[ Being shut down out the gate. That would have been painful if he had feelings. Ivan nods slowly, rubbing his neck. There wasn't much else he could think to say, so he left it at that, remaining in the doorway. He would be there until the moment he was sure Till was going into his room and the door closes. Until then, he stood there, looking at the walls, the floors, anything that would take his attention. ]
[ This is devolving into the least intelligent conversation they have ever shared, which is still ten billion percent better than some of their past discussions... ugh ten billion percent. That's still fucking weird. Wait. Why are they just standing out here? Ivan should go back into his room, return to that space, and shut the door; then Till can do the same. He can lock himself away within the confines of his suite. It's his place, alone, because isn't that how it will be? ]
[ It wasn't unusual, but Ivan was sure Till has never once paid attention to Ivan's schedule. Back in the garden, Ivan usually skipped the midday meal to find Till. Now he was just upholding certain routines just for the sense of familiarity. None of it mattered. He wasn't striving to a purpose or goal. This was the way his life had always been like. There was no reason to change it until something came along to take his attention
With Till having left him alone for so long, it was easier to fall back into other routines than sit around and do nothing. ]
[ That's the riveting response from an artistic genius; Till does finally lift his gaze to meet Ivan's. The answer makes sense if he takes into account his earlier assumption. There had been an invitation planned had he responded differently, right? That's what it was going to be? Or was Ivan going to give him a lesson about the human body needing proper nutrition and care, as well as advising him to take care of his appetite... ]
Shouldn't you eat? Don't you move around a lot and stuff?
[ It was suggested usually for pets who move around to be given ample food and water afterward. Ivan, however, would do what he could get away with. There were many reasons he couldn't speak to Till about all the problems percolating in his head. He was contending with his own fears and the end of his mortality being extended, and what they meant to him. The routine quieted the whispers in the back of his head, but meals did not. ]
[ That's the so! Why else would he mention anything to do with Ivan's typical routine? He requires proper nutrition and care. Did he misread the situation? Was he supposed to interpret Ivan's words differently? Perhaps this was Ivan's way of requesting aid in obtaining a meal? Did he run out of vouchers? Did he need chips? Till could give him both. ]
[ Throwing the same response back to Till was so amusing, he had to fight with himself not to smile. If Till had accepted in the first place, they wouldn't be going around in circles like this. Except now, Till was pressuring him to take care of himself. It was cute in a way. Every time Till wanting to reopen communication, it was always so stilted and awkward. Like he didn't know how to proceed.
It could be so easy. There were so many things Ivan could say, but if Till couldn't understand them, then they were pointless. ]
[ Then why the fuck did Ivan ask him if he had eaten earlier? He thought he had that figured out, but apparently, he knows nothing. Shit! It's time to start from nothing in his attempt to figure out this entire conversation. It's so frustrating! It's stupid! What was the point of that question? Clenching his hands into fists, he pauses a moment and rethinks this situation. Hadn't he just come out here to deliver a shirt? That was done. The next question prompts Till to look at Ivan in bewilderment. ]
[ He can be honest. There was no point in lying about the importance of a shirt he was originally going to tell Till to keep. It brought them back together, and that was it's only mission as far as he was concerned. With a job well done, it can lay there until he decides to figure out the laundry thing later. Then again, Till did wear it. Did Ivan WANT to wash that out? Things to think about later. ]
[ Not important? Either Ivan found a way to get infinite clothing vouchers or he has somehow gathered a lot of chips. Till spends a good while trying to decide which scenario is more likely and the latter he decides is probably the answer. He knew a guy like an Ivan would be popular but he didn’t know he would be that popular. Then what is he doing here? And what is Ivan thinking? He isn’t struggling by any means. Hadn’t he proven that? Or was Ivan trying to repay him for his initial assistance in obtaining meals?
There is still a question that remains unanswered. Instead of finally giving Ivan a definite reply Till makes another inquiry. This one relevant and directly tied to whether or not he wants to enter Ivan’s room. ]
Don’t you want someone else in there with you? Your lover?
[ Ivan stared at him, mildly at a loss for words over the accusation. Has Till ever known him to do that sort of thing with people? Especially after seeing how little of his card he even did during the cruise thing. No, he would have to explain this, he thinks. He couldn’t understand why this was suddenly being asked, but he will go along with it. ]
I don’t have a lover. Esikko was sick on the cruise and I helped take care of him. In exchange he had sex with me either out of pity when he saw my empty card or as payment for helping him. Also, he lives on a higher floor and does that sort of thing with a lot of people. I’m not even sure we’re friends, much less whatever else you’re thinking.
[ Why was Till thinking of Ivan having a lover? Did he want him to move on and leave him alone? ]
[ It’s a genuine question rather than an accusation. A simple answer would suffice. Yes or no. That wasn’t an invitation for details. It’s why he had been scant on information. The bingo card had proven him capable and that was all that was necessary. He wouldn’t tell Ivan everything that happened and much less with who. Yet here is Ivan prattling away, and despite everything said Till looks baffled. He understands nothing.
Should he assume Ivan’s uncertainty about whether he made a friend out of that guy to mean he has a desire for that bond with him? He guesses that Esikko guy isn’t a loser then unlike… ]
Isn’t that how it works? You kiss and you’re lovers.
But I get it. You told me once. But I’m not loser. I never was. And I’m not that other thing…
If it worked that way, wouldn't we already be lovers?
[ Ivan had to point out the obvious fact in what Till said. It wasn't the first time he mentioned the kiss, but it was the first time he so blatantly referred to it. There was no point in lingering for the answer to that. He was well aware of Till's feelings toward him, but the resurfacing of that thing he said when he was no older than 8 confused him deeply. Did it hurt him that deeply? ]
You never said you wanted to be my friend, Till. You never said you wanted to be anything.
[ He should have taken a long deep breath when he found himself at the bottom of that cruise pool. Not that it would have meant anything in the long run since nothing stays dead here. And Ivan is wasting his second chance speaking to him when he could be doing something pleasant, something he likes. Or perhaps it’s resentment that makes him linger? If he sheds enough tears, if he bleeds enough would that be satisfactory? Should he hurt?
The reference to their last moments together would suggest he is correct about assuming it’s resentment that draws Ivan to him. Lowering his gaze and biting his lower lip Till doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t fully comprehend how that works. Instead, he focuses on that fact that Ivan left him and with his parting Till is alone. ]
I don’t know.
[ Besides, who would want something like that? Is Ivan upset? Are all his choices hated? Is he hated? It would be deserved. ]
[ 'I don't know' is a little more than he actually expected Till to respond with. Not wanting to push it, he doesn't say more about the lover thing. If Till had been hanging on to that altercation from when they were children, that must have meant that not being called his friend hurt more than Ivan thought. Sure, being hit back then was already confusing. If it upset him, why didn't he just say something?
How much had he hurt Till without knowing it? ]
I wanted to be. You never gave me the chance to be.
[ It was hard. Ivan barely understood his own before he resorted to locking them all away. Till's was indecipherable. Did he hate him? Did he prefer his solitude? Had Ivan's presence ever mattered? ]
I stayed with you even when you wouldn't call me your friend.
[ Ivan remains incomprehensible; why had he expected something different? This only proves how foolish he is. An idiot, really. His admission feels as if it has barely been acknowledged. That hurts too, but is it Ivan's fault? He is only good for one thing; it makes sense if his words don't reach Ivan. No matter what he says, even if he thought they were something, it doesn't mean it's a shared sentiment. Yet, Ivan says differently. He had the same desire, so why did things have to go awry? Why is Ivan saying he never gave him a chance?
What does it mean to be a friend? What does it take? Were all those countless moments between them meaningless? What about all that time they spent playing together? Even Ivan went so far as to point it out. And it had been upsetting. He had long relented to Ivan's company; he had accepted that constancy. Complaints were just that; the only times he was agitated were when he felt provoked. Ivan was good at that. He probably still is. Perhaps he isn't boiling over, but he feels awkward, clumsy, and stupid. Shedding tears is ridiculous, but there is that bitter feeling he is acquainted with. He takes a breath, keeps them back, fails, and opts for his usual approach of ignoring it, much like everything around him has done while growing up. ]
You always played with me. And I played with you.
[ Wasn't that enough. Had that not satisfied the requirements for friendship. Isn't that what Mizi and Sua had always done? Hadn't they spent time together out in the garden, weaving flowers together and playing among them? They had done that too; they hadn't spent countless hours together. Maybe it wasn't always laughing and singing, like those girls, but they had been together.
Mizi is easier. He also knows fuck all. Or he knows enough. It's easier to admire and cherish the person who has a defined answer for him. He knows he cannot be hurt; there can't be hurt when it comes to Mizi because she can only be a far-away light. A shimmering star, unattainable, an angel. It's not messy like this. Not messy, like his rejection and tumultuous connection that it inspired. That was the turning point—the initial start of all resentment. Then would hurting him alleviate Ivan's pain? ]
What do you want me to be?
[ He can make amends. He can try. Taking Ivan's hands in his, Till guides them to his neck. ]
[ Ivan did not speak at first. If there was a possibility that he could be honest about such a thing, he knows what feelings he'd want to say. When it's a question of what he wanted Till to be? That was difficult to know. He didn't know what he wanted Till to be. Did he have to want him to be anything other than himself? That's been enough the whole time they've known each other. Did he have to become anything? Neither of them had to fit someone else's ideal anymore.
It wasn't an easy question to answer, nor ponder, but Till wasn't done.
The next part stole his breath. Till's touch was gentle and so much more soothing than the time they've been apart. It was fine when they were touching. When it was quiet. Where Till brought Ivan's hands was the part that made his blood run cold. Ivan barely wanted to do it the first time. It wasn't his finest moment, but what else could he have done at that moment?
Till was going to die. He was going to give up and die right in front of him. After a lifetime of fighting the segyein, and the way of life everyone put on them. When Till stood up and fought an unknown threat despite not knowing the danger. Despite enduring years of painful experiments, strict schedules, and impossible expectations, Till was going to die over someone else.
Did he think of Ivan even once when they were standing so close to one another?
So why were his hands around Till's neck again? No one was watching. No one was going to stop them this time. Did he really hate living that much?
All Ivan could do was stand there and hold him by the throat, breathing shallowly. ]
[ Silence is easier than words. That has always been true for them, and this time, there is no reason for irritation when even he feels uncertain about how to proceed onward. Communication is difficult, impossible, and he knows he will never completely be able to reach Ivan. That has always been true, and perhaps if they continued talking, they would arrive at the same conclusion. It's the same song, the same dance. He won't be heard; apprehension makes his heart race. His fingers remain on Ivan's hands, a soft brush from their worn tips, a testament to all those years of practice. Through half-lidded eyes, he watches Ivan.
It's fine. This is fine. This is how they can reach a compromise. Ivan can hurt him, Ivan scar him, and then maybe his resentment would lessen. Perhaps they could slowly rebuild something. Or, if it were wished, Till could disappear, and Ivan would have an opportunity for a second chance without any burdens. He won't linger around, waiting for that inevitable end.
There is that place, he can't recall its name. It's filled with a wide variety of plants and flowers. It feels the most real. The most like what Earth should be. He wonders if Ivan has seen it. Wetting his lips, there's a sting and the metallic taste of blood on them; he had bitten down hard earlier. What an idiot, he is trash, so he hopes that maybe this is some solace. Closing his eyes completely, he leaves himself at Ivan's mercy. He did ask him what he wanted him to be, and Ivan was free to make that decision. For now. For today. He doesn't know.
He could even go into that room and pick up the damn shirt like he offered earlier. ]
Was this part that was the most real to him? This was what stuck with him? Did Till enjoy his hands around his neck? Did he like being choked, or was this an out like Ivan originally thought? Why wouldn't they talk about these things? What was this supposed to do for them? Is this what Till thinks Ivan thinks of him?
Till's neck was so fragile.
There wasn't time the last time to contemplate how it felt with his hands wrapped around it. After everything else, his skin was soft, and it didn't take much to feel the delicate bones and muscles under his fingertips. If he wanted to, he could press his thumbs against his windpipe and press until that sickening snap. He didn't want any of that. Ivan barely wanted to be in this position again. A stubborn child that was afraid of losing something was the one who did this. The person Ivan was now didn't have to make that sort of split second decision.
So, like last time, Ivan pulled Till in close to him, stopping with their lips hovered just far enough apart where they could feel each other's breaths. There were no points to keep track of, no shocked crowd looking at Till in horror. It was just them, the doorway, and the hall. ]
You still don't get it.
[ It was all he could whisper to him before kissing him. It didn't matter where they were or the state they were in. He could taste Till and the copper tang of his blood for a precious few seconds. If Till pushed him away again, he'll accept it, but he didn't know how else to show Till the kiss was more important to him. His hands were merely a means to an end. ]
[ The most vivid memory is the one that's stained in red, Till can perfectly recall that instance. It brought finality to his thoughts. There was a quiet that neither the sound of cheers nor rain could pierce. He was lost, he couldn't process swiftly enough, and there was nothing for his hands to reach out toward. Ivan had left him to piece together the dissonance of his image: the impassive prince, frustrating and condescending, then there was the man who shed tears. Who was the Ivan who trailed after him everywhere he went? Who was the person who didn't hesitate to close proximity? Who was the person he sought comfort from, yet felt utterly perplexed?
Is it the person whose hands he guided toward his neck?
He tilts his head back. Till's delicate, pale neck, only marred by the brand, is an offering. It's nothing because he wants to empty himself. He wants to undo himself. And after? He isn't sure. Nothing he rebuilds, nothing he does will be good enough, but it's not like he wants to roll over and die. He would be an offering to Ivan; he wouldn't be one to them. His fingers curl around Ivan's, trying to convey an answer. If he is too foolish to understand, then won't Ivan simplify this lesson too?
The press of lips follows. It's a kiss. His very words return to him and his explanation of what this is supposed to signify. A kiss is meant to convey affection, and Ivan is now lavishing him with his attention and adoration. The drum of his speeding heart feels like it's going to deafen him. The most prevalent emotion that filters through is confusion.
In Anakt Garden, there was little choice; he assumes it's an intimation of Ivan's good looks that made all confessions have to go through him. He was the go-between. Even so, there was choice, and there is much more here at the resort. Then why linger here? His hands drop away from Ivan's, only to press against his chest, a push, before Till is gripping his shirt as a plea not to leave him, even if he is awful, even if he is a moron, and a burden. He hates his pathetic tears, and Ivan must hate them too. ]
[ When Till pushes, Ivan does obey. His hands do not let go of his neck, given that was Tills doing in the first place. Pulling out of the gentle kiss, Ivan hovers close, looking down at his lips and then up to his eyes where he comes to see the tears. It was confusing. Till never failed to be the most confusing person he's ever known. Does he really want him to kill him? Now that his fingers were curled against him, did he want it to continue? ]
You're giving me mixed signals. Tell me what you want.
[ For once, for only this instance, he could ask. This moment was strange, and probably something either of them could define even if asked. All he wanted was to know what he was thinking instead of trying to guess. Did Till even want him? Can't Ivan just enjoy having Till close again? ]
[ A befuddling statement leaves Ivan's lips once the kiss ends, Till blinks away at tears, trying to clear his vision and meet somber eyes. A blurry image is all that greets him when he can't stop new tears from taking the place of old ones. The words spoken still echo in his mind as he tries to comprehend how he is giving Ivan conflicting cues, especially when the man whose hands he implored to grip his neck is the king of contradictions. Closeness breeds intimacy, and intimacy means? Yet they can't even be friends, or is it because that's not what Ivan wants?
For that matter, he doesn't know what he wants.
Not entirely. Somewhat. And while he wants to push the sentiment into vague feelings. There is something he doesn't want to lose. He doesn't want to let go, and if it means staying in this moment for all eternity, then he has to prioritize some desires over others. The hope to see her, if only for one last time, is superseded by the yearning for comfort. Known, tried, and true comfort. Bewildering, difficult, but he can't let go. If he had been faster, he could have reached him instead of being unceremoniously dragged away to continue to exist for the segyein's entertainment. If he had been clever, like Sua, he would have been the one to paint the stage. He had made a choice, and Ivan had undone it. Laying down his life as a path for Till to move forward, broken, exhausted, it didn't matter. And there was only one option for him because there was no room for thought.
Only he is here now. Dread and apprehension are nurtured by time. If he disappears from here, there is only one place for him to go. And again, he has to question the validity of his feelings regarding his existence at the resort. Again, he must consider if perhaps all this is a hallucination. It would have made sense, not so much now, but the direct query is so out of the norm. Ivan is asking him what he wants, instead of Ivan doing fuck knows what.
And his voice comes, quiet, in a whisper too sheepish to give full volume to desire. It's too selfish a request from someone who already gave him everything they had. ]
[ Ivan didn't look away the whole time Till fought with himself and his mind for the answer he wanted to give. The more turmoil it seemed to put him in, the heavier the lump in his gut felt. It wasn't easy to understand feeling or what they wanted when you weren't even used to having things. They both were out of their element. All they could do was figure things out slowly.
The words in the end weren't what he thinks he was hoping for, but they do cut him deep. It was everything he tried to warn Sua about, but sometimes it was just the fear that ended up speaking the loudest. Right now it was Till's pain that screamed between them. Were their hands merely a way to help Till find what was real anymore? What would happen now that he had to live on without him? Ivan truly had taken away the one thing Till wanted, and it was only now that he could see that it did matter to Till.
One by one, he moved his hands. He didn't want to make it seem like he was letting Till go or going against his wishes. One hand moved down around Till's waist and then the other, pulling him in closer against him. His hands would not go to his neck again, not unless Till wishes them to be there. ]
No matter what happens, you'll never be without me.
[ That was both a promise and a threat even he wasn't aware could come true. ]
Humans are flawed, fallible creatures. Easily crushed, subjugated by segyein hand and foot. Equally, their small, pathetic hands are also a source of injury and pain. Words are far worse. Cutting, cold, and (even) calculating. While physical wounds can mend, with time, through medical intervention, what escapes their lips causes deeper cuts. They scar in a way that can never be repaired. Always present. He can't ever repent enough for his actions, even a voiceless rejection must hurt. Whatever Ivan attempted to convey under the night lit in red had been spurned. For what? That minuscule moment of joy had come to an end because of him. And he had been happy. That is a feeling he won't deny.
Till dreads releasing his hold, his fingers twist into the fabric of Ivan's shirt as if trying to latch on. Even knowing it to be impossible, Till attempts to force Ivan's words into reality. Ignoring his tears, his disgusting, woeful face, he lets Ivan draw him close. Pressing his face against him, breathing deeply, and once again closing his eyes. He accepts the lie, repentant of all his mistakes, because this may be the only time he can express his regret.
When this falls apart, when this moment comes to an end, they may end up disagreeing again. Or perhaps everything around them will dissolve first. This is a temporary haven, a temporary escape, because tranquility does not last long in his life. He is aware of the label attached to him long ago: unfortunate. ]
I'm tired.
[ His voice remains soft, only wavering through tears becoming sobs. The last time he shed cried like this was — he halts his thoughts. He forces himself to steer his mind in a different direction. The words he so recently spoke. He was not physically tired; mentally drained is more like it. He wants to not think, but shutting himself off is close to impossible. This isn't the first time, nor is it the last time, that he finds himself wondering about medications. Maybe he will consider it. Maybe another time. ]
[ Till doesn't say it, but Ivan can guess how he felt about that declaration. Yes, he was already dead. There was nothing either of them could do about that. If Till stayed here, then they really could always be together. Yet, even that came with its own drawbacks. If they both remained trapped, they would also have to bend to Game 52. They would never know what became of the competition nor Mizi.
Anything else he was thinking melt away with the first few words. Till was tired. If he hated being apart so much, why did it happen so often? Why couldn't they keep being together? Ivan was used to being pushed away and then pulled back in. It was Till's way, but he still couldn't get used to never knowing what it had to happen in the first place.
No matter the reason, Till was still crying and clinging to him. It was up to Ivan to fulfill the task (no, it wasn't). Keeping one arm around his middle, Ivan lowered himself to hook his other arm under Till's legs and effortlessly sweep him up into a princess carry. Since they were more or less standing in the hallway, he was easy to push the door open with his back and walk in. The door could close with a snap and the whole business of Till avoiding him was done, just like that.
Would Till be upset he was being carried? It was possible. That wouldn't stop Ivan from carrying him to the bed and lowering down to sit with the other man still in his arms. ]
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Okay.
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[ This is devolving into the least intelligent conversation they have ever shared, which is still ten billion percent better than some of their past discussions... ugh ten billion percent. That's still fucking weird. Wait. Why are they just standing out here? Ivan should go back into his room, return to that space, and shut the door; then Till can do the same. He can lock himself away within the confines of his suite. It's his place, alone, because isn't that how it will be? ]
Have you eaten?
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[ It wasn't unusual, but Ivan was sure Till has never once paid attention to Ivan's schedule. Back in the garden, Ivan usually skipped the midday meal to find Till. Now he was just upholding certain routines just for the sense of familiarity. None of it mattered. He wasn't striving to a purpose or goal. This was the way his life had always been like. There was no reason to change it until something came along to take his attention
With Till having left him alone for so long, it was easier to fall back into other routines than sit around and do nothing. ]
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[ That's the riveting response from an artistic genius; Till does finally lift his gaze to meet Ivan's. The answer makes sense if he takes into account his earlier assumption. There had been an invitation planned had he responded differently, right? That's what it was going to be? Or was Ivan going to give him a lesson about the human body needing proper nutrition and care, as well as advising him to take care of his appetite... ]
Shouldn't you eat? Don't you move around a lot and stuff?
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[ It was suggested usually for pets who move around to be given ample food and water afterward. Ivan, however, would do what he could get away with. There were many reasons he couldn't speak to Till about all the problems percolating in his head. He was contending with his own fears and the end of his mortality being extended, and what they meant to him. The routine quieted the whispers in the back of his head, but meals did not. ]
So?
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[ That's the so! Why else would he mention anything to do with Ivan's typical routine? He requires proper nutrition and care. Did he misread the situation? Was he supposed to interpret Ivan's words differently? Perhaps this was Ivan's way of requesting aid in obtaining a meal? Did he run out of vouchers? Did he need chips? Till could give him both. ]
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[ Throwing the same response back to Till was so amusing, he had to fight with himself not to smile. If Till had accepted in the first place, they wouldn't be going around in circles like this. Except now, Till was pressuring him to take care of himself. It was cute in a way. Every time Till wanting to reopen communication, it was always so stilted and awkward. Like he didn't know how to proceed.
It could be so easy. There were so many things Ivan could say, but if Till couldn't understand them, then they were pointless. ]
Do you want to come inside?
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To pick up your shirt. Why did you throw it?
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[ He can be honest. There was no point in lying about the importance of a shirt he was originally going to tell Till to keep. It brought them back together, and that was it's only mission as far as he was concerned. With a job well done, it can lay there until he decides to figure out the laundry thing later. Then again, Till did wear it. Did Ivan WANT to wash that out? Things to think about later. ]
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There is still a question that remains unanswered. Instead of finally giving Ivan a definite reply Till makes another inquiry. This one relevant and directly tied to whether or not he wants to enter Ivan’s room. ]
Don’t you want someone else in there with you? Your lover?
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I don’t have a lover. Esikko was sick on the cruise and I helped take care of him. In exchange he had sex with me either out of pity when he saw my empty card or as payment for helping him. Also, he lives on a higher floor and does that sort of thing with a lot of people. I’m not even sure we’re friends, much less whatever else you’re thinking.
[ Why was Till thinking of Ivan having a lover? Did he want him to move on and leave him alone? ]
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Should he assume Ivan’s uncertainty about whether he made a friend out of that guy to mean he has a desire for that bond with him? He guesses that Esikko guy isn’t a loser then unlike… ]
Isn’t that how it works? You kiss and you’re lovers.
But I get it. You told me once. But I’m not loser. I never was. And I’m not that other thing…
[ So there. ]
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[ Ivan had to point out the obvious fact in what Till said. It wasn't the first time he mentioned the kiss, but it was the first time he so blatantly referred to it. There was no point in lingering for the answer to that. He was well aware of Till's feelings toward him, but the resurfacing of that thing he said when he was no older than 8 confused him deeply. Did it hurt him that deeply? ]
You never said you wanted to be my friend, Till. You never said you wanted to be anything.
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The reference to their last moments together would suggest he is correct about assuming it’s resentment that draws Ivan to him. Lowering his gaze and biting his lower lip Till doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t fully comprehend how that works. Instead, he focuses on that fact that Ivan left him and with his parting Till is alone. ]
I don’t know.
[ Besides, who would want something like that? Is Ivan upset? Are all his choices hated? Is he hated? It would be deserved. ]
And weren’t we? I thought I was yours.
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How much had he hurt Till without knowing it? ]
I wanted to be. You never gave me the chance to be.
[ It was hard. Ivan barely understood his own before he resorted to locking them all away. Till's was indecipherable. Did he hate him? Did he prefer his solitude? Had Ivan's presence ever mattered? ]
I stayed with you even when you wouldn't call me your friend.
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What does it mean to be a friend? What does it take? Were all those countless moments between them meaningless? What about all that time they spent playing together? Even Ivan went so far as to point it out. And it had been upsetting. He had long relented to Ivan's company; he had accepted that constancy. Complaints were just that; the only times he was agitated were when he felt provoked. Ivan was good at that. He probably still is. Perhaps he isn't boiling over, but he feels awkward, clumsy, and stupid. Shedding tears is ridiculous, but there is that bitter feeling he is acquainted with. He takes a breath, keeps them back, fails, and opts for his usual approach of ignoring it, much like everything around him has done while growing up. ]
You always played with me. And I played with you.
[ Wasn't that enough. Had that not satisfied the requirements for friendship. Isn't that what Mizi and Sua had always done? Hadn't they spent time together out in the garden, weaving flowers together and playing among them? They had done that too; they hadn't spent countless hours together. Maybe it wasn't always laughing and singing, like those girls, but they had been together.
Mizi is easier. He also knows fuck all. Or he knows enough. It's easier to admire and cherish the person who has a defined answer for him. He knows he cannot be hurt; there can't be hurt when it comes to Mizi because she can only be a far-away light. A shimmering star, unattainable, an angel. It's not messy like this. Not messy, like his rejection and tumultuous connection that it inspired. That was the turning point—the initial start of all resentment. Then would hurting him alleviate Ivan's pain? ]
What do you want me to be?
[ He can make amends. He can try. Taking Ivan's hands in his, Till guides them to his neck. ]
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It wasn't an easy question to answer, nor ponder, but Till wasn't done.
The next part stole his breath. Till's touch was gentle and so much more soothing than the time they've been apart. It was fine when they were touching. When it was quiet. Where Till brought Ivan's hands was the part that made his blood run cold. Ivan barely wanted to do it the first time. It wasn't his finest moment, but what else could he have done at that moment?
Till was going to die. He was going to give up and die right in front of him. After a lifetime of fighting the segyein, and the way of life everyone put on them. When Till stood up and fought an unknown threat despite not knowing the danger. Despite enduring years of painful experiments, strict schedules, and impossible expectations, Till was going to die over someone else.
Did he think of Ivan even once when they were standing so close to one another?
So why were his hands around Till's neck again? No one was watching. No one was going to stop them this time. Did he really hate living that much?
All Ivan could do was stand there and hold him by the throat, breathing shallowly. ]
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It's fine. This is fine. This is how they can reach a compromise. Ivan can hurt him, Ivan scar him, and then maybe his resentment would lessen. Perhaps they could slowly rebuild something. Or, if it were wished, Till could disappear, and Ivan would have an opportunity for a second chance without any burdens. He won't linger around, waiting for that inevitable end.
There is that place, he can't recall its name. It's filled with a wide variety of plants and flowers. It feels the most real. The most like what Earth should be. He wonders if Ivan has seen it. Wetting his lips, there's a sting and the metallic taste of blood on them; he had bitten down hard earlier. What an idiot, he is trash, so he hopes that maybe this is some solace. Closing his eyes completely, he leaves himself at Ivan's mercy. He did ask him what he wanted him to be, and Ivan was free to make that decision. For now. For today. He doesn't know.
He could even go into that room and pick up the damn shirt like he offered earlier. ]
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Was this part that was the most real to him? This was what stuck with him? Did Till enjoy his hands around his neck? Did he like being choked, or was this an out like Ivan originally thought? Why wouldn't they talk about these things? What was this supposed to do for them? Is this what Till thinks Ivan thinks of him?
Till's neck was so fragile.
There wasn't time the last time to contemplate how it felt with his hands wrapped around it. After everything else, his skin was soft, and it didn't take much to feel the delicate bones and muscles under his fingertips. If he wanted to, he could press his thumbs against his windpipe and press until that sickening snap. He didn't want any of that. Ivan barely wanted to be in this position again. A stubborn child that was afraid of losing something was the one who did this. The person Ivan was now didn't have to make that sort of split second decision.
So, like last time, Ivan pulled Till in close to him, stopping with their lips hovered just far enough apart where they could feel each other's breaths. There were no points to keep track of, no shocked crowd looking at Till in horror. It was just them, the doorway, and the hall. ]
You still don't get it.
[ It was all he could whisper to him before kissing him. It didn't matter where they were or the state they were in. He could taste Till and the copper tang of his blood for a precious few seconds. If Till pushed him away again, he'll accept it, but he didn't know how else to show Till the kiss was more important to him. His hands were merely a means to an end. ]
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Is it the person whose hands he guided toward his neck?
He tilts his head back. Till's delicate, pale neck, only marred by the brand, is an offering. It's nothing because he wants to empty himself. He wants to undo himself. And after? He isn't sure. Nothing he rebuilds, nothing he does will be good enough, but it's not like he wants to roll over and die. He would be an offering to Ivan; he wouldn't be one to them. His fingers curl around Ivan's, trying to convey an answer. If he is too foolish to understand, then won't Ivan simplify this lesson too?
The press of lips follows. It's a kiss. His very words return to him and his explanation of what this is supposed to signify. A kiss is meant to convey affection, and Ivan is now lavishing him with his attention and adoration. The drum of his speeding heart feels like it's going to deafen him. The most prevalent emotion that filters through is confusion.
In Anakt Garden, there was little choice; he assumes it's an intimation of Ivan's good looks that made all confessions have to go through him. He was the go-between. Even so, there was choice, and there is much more here at the resort. Then why linger here? His hands drop away from Ivan's, only to press against his chest, a push, before Till is gripping his shirt as a plea not to leave him, even if he is awful, even if he is a moron, and a burden. He hates his pathetic tears, and Ivan must hate them too. ]
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You're giving me mixed signals. Tell me what you want.
[ For once, for only this instance, he could ask. This moment was strange, and probably something either of them could define even if asked. All he wanted was to know what he was thinking instead of trying to guess. Did Till even want him? Can't Ivan just enjoy having Till close again? ]
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For that matter, he doesn't know what he wants.
Not entirely. Somewhat. And while he wants to push the sentiment into vague feelings. There is something he doesn't want to lose. He doesn't want to let go, and if it means staying in this moment for all eternity, then he has to prioritize some desires over others. The hope to see her, if only for one last time, is superseded by the yearning for comfort. Known, tried, and true comfort. Bewildering, difficult, but he can't let go. If he had been faster, he could have reached him instead of being unceremoniously dragged away to continue to exist for the segyein's entertainment. If he had been clever, like Sua, he would have been the one to paint the stage. He had made a choice, and Ivan had undone it. Laying down his life as a path for Till to move forward, broken, exhausted, it didn't matter. And there was only one option for him because there was no room for thought.
Only he is here now. Dread and apprehension are nurtured by time. If he disappears from here, there is only one place for him to go. And again, he has to question the validity of his feelings regarding his existence at the resort. Again, he must consider if perhaps all this is a hallucination. It would have made sense, not so much now, but the direct query is so out of the norm. Ivan is asking him what he wants, instead of Ivan doing fuck knows what.
And his voice comes, quiet, in a whisper too sheepish to give full volume to desire. It's too selfish a request from someone who already gave him everything they had. ]
Don't leave me.
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The words in the end weren't what he thinks he was hoping for, but they do cut him deep. It was everything he tried to warn Sua about, but sometimes it was just the fear that ended up speaking the loudest. Right now it was Till's pain that screamed between them. Were their hands merely a way to help Till find what was real anymore? What would happen now that he had to live on without him? Ivan truly had taken away the one thing Till wanted, and it was only now that he could see that it did matter to Till.
One by one, he moved his hands. He didn't want to make it seem like he was letting Till go or going against his wishes. One hand moved down around Till's waist and then the other, pulling him in closer against him. His hands would not go to his neck again, not unless Till wishes them to be there. ]
No matter what happens, you'll never be without me.
[ That was both a promise and a threat even he wasn't aware could come true. ]
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Humans are flawed, fallible creatures. Easily crushed, subjugated by segyein hand and foot. Equally, their small, pathetic hands are also a source of injury and pain. Words are far worse. Cutting, cold, and (even) calculating. While physical wounds can mend, with time, through medical intervention, what escapes their lips causes deeper cuts. They scar in a way that can never be repaired. Always present. He can't ever repent enough for his actions, even a voiceless rejection must hurt. Whatever Ivan attempted to convey under the night lit in red had been spurned. For what? That minuscule moment of joy had come to an end because of him. And he had been happy. That is a feeling he won't deny.
Till dreads releasing his hold, his fingers twist into the fabric of Ivan's shirt as if trying to latch on. Even knowing it to be impossible, Till attempts to force Ivan's words into reality. Ignoring his tears, his disgusting, woeful face, he lets Ivan draw him close. Pressing his face against him, breathing deeply, and once again closing his eyes. He accepts the lie, repentant of all his mistakes, because this may be the only time he can express his regret.
When this falls apart, when this moment comes to an end, they may end up disagreeing again. Or perhaps everything around them will dissolve first. This is a temporary haven, a temporary escape, because tranquility does not last long in his life. He is aware of the label attached to him long ago: unfortunate. ]
I'm tired.
[ His voice remains soft, only wavering through tears becoming sobs. The last time he shed cried like this was — he halts his thoughts. He forces himself to steer his mind in a different direction. The words he so recently spoke. He was not physically tired; mentally drained is more like it. He wants to not think, but shutting himself off is close to impossible. This isn't the first time, nor is it the last time, that he finds himself wondering about medications. Maybe he will consider it. Maybe another time. ]
I'll go in your room.
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Anything else he was thinking melt away with the first few words. Till was tired. If he hated being apart so much, why did it happen so often? Why couldn't they keep being together? Ivan was used to being pushed away and then pulled back in. It was Till's way, but he still couldn't get used to never knowing what it had to happen in the first place.
No matter the reason, Till was still crying and clinging to him. It was up to Ivan to fulfill the task (no, it wasn't). Keeping one arm around his middle, Ivan lowered himself to hook his other arm under Till's legs and effortlessly sweep him up into a princess carry. Since they were more or less standing in the hallway, he was easy to push the door open with his back and walk in. The door could close with a snap and the whole business of Till avoiding him was done, just like that.
Would Till be upset he was being carried? It was possible. That wouldn't stop Ivan from carrying him to the bed and lowering down to sit with the other man still in his arms. ]
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