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Summary
“‘Been waitin’ for you, sweetheart,” Till’s gruff voice greeted him before his sharp, all-knowing eyes did. One that seemed to eat him whole. He sat at the edge of the trunk with his legs hanging over it, his hands behind his back to hold him up, all at ease like the world was nothing but a play setting for him.
He pokes a finger toward Ivan’s chest, reveling at how Ivan’s shoulder rolled back at the small shove. “‘Thought you wouldn’t show.”
As if, Ivan scoffed, “Swim practice ran late.”
Till quirked a brow his way. They both knew he was lying.
Ivan and Till become kind of friends, friends who smoke weed together and flirt with each other late and night. Because they're friends.