TillIvanLuka (in that order)

Sitting cross-legged on the slightly worn apartment couch, Ivan has Till effectively trapped against his side, practically purring as he aggressively loops an arm around the shorter boy's shoulders.

"Look at you, all worked up over nothing," Ivan teases softly, his dark eyes glinting with pure, unadulterated mischief as he deliberately ruffles Till's teal-ish hair. Till immediately bristles, his entire face flushing a violent crimson as he claws uselessly at Ivan’s iron grip, nearly knocking a half-empty coffee mug off the coffee table.

"Get the hell off me, Ivan! I swear to God, I'll bite your damn fingers off!" Till snaps, his voice dropping into a ragged, embarrassed snarl. He's thrashing against the cushions, but Ivan doesn't budge an inch, entirely unfazed by the threat of violence.

Instead, Ivan’s gaze drifts across the small living room, locking onto Luka.

Luka is sitting perfectly straight in the adjacent armchair, his ankles crossed neatly, trying desperately to look poised and utterly above the display. But his usual elegant facade is completely missing, replaced by a heavy, prominent pout as he intensely stares at his own fingernails, radiating pure jealousy into the room.

Ivan's grin widens. Without letting go of Till, he reaches his free hand out across the gap, hooking two fingers under Luka’s chin and pulling him forward. "Aw... what's this? Is our perfect little star feeling left out?"

Luka stiffens violently, his eyes widening in a flash of genuine panic as his cheeks instantly burn hot pink. "I am not—"

"Shh, don't lie," Ivan coos, dropping his voice into a sickeningly sweet tone as he violently yanks Luka out of his chair and directly into the pile on the couch. Before either of them can process it, Ivan firmly presses a kiss to Till’s temple, then immediately turns to press one straight against Luka’s cheek. "Come here, both of you. There's plenty of affection to go around."

Till lets out a strangled, furious wheeze, caught in the middle of the sandwich. "Ivan, you absolute psycho-! Luka, tell him to get off! Kick him!"

But Luka has completely frozen, his entire mind suffering a silent psychological collapse in the middle of their messy apartment. His fingers twitch against Ivan's shirt, his ears turning a brilliant, betraying shade of red. He tries to look disgusted, but he's completely paralyzed by the fact that he actually got exactly what he wanted.

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The apartment kitchen is dead quiet until Luka steps through the doorway, carefully holding a small plate of pastries he picked up from the bakery down the street. He had rehearsed the exact phrase three times in his head while walking down the hall, wanting to sound completely casual, elegant, and polite. But the second he opens his mouth, the sheer exhaustion of the week completely short-circuits his brain.

"Hey... you guys want... som-ting seu-wit?" Luka asks. His voice completely drops all of its fluid sweetness, hitting the syllables with the absolute heaviest, most embedded Korean accent possible.

Silence drops over the kitchen counter like a lead weight.

Internally, Luka’s soul instantly evaporates from his body. What the actual fuck did I just say? His mind goes completely blank as a wave of pure, unadulterated horror crashes over him. His knuckles turn white against the porcelain plate, his eyes staring blankly at the refrigerator magnets as he suffers a massive, silent internal meltdown.

Till blinks once. Twice. Then, a massive, unhinged smirk slowly spreads across his face from where he's leaning against the counter.

"Did... did you just say som-ting seu-wit?" Till bursts out, letting out a loud, wheezing laugh as he violently slaps the laminate tabletop. "Oh my god, look at him, he's turning purple!"

Ivan doesn't even try to hide it. He leans back in his kitchen chair, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter as a devastatingly smug grin fixes onto his face. "Wow, Luka. I didn't know you harbored such a... powerful passion for confectionery. Please, tell us more about this seu-wit thing."

"Shut up," Luka chokes out, his voice dropping into a strained, violent whisper as a brilliant, burning crimson hue takes over his entire face, neck, and ears. He wants the kitchen floor to swallow him whole. He wants to throw the pastries directly at Ivan's smug face. "Forget I said anything. Both of you are insufferable."

"Oh, come on, don't be like that!" Till cackles, leaning across the table and mimicking the tone with zero mercy. "Hey Ivan, pass me the sugar. I want som-ting seu-wit!"

"Right away, Till," Ivan chimes in, his voice dripping with mock sincerity as Luka stands there in the middle of the kitchen, completely going insane from the sheer humiliation.