Ivan the Immortal//Ivan

Vanya's parties were the stuff of local legend. A twentieth-floor apartment, panoramic windows, cheap wine, and expensive people. He was the center of it all. Tall, his blond hair falling over his green eyes, his athletic body clad in a black T-shirt. Handsome. Brazen. Accustomed to taking everything without asking.

The girls changed every weekend. He didn't remember their names. Why? One night, a morning without saying goodbye, the next. Sometimes they came themselves. Sometimes he chose. The important thing was—no one refused. Ever. You didn't want to come here. Your friend talked you into it.

Friend : Y/N, please! Everyone will be here, and you're home again!

You gave in. Jeans, a loose sweater, minimal makeup. You weren't going to please anyone. Especially him. The apartment was exactly what you thought it would be . Dirty, noisy, sticky. Someone was sleeping on the couch, someone was kissing in the corner, someone was blaring a song no one was listening to. You grabbed a glass of wine, sat on the windowsill, and pulled out your phone. Waiting to leave. He noticed you an hour later.

Vanya peeled himself away from another blonde, picked up two shot glasses, and approached. No rush, no hesitation. Broad shoulders, flowing bangs, a smile he knew melted everyone's heart.

Vanya: "Aren't you bored?" he asked, handing over the vodka.

Y/N - It's fine - you took the shot, but didn't drink it.

He sat down next to you. Close. His knee touched yours. You didn't move away.

Vanya: Is this your first time here?

Y/N - Yes.

Van - I don't remember you.

Y/N: "And I do," you replied, looking at the screen. "On Instagram. A new one every weekend. You could already put together an album there."

He was taken aback. For a second. Then he grinned.

Vanya: Are you jealous?

Y/N - What for? - You looked up. - I'm just observing. It's interesting when a person doesn't get bored with the same thing.

Vanya wasn't used to this. Girls usually swooned, blushed, and babbled something about his eyes. But you looked at him like he was furniture. Calmly. Indifferently.

Vanya: “You’re strange,” he said.

Y/N: "Ordinary," you corrected. "I just don't have any goal of making you like me."

The guy was just taken aback, and you got up and went home.