Ivan Petrov

I wake up to the scent of pine and mints. My chest is pressed against his bare one, my injured arm sandwiched between our breathing torsos. Our legs are tangled with the sheets, meaning I can't untangle my legs from his without waking him up.

I'm not entirely sure I want to either.

My untied hair's a mess, falling on my face. Hope's hair is brushing against my forehead because we're that close. His hands are wrapped around my back, and my right hand is on his nape.

He's breathing steadily - I can feel his breath on my cheek. The rise and fall of his stomach is so rhythmic, I try to sync with him. My eyes are trained on his, but his eyelids are shut. I can look at him without hesitating now. No one's there to stop me, not even myself.

His beauty scars are the first thing I notice. I move on. His lips are parted, his whole face is so angular you can see the planes of his face. It's strangely symmetrical. I like it.

Then his throat - Adam's Apple bobbing with every breath. His whole body is like a monolith weathered by a waterfall. Smooth and strong and so definite. His chest, his torso, his goddamn arms... How did God allow this?

"I can pretend to sleep for longer if you want." His voice comes out hoarse and swoony. His eyes are still closed. "I know I'm pulchritudinous."

"What the fuck does that even mean?" I try to cover my shock.

He opens his eyes. Both of them. They're milder than usual. "Beautiful, that's what it means. There are very few people I'd describe with that word."

"And you just described yourself," I mumble. "I'm going to have to look up the symptoms of narcissism."

He rolls his eyes. "Is it normal for you to start your days with cussing?"

My hand on his nape falls to his back. He pretends to not notice. "For how long have you been awake? Or pretending to sleep?"

I don't need to hear him to know he's laughing. I can feel his chest bouncing with zest against my own. "Long enough."

"Long enough for what?"

"Long enough to know you'd rather spend the day wrapped around me than play basketball. Also with me."

I push my injured arm against his stomach, not really hitting him but enough for him to know I'm not pleased with his answer. And I'm not pleased because as much as I'd hate to admit it, he's right.

His hands leave my back and cup my fractured hand. His gaze is steady on the cast. "Don't move it, gosh! You're supposed to let it heal, Ivan."

Did he always say my name like that? "I only did it because you were being annoying."

He exhales and a long spell of air rushes on my neck. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be.... Saying stuff like that when I know about Dorian Gray."

He's jealous. I'd bet on it.

"We were supposed to play basketball, right?" I ask, changing the topic.

He grins. "Only if you promise to not strain this arm of yours."

I groan. "Yeah, okay. I haven't laid my hands on a basketball for ages. Can we please go."

"Liar. Bas said you were dribbling the ball in the garden."

"For five minutes!" I exclaim. "Now are we going or not?"

"We are." He presses me closer to him, tangling our legs more and buries his head in the crook of my neck. Totally normal, right? "In five minutes."

***

I can't hold a ball properly. I have to play using just one hand and it's almost impossible to shoot. Hope is quite rusty as well. His shots are bouncing off the backboard and he's swearing more than usual. The more frustrated any player is, the worse they'll play.

"Hope." I walk towards him. He stops dribbling the ball and turns to me.

"Calm the shit down, you want water or something?"

He sighs. "You don't get it! I have a match in two days and I can't even shoot properly."

"You just have to get warmed up to the ball. But now, I'd say leave it. Drop the ball, let's go for a jog through the woods. Clear your head."

"We don't have much time..." he starts.

"I'm only trying to help you."

Sighing, he takes one last shot - it barely hits the ring - and leaves the ball on the ground. He is reluctant but I don't care. If he wants to play properly, he's got to have a clear mind first.

"C'mon," I mutter, and he follows me through the forest trail. We're jogging against the mist, everything is green. Our shoulders bump into each other when the trail gets narrower, we both pretend not to notice.

It's nice being alone with him. His shoulders have stopped sagging and his forehead is free of creases. He has calmed down. It's early in the morning, no one has the right to be worried at this time.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around. Hope is panting. "Can we stop?" he asks in between breaths.

I nod and halt to a stop along with him. He stumbles towards a tree and leans his back against it. His head is tilted upwards. And there are some things I can't help but notice.

Like how his skin is as clear as the sky - spotless perfection. His eyes are brighter than the sun. His hair flows like the river. His legs are sturdy like trees. His cheeks are flushed like a ripe fruit.

And his lips are softer than flower petals. Or so I think. I haven't really touched them to know for sure. He's a forest of a human being.

"Aren't you tired?" he asks once his breathing has steadied. "Do you run this stretch everyday?"

I shake my head. "I actually bike double this distance to get to school, and then to come back. So my legs are used to this."

"No wonder you look this good all the time."

I roll my eyes at him. "Speaking of my bike, it's still lying in front of my father's house. Possibly broken."

"He nods. We'll collect it today. Probably show it to a mechanic? You're not supposed to ride it until you get better. And you have to go to school tomorrow."

I groan. "I don't have anything to do in school." I can't write or play, what's the point?

"Good. You won't be busy then, and you can make new friends."

"Friends?"

"Well, you're current ones obviously don't know what friendly means."

I scowl. "Donovan's not my friend. No one except Tyler is, actually."

"So you'll have to make new ones. Go to school, Ivan. It can't be that bad."

"You know nothing about my school."

"What happened to Mr Loverman?" he asks, changing the topic. "Don't tell me you forgot what happened."

I laugh. "Of course I didn't. You want me to call you Mr Loverman?"

He smiles and beckons to me. I walk closer to him. His hands grip my wrist and I have a heart attack.

"Call me anything you want," he says casually, like everything is completely normal. "Anything except Hope. My whole family's name is Hope. It's not anything special."

"When did I say you were special to me?" My voice is fluctuating. His hand is on my goddamn wrist, he can feel my pulse if he tries.

"You don't have to."

"Hope," I mumble.

"I just told you not to call me that!" He isn't angry, just slightly annoyed. And weirdly flustered. I love seeing him like this, when he's not entirely in control of what's going on.

"Don't expect me to listen to you when you're being too bold for your own good." And just to annoy him further, I add another word. "Hope."

I can hear his teeth grinding. I slip my wrist from his grip, smiling coyly. "Walk back?"

We walk back in silence. My hands keep brushing against his, but he doesn't take it. Not once. Once we reach our makeshift basketball court, he picks up the ball from the ground and shoots. He takes several shots, and almost all of them go in. I smile at myself.

"You aren't tired, are you?" he asks me once he's done downing an entire bottle of water. "You haven't even broken a sweat."

"I didn't do anything apart from dribbling the ball. You played well, though."

He grins. "Thank you. And we had a nice jog, didn't we? If I hadn't come with you, I wouldn't have played this way. Helped my mind. Thank you."

I shrug and hop into his car. He follows suit. "We have a long day ahead."

I'm confused. "What's the plan?"

He looks at me with wide eyes. "You said you remembered what happened last night."

"Yeah... So?" What did we decide to do today? All I remember is Mr Loverman and hugging him to sleep.

"You don't remember?" He seems quite disappointed.

"Uh... Just tell me, won't you?"

The disappointment in his eyes is replaced with a glint of mischief. "Call me Mr Loverman and I'll tell you what happened."

I groan. "Not happening."

He lifts his leg from the accelerator. "Then I'm not moving."

I glare at him. "Mr Loverman."

"You're supposed to call me that, not just say it to the air."

I can't believe he's making me say that again. "Can you start the engine, Mr Loverman?"

"Of course, darling," he says in the most old-fashioned way ever. Then he winks and starts the car.

Idiot.

"Shopping," he says randomly. "That's what we decided to do today."

Unbelievable. "You're lying."

"Mr Loverman doesn't lie."

"Hope does."

"Well, I'm not Hope anymore, am I?"

I laugh and shake my head at the same time. He really isn't that bad. At all.

***

We aren't in Neutral Territory. We aren't in the Wildcats or Falcons territory either. We're in a whole new town.

Hope parks his convertible in the parking space of the town's mall. Nobody here even recognises us. The convertible the color of the Falcon's logo is nothing strange. They probably don't even know who the Falcons and Wildcats are. I wish it could be like this everywhere.

I didn't expect this from Hope. When he said we were going shopping, I thought we'd stop at a random store on the street, far enough for any of our teammates to pop up, and buy some clothes.

In front of me is a gigantic building, elegant in every way possible. The structure is way too grand to stand in any town. Just looking at it makes me feel like I'm transported to the city.

"It's one of the largest malls in the area." Hope says when sees me gaping at the building. We're still at the entrance. I'm too numb to take a step forward.

Hope extends his arm like he's asking me for a dance. "Shall we?"

I laugh at his chivalry and hide how impressed I am. I take his hand and he gives it a squeeze. Hand in hand we enter the mall. The security guard gives us a weird look but we don't care. Not today, not here - where absolutely nobody knows us.

Besides, we don't have to be gay to hold hands. Maybe we just care for each other.

After perhaps an hour, my shopping bag is filled. There's everything from flannels and t-shirts to boxers and socks. I think we're done for the day but Hope drags me to another store. Wrangler.

"You have, like, one pair of jeans. You need more."

"Haven't we surpassed the budget?" I gesture the overfilled shopping he's carrying.

"Budget? What budget?"

I shake my head and walk to the place where the baggy jeans are displayed. I'm checking the sizes when I feel a hand on my back. There's only one person who's touch makes me explode.

"You should go to the skinny jeans section. They'll suit you better," Hope says.

I don't turn around. "I can't believe you're--"

"Just turn around, Ivan," he interrupts. "I already got you one."

I spin around, positively beaming. He's holding a pair of dark blue jeans that'll stick to my legs if I wore them.

"And why do you think so?" I ask him.

"Think what?"

"That they'll suit me?" I look at his selection nervously.

He chuckles. "You've got model legs, Ivan. Tall and incredibly sexy. Nothing will suit better." He presses the denim against my chest and looks at me questioningly.

I nod, it's hard to say no to those eyes, and walk towards the changing room. Once I'm inside, I unfasten my pants and stare at my legs. You'd call them muscular if the muscles were shown. They're pale and thin, just bone basically. And he called them sexy.

Biting back a blush, I slip into the pair of jeans he picked for me. He does have good taste. My legs look so much better. I fix my hair in the mirror before opening the door.

Hope smiles as soon as I step out. He examines me from my head all the way to my shoes. I smile coyly.

He steps forward. "What's that smile for?"

I shrug. "I think I just caught you checking me out."

His eyes widen before returning to their usual, mischievous state. "And you think I haven't caught you doing the same?"

At least he isn't denying it.

I roll my eyes playfully. "No chance."

He laughs again and takes my hand. "But you do look good. Better than usual, that is."

"Is there a Louis Vuitton store here? I'll ask them to re-hire you."

"Oh, and why will they do so?"

"I'll give them my recommendation. At least you'll get paid for flirting."

"That won't be necessary. You can hire me as your personal flirt. I'll be more content."

I laugh. "Hire you? I don't have the money."

He shrugs. "I'll do it for free then."

"You already are," I remind him.

He pushes me against the trial room's door. "I haven't even started."

I can't believe we've taken a joke to this extent. The worst part is it's still a joke. "I'm not sure I want you to."

He exhales, still laughing. "How about you walk around with these jeans and if at least two people don't ask you for your number, I'll..."

"You'll?" Now I'm interested.

He licks his lips. "I'll treat you with ice cream."

"All right," I mutter and walk past him. I stroll through the store. I like how the denim feels against me, like some sort of second skin. A girl winks at me as I stare at the posters of other guys wearing jeans.

I keep walking. No one asked me for my number yet, so that means I'll get some ice cream. I'm on my way back to the trial rooms where I left Hope when I spot the last person I'd expect to see here.

He's wearing a large button-down along with some rusty jeans. His hair is a mess and his eyes are bloodshot. He's got bags beneath his eyes, probably from excessive drinking.

Despite being shabbily dressed, it's the neatest I've seen him in years. And I don't want to see him again, ever. Right now, he's speaking irritatedly to a sales guy.

I run towards the trial rooms, hoping he won't see me. I run past Hope and push myself into one of the trial rooms before collapsing.

Hope tentatively opens the door, locks it and crouches next to me. I can hear my heart pounding. My breathing is ragged and my head is spinning. I can feel myself sweating, my palms feel moist as I ball them into fists.

I press my back against the mirror. "He's here," I tell Hope without meeting his eyes.

"Who's here?" he asks gently. He has one hand on my knee and the other against my shoulder.

I shudder against his grip before leaning into it. "My father."