Sweet Hatred
Chapter 121: memories ii (Let’s play a game)

Chapter 121: memories ii (Let’s play a game)

TW: child-abuse

Days later, I woke up to the faint buzz of fluorescent lights and the sterile scent of antiseptic stinging my nose. The pain in my side told me I was alive. Barely.

I turned my head and spotted Ivan slumped in a chair beside me, chin resting awkwardly on his chest as he dozed off. His legs were folded beneath him like a damn pretzel, and his brows were furrowed even in sleep, like he was arguing with someone in a dream.

I watched, unmoving, as his body tipped slightly forward. He jolted just as I reached out on instinct to catch him—only for him to blink awake the same second. I yanked my hand back, pretending it hadn’t moved.

His eyes lit up like a fucking sunrise. "Kael!" he shouted, far too loud for a hospital ward, before lunging at me like a damn missile.

Pain shot up my side and I hissed, gritting my teeth. "Shit—get off, you idiot—"

Ivan froze mid-hug. "Oh shit, my bad, sorry—" He pulled back, wincing. "Man, you got me worried. You were out cold for two days! I thought—fuck, you wouldn’t wake up."

I stared at him, annoyed at how close his face still was. "Do you ever respect personal space?"

He blinked at me, then grinned like an idiot. "You saved my life. That kind of cancels out any boundaries, don’t you think?"

My glare sharpened. "Stop acting like we’re friends."

He didn’t flinch. Just muttered, "Of course not..." and then added, quieter, "Even though you didn’t need to risk yourself." Then the damn fool looked me in the eye and grinned again, bright and irritating. "You’re not as scary as you pretend to be, you know."

I wanted to shove his smile off his face. But instead I just stared at it. Quiet. Wondering why the hell my chest suddenly felt too tight.

"Fuck off," I muttered, voice muffled by the scratchy hospital sheet I’d pulled over my face.

Ivan didn’t move an inch. "I will. After you tell me if you’re hungry."

No answer.

"I can get you soup? Or those bland-ass protein bars you pretend not to like?"

I didn’t budge.

Ivan leaned forward and tugged gently at the sheet. "Kael. Come on. Look at me." His voice dropped, soft and teasing. "I know you’re shy."

"Fuck. Off," I growled again, clutching the cloth tighter like it could shield me from the heat flushing up my neck.

Ivan just chuckled, sitting back like he’d won anyway.

And from that day on... he got even more annoying.

He hovered, clung, babbled, hummed, and somehow rooted himself into my quiet world like an invasive vine that bloomed in laughter and bad puns.

I didn’t realize when it became habit—expecting his voice in the mornings, the way he elbowed me lightly during drills, the familiar scent of his shampoo when we were paired up for missions.

So when he was suddenly deployed to an outpost near Al-Kafir, assisting a special recon unit for weeks, I didn’t know what to do with the silence.

The emptiness clawed back in, colder than it had felt in years.

I didn’t write. I didn’t ask.

But every afternoon, my eyes would flick to the hallway. Just once.

And then one ordinary afternoon, while I was cleaning my gear in the corner of the barracks, I heard that voice again, all bright and smug.

"I brought you a gift," Ivan said.

I looked up and nearly choked.

There he was, messy black hair tousled from the ride, sun-kissed skin dusted with dirt, and that same stupid grin—standing there like he hadn’t been gone for weeks.

He strutted closer and placed a tiny plastic keychain in my hand. A cartoon puppy, flopped over with sleepy eyes. He lifted a matching one from his pocket.

"Got it in the market near the border in Al-Kafir. You like it? It’s a limited edition, apparently. Only two in the whole stall."

I blinked. Speechless.

He tilted his head, noticing the frozen look on my face. "What? Did you miss me or something?" he teased, voice feather-light. "Don’t look at me like that unless you’re about to kiss me or stab me."

And I just stood there, heart thudding like a fucking drum, wondering if it was even possible to do both.

Weeks passed, and life on base continued its endless grind. The hours bled into each other, marked only by routine and the occasional chaos of a mission.

One night, I found myself walking toward the barracks, searching for Ivan. It was supposed to be a quiet shift. A guard’s job—endless hours of nothing with just the sound of wind rustling through the trees and the occasional echo of a distant voice.

But that night... that night, I needed him to fill the silence. I couldn’t explain it. Ivan had become the constant in my life, the one thing I couldn’t quite shake, no matter how hard I tried.

I pushed open the door to the changing quarters, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead. And there—back turned, half-shirtless—stood Ivan, fumbling to pull on his uniform top.

My eyes caught something I hadn’t meant to see.

Scars.

Not from combat. Not the kind we earned.

Thin, deliberate. Faded but unmistakable.

Ivan yanked his shirt down too fast, like he’d been burned by my gaze, and turned with a too-easy grin. "Caught me stripping, huh? Can’t blame you for staring."

I just scoffed. "You done playing around? We’ve got night rounds."

"Right, right. Lead the way, Captain Killjoy."

Later, under the hush of night, guarding the silent perimeter with nothing but wind and stars to keep us company, Ivan kicked a pebble and said, "Let’s play a game."

I raised a brow. "No."

"Come on. Just one. I’ll go first. It’s called... ’Tell a Secret.’"

I was quiet, but he took that as a yes.

"My first kiss was with my friend’s sister," Ivan said with a grin. "She had braces. And I chipped a tooth."

I blinked. "You’re an idiot."

"Your turn."

I sighed. "I hate sweet things."

Ivan gasped. "You’re dead inside."

"Shut up!"

We went on like that, silly secrets tossed into the night air like sparks until he went quiet. Too quiet.

Then, without looking at me, he said, "My mom left when I was six. Said she couldn’t take the screaming anymore. Left me with him."

I didn’t speak.

"He’d get drunk. Hit me. Lock me out. You know. The usual. But I was tough." His voice was almost too steady.

My hands clenched around my rifle.

"I just wished he’d stopped there," Ivan continued, so quietly it barely reached my ears. "But... what he did got worse. And I never really understood... how he’d look at his own son that way... with perversion."

Silence fell like a shroud. I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t.

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