Work Text:
“Psst! Up here!”
Ivan bit back a sigh and tilted his head towards the second storey window, watching as Amelia's golden hair tumbled out.
The occupants blasted music that shook the ground from outside, at the back of a regular-looking two-storey house. Laughter poured from a group of girls within. Flashing lights burst from the front windows, where the living room would be, deep in the suburbs of this run-down college town. Parked cars blocked the driveway and spilled out onto the curb. Ivan had parked Amelia's car down the street so no one would recognise it, but it was too dark to distinguish the colour anyway.
And he’d been forced to sneak past a leaving group onto the property and over to the window Amelia had told him in misspelled messages to meet. He was shocked the neighbours hadn't received a noise complaint. Why had he agreed to this again?
Amelia sent him a lopsided grin and slid the window up further, gesturing him inside. Her cheeks were flushed. How Amelia expected Ivan to climb to her from the ground with no ladder or tree nearby was beyond him, but thankfully, he spotted a drain pipe he could use as a handhold.
It took him more than a few minutes to laboriously climb the exterior walls, and Ivan’s fingers slipped twice. But his gymnastics classes had taught him well. He finally reached the top, slid through the opened window and landed onto the interior carpet with the elegance of a house cat.
“Didja bring my clothes?”
Ivan tossed the backpack he was wearing onto the nearby bed, allowing Amelia to rummage inside. Her breath stank of bourbon. A dark, dubious stain covered the front of her white shirt that smelt suspiciously of vomit, but Amelia paid it no mind. They were standing inside someone's bedroom – a girl's, judging by the dozens of beauty products piled on top of a dresser by the door and kitschy decor plastered to the walls. A pink and purple quilted blanket draped across a Queen-sized bed. It was dark, with only the moonlight illuminating the space.
Amelia pulled an oversized shirt from Ivan’s backpack and scowled.
“You grabbed the wrong one!”
“Your instructions weren't very clear,” Ivan retorted, clenching his fists in frustration. He was missing sleep for this. “You own a hundred white shirts.”
“They're all different!”
“Are they really?”
“Ugh.” Amelia rolled her eyes. “Yes, and it's called fashion. I wanted a blouse. You grabbed a t-shirt. Now they're definitely gonna know you were here.”
Amelia threw the shirt onto the bed and unbuttoned her blouse. Her bomber jacket was missing. At some point in the night she'd tucked the lower half of the fabric into her bra – exposing her stomach. Dressed over her feet were a pair of cowboy boots Ivan could've sworn he'd never seen her wear, and her green tennis skirt was rumpled and uneven.
“You’re talking so loudly I’d be surprised if they didn’t,” Ivan said, his heart racing in his chest as her shirt hit the floor and her skin was exposed. Someone had turned the music down downstairs. “The t-shirt looked more comfortable.”
“Oh my God, Ivan! It doesn't match my outfit!”
Amelia's pitch was rising, her words slurred. Ivan hushed her and they both fell silent, listening to the volume quieten below their feet.
“Shit,” Amelia whispered.
She shoved Ivan onto the carpet beside the dresser just as footsteps sounded up the staircase and a gentle rap bounced off the bedroom door.
“You okay, Mia?”
“Uh, yeah!” Amelia's voice rattled. She gave an eardrum-shattering laugh. “Still getting the stain off. I wanna look hot!”
“Okay, just making sure. Come down soon!”
The footsteps faded, and Amelia's shoulders sagged. She wrenched Ivan off the floor with a strength he always seemed to forget she possessed.
“That coulda been bad.”
Ivan ignored the pain in his chest at that comment and found his eyes drawn back to Amelia's bare skin.
“Why does the blouse matter?”
“Because, dumbass. It matches my fit! That shirt's done for, I'm never gonna get the stain off. I'm going back down to keep the party going, they'll be bored without me. Can you throw my shirt away?”
“No.”
“Aww. Pwetty pwease?”
“It's your shirt, and your problem,” Ivan snapped, fighting away whatever feeling Amelia's pout was doing to him. She was giving him puppy eyes. “Besides. You’re making me sneak around like an animal for you.”
“No guys allowed,” Amelia said. “It's a gals’ party.”
“Does it matter if I'm bringing fresh clothes?”
“Yes,” Amelia answered automatically. “The girls don't like –”
She stumbled, and Ivan's hands wrapped around her bare waist to keep her steady.
As if remembering he was there, Amelia blinked, staring. She was still shirtless. Her breath vanished. Her face turned impossibly redder. Hands shoved him away, Amelia's body turning to face the wall.
“Pervert,” she muttered.
Ivan raised a brow. “Should I just let you fall next time?”
“That's not what I'm referring to.”
Hurt swelled inside his chest. Despite it all. Despite the effort not to feel, not to crumble, not to react. Ivan had known what Amelia had meant to say. The girls don't like you. As usual. As always. His presence was a terrible, hidden secret.
“It's not like I haven't seen you before.”
Amelia stiffened. Ivan sighed and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed next to his backpack, pulling his eyes away from her frame. So he'd done it. Brought up the impossible. The elephant in the room.
“I thought you…” Amelia's voice was faint. “You remember?”
Remember? Every waking moment. Each time he closed his eyes. She was there, tattooed into the back of his eyelids, draping her naked body over his in a stupid, fleeting night he could never, ever forget.
“I wasn't that drunk.”
His eyes fixed themselves to the study nook adjacent to the window. The blue desk chair that resembled the one in Ivan's bedroom, inside the apartment they both shared, even if Amelia left her belongings everywhere like she owned it. Their apartment. The one he cooked her balanced meals in, because she still hadn't bothered to learn how to cook. The one she tainted with her horrible perfume, and how it lingered in the hall; the way her shampoo scented their bathroom.
He fixated on these little micro obsessions, on all these habits Amelia didn't even know she had. And it was home. He wouldn't have it any other way.
The next words out of Ivan’s lips spilled like they belonged to someone else.
“You should come home. It's late.”
“Late?” Amelia scoffed. “You’re not my dad. It's still early! The sun's not up yet.”
“You have class tomorrow.”
“So what?”
“I can drive you home.”
“Ivan,” Amelia said. “I don't want to go home. I don't want to be sober. Just let me have fun.”
“Fine. Don't say I didn't try.”
Ivan stood, twisting to face her. Amelia's torso was draped with an oversized white shirt that he realised with a start was his. His missing Moscow shirt, the one he'd searched for all winter and couldn't find. His gift from Natalya.
He hadn't recognised it. After rummaging through her drawers in the dark of her bedroom for what felt like forever, he'd finally given up on finding what she'd requested and had grabbed the closest thing possible. His shirt. Why did she have his clothes?
“Is… that my shirt?”
Obviously. It even had Russian written on the front.
Amelia went still. “I… yeah.”
Ivan sat frozen, his body doused in a thin layer of icy sweat. His thoughts were blank. His eyes were stuck on Amelia like he couldn't move, entirely incapable of producing a response.
“Are… are you angry with me?”
“Angry… I – a little,” Ivan finally said, breaking from his stupor and meeting her eyes. They were filling with water. “I have been looking for that shirt for months.”
“I'm sorry.”
He shook himself mentally and bent to wrap his hand around Amelia's old blouse sprawled on the floor, shuffling over to his backpack.
“I'll throw this out for you.”
“Wait!” Amelia grabbed his wrist. “Is that all?”
“...Yes?”
“I can't go out in this.”
Amelia seemed to be dodging something, but Ivan wasn't a mind reader, and his eyes were beginning to feel heavy. He had class in the morning.
“Do you want to put the vomit shirt back on then?”
“I – no,” Amelia said. “I want… to look pretty.”
“You are already pretty.”
Amelia blushed. “Really?”
Her words were more slurred than before, and Ivan caught the droop of her eyelids, the way her body swayed back and forth. If only he could convince her…
“Come back home,” he whispered. “You're tired. I can drive you.”
“I… can't…”
“Why?”
“Because,” she licked her lips. “I can't stop thinking about you, and I hate it.”
She hovered inches away, her drunken breath grazing against his skin. The last time she’d smelt like this, had stood so close – but it wasn't the same this time. He was sober. And she was embarrassed by him.
“Can. Can you stay here with me?” Amelia asked. “I'll lock the door so no one can enter.”
Ivan shot her a look. “I need to get some sleep. I have a class at nine.”
“Sleep in here! With me. Please?”
She gave him another one of her heart-tugging, stomach-wriggling puppy eyes. And Ivan felt every last inch of his willpower crumble.
“Fine,” he muttered, closing his eyes. What had he just agreed to? “But I'm leaving before sunrise. And sleeping on the bed.”
Amelia beamed. “Okay!”
He rolled his eyes and stuffed her dirty blouse into his backpack, watching her slide the lock. He shuffled onto the bed as the mattress sank beside him. Amelia's bright blue eyes pierced into him like a sword.
“I'm cold.”
She snuggled closer, her head bumping his collarbone. Amelia twisted and pressed her back to Ivan's chest, grabbing his arm, wrapping it around her, and passing out before Ivan could utter a protest.
And that was how he found himself lying on a stranger's bed with Amelia in his arms, the other snoring beside him.
Ivan's shuffling woke her up.
A large, heavy arm drifting off her waist. A warm chest peeling off her back. A void of icy air left in its wake, Amelia's company disconnecting.
Amelia batted her eyes and twisted her head, a sliver of silver moonlight pouring from the window. It glossed across Ivan’s hair like a halo. A pair of violet eyes captivated her, staring back, the goosebumps on her arms begging him to reclaim her.
He leaned forward.
“It is almost dawn,” Ivan whispered, and his feather-light touch brushed her shoulder. “I need to go.”
Otherwise they'd see him. At least Amelia could read that hidden message. Her friends had made it clear how they felt around him, didn't understand why Amelia wouldn't shut up about him, how her heart fluttered each time she laid eyes on him.
His scent still lingered on his stolen shirt.
The hangover hadn't settled in yet, and so Amelia was able to give him a short nod without the world spinning. Ivan huffed and sent her a gentle smile, the edges of his eyes crinkling in a way she'd only ever seen him do once before.
“Don't crash my car.”
“When have I ever done that?”
It was moments like this Amelia wondered whether Ivan felt anything back.
And then the moment would end, and Amelia would run out of words to say. They'd fight. Over the washing, the dishes, something trivial, and the magic would disintegrate, a reminder of who he really was. Who she was meant to see. And the apartment would suffocate her.
I love you, the words would spin in her head. I want you to kiss me.
Kiss me.
Please.
“I let you drive my car,” Amelia said instead. “I don't let anyone drive my car.”
The taste of liquor on her tongue reminded her she was still drunk.
Ivan hesitated, and she could've sworn he drifted closer. For a second. A moment. She craved another moment.
“See you later, Amelia.”
His body withdrew, and Amelia was left cold, a sunken spot in the mattress beside her where he’d been. Amelia watched Ivan pick up his ragged backpack he always dragged with him to classes and open the window, jumping out without a second glance.
She was still wearing his shirt.