Suddenly, Marcus leaned closer to Ivan's mother, his posture relaxed yet deliberate, like every movement was carefully measured. A polite smile rested on his lips, but there was something colder beneath it. Lowering his voice just enough to keep it private, he murmured, "I'll excuse myself to the bathroom."
Without waiting for a reply, he stepped back, adjusting his cuff as he turned. The soft glow of the lights followed him for a moment before he disappeared into the hallway, blending effortlessly into the background noise of the gathering.
Ivan remained still.
For a brief second, everything around him dulled—the chatter, the laughter, even his mother's presence. His chest rose sharply, breaths turning uneven, as though something invisible had wrapped tightly around him. His fingers curled slightly, tension building in his knuckles.
Then he moved.
Not rushed, not hesitant just controlled. Each step carried quiet weight as he followed the same path Marcus had taken. The corridor felt strangely narrow, the air heavier with every step forward. A faint ringing filled his ears, his thoughts colliding without forming anything clear.
The door opened.
The door closed.
The sound clicked sharply in the silence.
"Who's there? Oh—it's you. Come in, come in."
Marcus's tone was light, almost playful. He stood near the sink, sleeves slightly rolled, one hand resting casually against the marble edge. His reflection caught Ivan standing behind him, and his lips curved into a knowing smile.
"You look furious today, Ivan," he said, tilting his head slightly as if studying him. "Should I be worried?"
Ivan's expression hardened, his jaw locking, but he said nothing. His gaze remained fixed, intense and unblinking, while his breathing grew heavier.
"Don't be so tense," Marcus added, turning halfway toward him now. His voice carried a strange ease, as though this moment amused him. "It's natural. A son watching his mother marry another man it's not exactly pleasant. You're allowed to feel this way. None of it is your fault."
A dry, humorless sound slipped from Ivan. "I hate you. You know that, right?"
Marcus gave a small shrug, completely unaffected. He turned back to the sink, letting the water run over his hands. The steady stream filled the quiet space, soft but constant. He washed slowly, almost thoughtfully, as if he had all the time in the world.
"Your father felt the same," he said casually. "He begged me to leave your mother."
He paused, glancing at Ivan through the mirror, his eyes sharp despite the calm tone.
"But I—" a faint laugh followed, low and careless, "I've never been good at listening."
Ivan's breath faltered. Shock flickered across his face, disbelief breaking through his anger. "What? Dad begged you?"
Marcus turned fully this time, facing him with unsettling calm. The way he looked at Ivan felt distant, almost analytical like he was observing a reaction instead of speaking to a person.
"He cried. Pleaded. Acted as if he understood nothing," Marcus replied evenly. "That was his weakness."
Ivan swallowed, his throat tightening. "You never told Mom?" he asked, his voice strained, barely holding together.
"I considered it," Marcus said slowly, as if recalling an unimportant memory. "But I didn't."
He reached forward, shutting off the tap. The sudden quiet felt heavier than before.
"Your mother and your father aren't the same people anymore," he continued, his tone calm, almost reassuring. "She made it clear she would never leave me."
Ivan didn't move.
The space felt suffocating now, the walls pressing inward, the air thick and difficult to draw in. The faint buzz of the overhead light seemed louder, sharper, cutting through the silence.
He stood there, frozen caught between anger, disbelief, and something deeper he couldn't name.
And the quiet between them only grew heavier.