him, why had the universe torn them apart like that? Why couldn’t they just LOVE????

Andrew squeezed his eyes shut, his heart beating wildly as he pressed his lips to Ivan’s cold ones. He savoured the feeling one last time, how soft they were, how perfectly they fit together and…

And his light breath.

Andrew shot up, his heaving sobs stopping suddenly from his shock. Ivan was breathing!! He… could he really be alive??

Hope lighting up his heart, he shoved two fingers onto Ivan’s neck. After a few frantic seconds of searching, Andrew found a faint pulse and sobbed in relief. But he knew he didn’t have long; if Ivan had taken all of those pills, who knows how long he had?

Hands searching quickly, Andrew found his forgotten phone in his pocket and dialed 911, explaining frantically to the operator what was happening and where he was. The lady assured him that the ambulance would arrive in no more than 5 minutes, and Andrew spent that time with one hand on Ivan’s chest, assuring that that light breath he had found stayed.

The paramedics ran into the apartment, taking Ivan from Andrew and moving him quickly onto a stretcher. Andrew got up with them, afraid to lose sight of Ivan in fear of him disappearing.

A nurse shoved him back when he tried to look at Ivan, grumbling. “Get out of here, kid!” Andrew turned to the nurse with pleading eyes, and the man sighed, letting Andrew trail them as they spewed words that made no sense to Andrew.

Before he could process anything, he was sitting in an ambulance, hoping with every bit of faith in his heart that Ivan would just make it back to him. To his love.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: I Can’t Help It

Andrews Pov

He feels numb. He can’t focus on anything but how the harsh hospital lights blur his vision and how he can’t stop shaking while other people sit by him in the waiting room.

He feels hopeless; he must seem like a wreck due to how other people keep glancing at him every time he let out a slight sob or every time his leg started bouncing because of the fact he won't move until he knew Ivan was okay.

But he mainly felt hopeless from the fact he has no idea if his friend is even okay. Knowing those doctors could be doing god knows what… what if they were preparing Ivan for his death bed, for his body to be sent to the morgue?

What if the pulse he thought he heard wasn’t actually there, rather just his mind toying with him, making him believe that he was alive but in reality he wasn’t? What if… fuck, he has to see Ivan.

He looks down at his hands, sticky and covered in dried blood from when he found Ivan, the ripped up “Goodbye” in his hand feeling heavier than lead. Not from the blood, but from guilt and fear and regret for what Ivan had done to himself.

What if... what if what Ivan did was just another attempt to reel him back to another abusive relationship? What if it was so Andrew couldn’t leave him due to his mental state, so Ivan could manipulate and hurt him again?

No, he’s overthinking it again. But what Ivan did to him will never leave his mind, it never will.

The sleepless nights hoping he wouldn’t be found or strangled again, how the cold tile ground bit into his skin and how he couldn’t leave Ivan’s apartment some days… those memories will never leave. Because he is scarred.

But still, what Ivan did to himself he wouldn’t wish upon anyone. (Well maybe besides his parents but very besides the point.) The fact he had to carry Ivan’s limp body when the paramedics arrived so he could be alive... If he even is... fuck, his mind is getting to him again. But still he has no idea if Ivan is alive, and he’ll never know if he doesn't check now.

He has to see him.

He must see him.

He isn’t one for violence ever. It’s been his last resort ever since he graduated high school — he knew it only made him more like his parents, and he swore he would never be like them. He would never be the assholes they were. But this wasn’t something his parents wouldn’t do. They couldn’t love at all. This was all for love.

He stands up and pushes through the door to the sterile hallway, ignoring the receptionist’s calls out for him telling him he can’t go past those doors unless called back. He needs to see Ivan.

As he picks up his pace down the corridor it feels like an endless labyrinth, walking and walking, waiting and waiting for the inevitable time when he sees his love. But he feels almost scared to make it to Ivan’s room… His once-sure steps slow slightly. What if this is a bad idea? What if he’s gone…?

Suddenly he hears a shout, “Hey, kid! What the hell are you doing back here??? You shouldn’t be here!” Shit, someone is coming to drag him away. Andrew takes off down the hallway.

“Hey you, stop there!” Andrew, of course, didn't stop, running harder than before to Ivan’s supposed room.

He felt a hand grab his arm and instinctively spun around, punching the balding doctor in the nose and running off when his grip loosened.

More shouts rang out from the hallway and an alarm went off, but still Andrew ran, focused on getting to Ivan.

Finally he makes it to Ivan’s room, room 06. He takes a shuddering deep breath, preparing for the worse, and opens the door quickly.

When he saw the security close behind him, he quickly stepped in and shut the door, locking it and using a dresser full of crappy hospital gowns to barricade the door. His breaths panting, he finally turned around to face the dimly lit room.

The blinds were open and the lights were off, allowing a decent amount of sunlight in the room. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor by the bed in the middle of the room synced with Andrew’s slowing breaths, and there was a tray by the bedside with various tools and charts.

The knocking outside the door dulled out as his gaze finally landed upon the only thing he had been looking for the entire time in this hospital: Ivan.

Laying in the bed, the blue sheet pulled over his body Ivan looked… different. He wasn’t wearing his normal outfit as it was replaced with a hospital gown; a light blue, the color of it only made his skin look more pale. Sure, he is gray, but he almost looked light grey.

But it’s better than how he was when Andrew found him, practically white besides the red that flowed down his arms and hands…

Wait, his arms... Andrew gently pulled back the sheet to see the one arm that didn’t have the IV in — so he didn’t harm Ivan further. He noticed the bandage wraps on it and faint brownish spots, meaning the blood was barely seeping through and he was healing better. He let out a sigh of relief and leaned down. Not too close, just enough so he believes he can hear Ivan even in this coma he’s in.

“I want you to know, I can’t forgive you for this and I never will, you betrayed me a-and yourself again. The thing we worked on to get you better and to recover and you broke the peace we made together. But I’ll give you a chance to prove yourself, and this time I’m not helping and you’ll really have to prove yourself if you truly want me, if you truly even think of me as a friend.”

It was a useless speech, but one he had to make.

Slowly, gently, he moves closer to Ivan’s face, placing a light kiss on the tip of his nose before moving down, kissing Ivan on the lips ever-so-lightly and savouring the taste of his breath. He pulled away as the door flew open and security dragged him away.

……………………
(Later)

He was banned from the hospital unless it’s “an emergency" because Ivan had put him as an emergency contact. Though, only because the hospital was closer to his house than his mom’s, who lives 2 hours away.

Andrew had no idea what to do, waiting around his house. He was too stressed to code, too distracted to swatch anything, too restless to sleep. He hadn’t felt hungry in hours, though he still ate, and there was nothing he really needed to do.

He may as well water the plants.

He went along slowly, watering each plant thoroughly with shaky hands.

Finally, he got to the difficult plant, sitting in its pot. It was wilted; dried, dead petals and leaves sitting in the dirt. Quickly, he rushed it to his bathroom, filling the whole pot with water. But the plant was dead, maybe beyond repair.

Why had it wilted? What had gone wrong?

“I’m not sure what to do anymore…”

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: Bitter Medicine

(Andrew’s POV)
(Y’all are kinda stuck with him for a while)
(I want Ivan back, too, but we must wait)

It was 4am when the hospital called.

Andrew had flown awake and grabbed his phone before the second ring — you could barely call what he was doing sleeping. He had been waiting for days for an update, and the stress of waiting was getting to him. It was all he could do to take care of his basic needs and pace and pace some more.

But finally, the call he had been waiting for came.

“Hello, is this Andrew?”

“This is he.”

“We’re calling to inform you that your partner, Ivan, has woken up.”

Fuck, he had forgotten he had said that. “Friend” seemed too casual for the hospital, and "roommate" was a lie. He couldn’t really lie about familial connections, because they’d expect more family to arrive. So, he told the nurses he was Ivan's boyfriend.

Hopefully Ivan wouldn’t be mad.

The visitation hours were from 9am to 5pm, so Andrew had a good few hours before he could see Ivan.

So, Andrew did what he always did when he was stressed: he paced. It was a miracle his floor didn’t have permanent imprints of his paths, because he walked the same path every time. Around the couch over and over, switching directions occasionally but still doing the same circle over and over and over and over.

His thoughts were also doing the same circles over and over. What had Andrew done wrong? Could he have prevented this? Did he do something? Was this his fault? Over and over and over, flipping the questions around in his head in the hope that maybe an answer would present itself. Of course, it never did, and he just paced harder and faster.

The clock moved indefinitely slow and yet incomprehensibly fast. 5:30 came before Andrew knew it, and he scrambled around in his room to pull on acceptable clothes and grab something to eat. He stopped by a mirror to comb his hair with his hands — a senseless gesture, but somehow it made him feel more secure.

In his car, steaming coffee in one hand and jacket in another, Andrew steadied himself for the 3-hour drive ahead.

~~~~~~

Andrew turned off his rumbling engine and grabbed the now-cold coffee from the cupholder. He had made it to the hospital, and it was time to see Ivan. If Ivan was awake, that is.

The receptionist took one look at Andrew and glanced down at her computer screen, typing in some words. “I’ll let the nurses know that you’re here to see Ivan.”

Andrew flushed slightly, but mumbled a thank-you and sat down. His knee bounced up and down over and over and over for what felt like forever when a nurse came out of the doors.

He sat up, ready to see Ivan.

“Mrs. Johnson? Yes, your son is ready to see you, you may come in.”

A mean-looking woman in a floral dress and beige cardigan stood up, following the nurse.

Andrew leaned back, groaning internally. This wait would be forever.

~~~~~~

It was closer to 10:30 now; Andre had been waiting silently for almost an hour. He’d entertained himself by creating fake stories about people and their lives just based on how they looked. It was way more fun with Ivan at his side, but the stupid game was good enough for now.

Another nurse came out, surely to call one of the grumpy old guys or anxious teenagers or middle-aged women in the waiting room.

“Andrew?” the nurse called. Andrew’s head shot up, and he stood quickly. “Oh, Andrew, Ivan’s ok to see you now. Please follow me.”

Andrew snatched his coat from the seat next to him and went to follow the nurse quickly, keeping pace right behind her.

“...So, you’re Ivan’s boyfriend?” she asked, looking back at Andrew.

He laughed awkwardly and shook his head. “Hah, yeah, actually no. I’m just his friend, but that didn’t sound… important enough? Y’know.” The nurse nodded surprisedly.

“Really, you’re sure?” Andrew nodded again, blushing slightly. “Hmm, he doesn’t seem to think so…”

Andrew sped up to keep pace next to the nurse now, looking down at her. “Wait- what??”

She smirked slightly, but continued. “Well, I mean, he’s been asking for you since he woke up, and he kinda does say your name in his sleep…”

Andrew was flushed bright red by now, and the nurse giggled slightly as they finally made it to Ivan’s door.

“He’s just in there, as you know. He’s awake, but try not to put too much strain on him, ok?”

Andrew nodded, not really paying attention, and pushed open the door.

The room felt brighter now since the first time he had been inside, which was weird, because the sun was well-covered with clouds now. Ivan was lying in the hospital bed, looking pale and thin but alive as ever. His eyes darted over to the door where Andrew was standing and he immediately started talking.

“Andrew! Oh my god, I didn’t know… I’m so sorry, I’m not sure what was happening, I couldn’t control it and I was so angry and sad and I couldn’t really think and I’m so sorry and you must’ve been so scared and-”

Andrew strode over to Ivan, cutting off his anxious rant with a quick kiss on the lips. It wasn’t much, just enough to taste the dryness on Ivan’s lips and feel his breath.

It was at least effective in stopping Ivan’s rant. Though it didn’t really help with Ivan’s heart rate, which spiked for just a second before lowering again. Andrew could feel the nurse laughing from here.

“A-Andrew-” Ivan stuttered, blushing profusely.

Andrew laughed a little and buried his head in Ivan’s neck. “Hi, Ivan.” he mumbled.

“Are… are you mad at me?” Andrew groaned a little, burying his head deeper into Ivan’s neck.

“Ask me that again in a minute, I wanna be happy for a second.” Ivan nodded and lightly petted Andrew’s hair.

Eventually, when it had been way past a minute, Andrew gently lifted his head from Ivan’s neck and pulled the dinky metal chair over to sit down in. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair and thoroughly ruining anything the previous finger-combing had done to his hair.

“Ivan.” “Andrew…” Ivan responded, his voice slightly hesitant and scared.

“I’m kinda fucking pissed at you.” Ivan bowed his head and nodded in acknowledgement. “And I don’t want to get too mad. But I kinda am.

“Firstly, I’m pissed that you lied to me about your therapy place. Yes, the hospital told me it had shut down. I’m mad that you didn’t tell me and even more mad that you told me you were still going MONTHS after it had closed. Then, I’m pissed that you stopped taking your meds. I know it’s not really your fault and that your disorder does that sometimes, but I’m still a bit ticked. You didn’t even tell me you were feeling off, you just cold turkey stopped them!!

“Then I’m mad about you speeding off. I wanted to talk and help you and maybe do something and then you just ran away!! What if I had been a minute late??? What if I hadn’t chosen to go see you?? What if you had taken the pills as soon as you’d gotten home??? I made it there JUST in time so you wouldn’t die, but I don’t know what would happen if… if…” Andrew had to stop then, taking in a deep, shaky breath before continuing his rant.

“And I’m… I was so scared when I found you, Ivan. I thought you were gone, I thought I had lost you forever and I didn’t know what to do… Do you even REALISE what it was like for me?? I just came into your LOCKED apartment and found it TRASHED, BLOODY, AND WITH THE DAMN GOODBYE CUT OUT OF YOUR SHIRT!! And then I found you and I thought it was your body and I saw the pills and the blood and your arms and… Fuck, Ivan…”

Andrew wiped tears away from his face, sniffling and blinking to try and clear his eyes. Ivan’s hand reached down for his, and Andrew grabbed it tight, squeezing lightly as he breathed.

“I thought I had lost you forever, asshole… Don’t ever do that again.” Ivan squeezed Andrew’s hand, making his eyes flick up.

Ivan was crying too, lightly. “I’m so sorry, Andrew… I promise you I’ll never do this again. I just…”

And there they sat, for just a moment, hands joined and tears running down both their faces.

Suddenly, Andrew lit up with a little idea.

“Oh, Ivan, another thing I’m mad at you for.” Ivan looked at Andrew confusedly, looking almost scared.

“You ruined my confession.”

Ivan stared at Andrew, the gears in his head turning quickly. He went through shock, confusion, realization, and then…

“I ruined your… what?”

Andrew smirked. “My confession.” He leaned in close to Ivan, smiling when their faces were almost touching. Ivan gasped slightly, flushing.

“Your.. uh, your confession of w-what?” Andrew liked seeing Andrew squirm a little bit like that.

Andrew leaned in, tucking a stray piece of Ivan’s hair behind his ear as he spoke. “My confession of my love for you.”

Ivan’s heart rate spiked, the monitor going crazy as Andrew calmly stroked Ivan’s face and Ivan turned all shades of red.

The door clicked open, and the nurse from earlier stepped into the room. Andrew heard her giggle lightly, and then heard her clear her throat to talk.

“Andrew?” He turned around in the chair to face her, still leaving on hand in Ivan’s. “We need you to sign some papers, ok?”

“M’kay.” Andrew stood up, gently dropping Ivan’s hand and grabbing his jacket.

As he walked out with the nurse, she stopped in the doorway. “Don’t worry, Ivan, your boyfriend will be back soon.”

Andrew heard a loud beep before the door was shut.

He and the nurse walked quietly walked to the front desk for a minute until she spoke.

“So, he’s not your boyfriend, you say?”

Andrew laughed out loud and smiled. “Well, not yet.”

The nurse looked up at him and smiled back. “Well, from what I’ve seen, you don't have much competition.”

~~~~~

Andrew was walking through grocery aisles, picking up some things for at home. He had been signed as Ivan's legal caretaker, which meant Ivan would be moving in with him after he left the hospital. Which meant he’d need more food for the house.

He walked around, picking up little necessities and plopping them into his basket.

Finally, he got to the best section in the whole store: the noodles aisle. He walked straight over to the ramen area, looking through all the flavours. He picked up a particularly good-looking one that was flavoured fish and seaweed. It was significantly more expensive than their normal ramen, though.

And that’s when it hit Andrew.

He could afford this ramen now.

The games he had made on Ivan’s abuse had been doing really well, and he had been making some actual money from them. Like, enough for it to be noticeable.

What is Andrew gonna say when Ivan asks why they have the fancy ramen?

Quickly, Andrew set two packs of it into his basket. A treat, he’ll say. Ivan doesn’t need to know about the games.

At least… at least not now.