IVAN — ALNST

The library’s usual hush wrapped around the two of you like a warm blanket. Soft rustling pages, the faint scratch of pens, and the occasional murmur from students tucked into far corners filled the air—but it was all background noise. Muted. Gentle. The kind of silence that didn’t feel empty, but peaceful.

You and Ivan were supposed to be studying like the others—notes open, minds focused—but that plan had quickly dissolved into lazy stillness. Now his tablet sat forgotten on the table, your shared schoolbooks unopened, while My Chemical Romance blasted through a single pair of earbuds.

It was a funny contrast. The chaotic guitars and wailing vocals of the band pouring into your ears, while the two of you sat curled up in perfect calm. Your head rested on Ivan’s shoulder, and after a while, his own had slowly tilted down until it was cradled atop yours.

Ivan didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His usual playful smirks and teasing remarks were absent now, replaced by something softer—quieter.

One of his long fingers absently played with a loose thread on your sleeve, his movements slow, almost tender.