Sam doesn't know when it starts.
The teasing, the calls, the way Ivanov's hand lingers on his wrist a second too long—somewhere in between, something changes.
It isn't official, not really. He doesn't introduce Ivanov as his boyfriend, doesn't let himself think of labels. But their relationship shifts, falling into a strange rhythm.
Ivanov would brush his fingers against Sam's when handing him coffee in the morning. He'd lean in too close when whispering unnecessary things in his ear. "You look deliciously frustrated today, sweets. Should I help with that?" And then there were the late-night calls, Ivanov's deep voice curling into his ears through the phone. "Go to sleep, little bird. I don't like knowing you're awake without me."
Sam should be bothered by it.
He is.
Because there's no way in hell his parents would ever be okay with this. To them, Ivanov isn't just some guy—he's practically family. His mother has always adored him, calling him the son she never had. His father trusted him like a second child.
If they knew—
Sam swallows the thought before it can take root.
And yet, despite the guilt, despite the weight of it all—there's something thrilling about this.
Something about the way Ivanov looks at him, like Sam is the only thing that exists in his world. The way he pulls Sam close without asking, without hesitating, as if he knows Sam won't resist.
And maybe he does know.
Because Sam isn't pulling away.
Not when they sit too close at restaurants. Not when Ivanov tugs him away from office conversations just to whisper something ridiculous in his ear. Not even when he lets Ivanov kiss him breathless in the elevator after hours.
It's dangerous.
But Sam doesn't realize how dangerous—
Not until that night.
---
It's a weekday. Nothing special.
Sam doesn't have plans, just a casual drink with Liam, an old friend from university. They sit at a corner booth in a dimly lit bar, laughter spilling between them as they reminisce about old times.
"So, let me get this straight," Liam leans in, grinning. "You're seeing someone?"
Sam chokes on his drink. "W-What? No, I—"
"Uh-huh," Liam smirks. "You've been checking your phone every five minutes, and you're smiling at nothing. That's love, my dude."
"Shut up," Sam mutters, shoving him lightly. "It's complicated."
Liam laughs, ordering another round. Sam lets himself relax, enjoying the rare freedom of the moment. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. One drink turns into two, then three.
By the time they step outside, the cool night air hitting their flushed skin, Sam feels lightheaded but not drunk. He's laughing, shaking his head at some dumb joke Liam made when—
A car.
Parked directly in front of the bar.
The sleek black vehicle is familiar. The scent in the air is familiar.
"Get in."
The voice is even more familiar.
Sam stops mid-step, turning to face the rolled-down window. Ivanov is inside, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting against his temple.
But he isn't looking at Sam.
He's staring at the streetlights ahead, his expression unreadable.
"Eh… why are you here?" Sam asks, confused but not worried.
Not yet.
Ivanov's knuckles are white against the wheel. "I was missing you so much," he mutters, voice soft, almost affectionate.
Sam feels his face heat up.
For all of Ivanov's teasing, he never says things like that—at least, not so seriously.
Guilt creeps in.
Did he overdo it? Ignoring the calls, staying out without telling him?
"Sorry… I lost track of time," Sam says sheepishly, stepping into the car. "You could've just texted me, y'know?"
No response.
The ride is silent.
Sam shifts in his seat, glancing at Ivanov every few seconds. But Ivanov doesn't even look at him. His jaw is set, his grip on the wheel stiff.
Something's off.
"You okay?" Sam asks hesitantly.
No answer.
His stomach twists. Ivanov isn't usually like this. Sure, he's intense, always has been. But he's never cold.
Not like this.
By the time they pull up in front of Ivanov's apartment, the silence is unbearable.
Ivanov steps out first, nodding toward the entrance. A silent invitation.
Sam hesitates for only a moment before following.
Inside, the atmosphere feels heavy. Sam shrugs off his coat with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Phew… oh, I need to call my mom. She's gonna—"
CRACK.
Something slams against the back of his head.
Pain explodes through Sam's skull as he stumbles forward, his knees giving out beneath him. He crashes to the floor with a sharp gasp, hands clutching at his head.
Wet.
Something warm trickles between his fingers. Blood.
His vision blurs for a second before refocusing.
And then—
His breath stops.
Ivanov is standing above him.
Holding a shattered vase.
The sharp edges of broken porcelain glint under the dim light, still clutched in his fingers. His chest rises and falls in deep, slow breaths.
And for the first time, Sam realizes—
The Ivanov he's been seeing all this time, the one who teases, who flirts, who acts like he's just a smug bastard with too much charm—
That wasn't all there was to him.
Because the man staring down at him now—
Is someone else entirely.