myblacksorrow

Go eat.

[ 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. ]

I'm not hungry.

[ 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?

[ 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. ]

To pick up your shirt. Why did you throw it?

I threw it because it wasn't important.

[ 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…

[ So there. ]

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. ]

And weren’t we? I thought I was yours.

[ '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. ]

[ ... Why was Till so stupid?

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. ]

Don't leave me.

[ 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. ]

[ What a liar!

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.

[ 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. ]

[ There is a set expectation: Ivan would lead him into the room by his hand. Till would enter by his own means, taking one step forward at a time, fully committing to his decision. Instead, he is lifted off his feet with a surprised yelp, and refusal is his first reaction. Shock and discomfort are what guide his impulsive actions, but as realization hits him, Till drops his hands, lets them fall uselessly, and he stops fighting. He lets this happen. He spoke the truth when he said he is tired, he is exhausted, and for just a brief moment, maybe they can find peace again. He is sure that even Ivan comprehends they can't ever fully enjoy tranquility, it always crashes down around them. There are only brief windows they can share.

That's why he fully gives in to Ivan, letting him entirely support his weight. He is a burden on this man; even death does not spare Ivan. Eventually, Till knows that he will find himself alone. No matter what promises are made, things like that are meant to be broken, right? Ivan is dead, while he is alive (if only for a little longer). Until this place spits him back out to where he belongs, that's what awaits him. More than likely, before then, Ivan will realize he is wasting the opportunities granted to him here.

Handsome, charming, it still surprises him that Ivan does not leave his room as often. The difference between them is obvious: Till is something to keep hidden, something that must not tarnish whatever image was crafted. He knows he is unpleasant, vulgar, and easy to dislike. The opposite of everything Ivan is.

Remaining still, he ends up leaning against Ivan on the short journey to bed. His poor habits have yet to fully catch up with him because this is the norm for him. A poor sleep schedule and an unregulated diet that, instead of excess, leads to self-inflicted deprivation. It's not notable, Ivan would not know his weight, and Till hasn't kept track. It's not important. Any suffering is deserved.

Once again, Ivan defies expectation. Rather than being dropped on the bed, he is still held in Ivan's arms. ]

I'm not hurt. I could walk.

[ Although Ivan usually submitted to Till's whims in any other situation, he did not when it came to carrying him. Luckily for him, the fight was brief. It was probably because of the exhaustion, but he still held a small hope that maybe Till liked being in his arms. Despite it all, Ivan still had those little rays of light that dared to light the corners of his shadowy heart. They were lies. He knew that, but weren't lies also nice? Had he not walked his entire, miserable life hoping for a lie?

He continued to be happy when Till didn't push or hit him when he was sat in his lap. It allowed him to reach out and wrap his arms around Till's waist again, this time leaning forward to lean against him. ]

I know you can walk, but you are hurt.

[ Till couldn't tell me that those tears weren't emotional pain. He was hurt. He was hurt over Ivan kissing him, choking him, and then dying. It was beyond Ivan's understanding as to which part bothered him. Ivan didn't even think any of it matter, much less be on his mind so much. It was a realization that in their normal world, Ivan would have never been able to come to. ]

I ... didn't think you'd care what I did.

[ Ivan couldn't think about it and not say it out loud. It didn't matter if Till knew what to say to it or not, but he felt compelled to at least share what he was thinking. ]

I critisized Sua when I leaned she wanted to do such a thing. She was mad. I don't think she could understand why I was ignoring the pain she was clearly going through. I wasn't. I merely thought it was a terrible thing to the person that loved her.

[ Ivan closes his eyes. ]

I didn't think it would matter what I did, or that you would care. You were so lifeless, that I started acting without realizing. In the end, my feelings were just as shallow as hers were.

[ He didn't deserve a second chance, but if this was what Till wanted, he would be here. ]

[ Deliberately ignoring emotional pain by this point, Till is not factoring that sensation; that's why he has given up on wiping away his tears despite wishing they would stop flowing. At least, the shock of being carried has tempered them; he is no longer on the verge of weeping openly in front of Ivan. Instead of clearing his tears, he wipes at his nose with the back of his hand, his face only revealing confusion. He could repeat himself, but he suspects that could only lead to a disagreement between them, and he does not want to argue with Ivan.

That is also why he keeps himself from protesting when Ivan holds him by the waist. His eyes flicker downward, and for once, he consciously considers the size difference between them. Not for long, he's not sure how he feels about it, and it's only upsetting when Ivan mentions it. ]

Yeah, well, I didn't think you'd care about how I—

[ He cuts himself off. That's acknowledging hurt. He doesn't want to voice that; it would only make it too real. His feelings that felt disregarded—every provocation leading to anger, irritation, and frustration. When led astray, when left in tears. Isn't this similar? Perception hits him late, as the realization of where this conversation is headed comes too late. Biting his lower lip, while gripping his arm, Till unease is obvious. He can't hide his feelings, especially not from someone who has spent years observing him. ]

I'm sorry.

[ That he is so useless. That he can't say what needs to be said instead of recognizing Ivan's pain. That's what it is, isn't it? Despite Ivan's composed expression, that's what is is trying to express? He wants Till to care? But he does care! He never wanted it to end that way; he didn't want to feel so lost again. He didn't want to be alone. It was fine if he gave in, if he lost. It was not allowed. ]

Sua, she really was— [ It's something to suspect with experience, with time to analyze a song and division of lyrics. The limelight had shifted away from the popular doll-like girl on that stage. What kind of expression had she made? If only he had also been. ] clever.

What are you saying? You can't say that about how she felt. She isn't even here! She'd call a jerk, so I'll call you that for her. Calling her feelings shallow. Were Mizi's feelings shallow?

Are mine?

You shouldn't have interfered.

[ The apology is odd to him. He didn't know what Till had to apologize for. Why off him these feelings now when he didn't know how to handle them. There were no distractions, no work to be done. It was only the both of them trying to figure out how to move on after death. How did he accept Till apology for something Ivan did to himself?

Mentioning Sua brought a slight smile to his face. He missed her. It was unfair that he was given this chance instead of the other two. They could have been happy on this borrowed time. They weren't messy and weird like Ivan and Till were. He saw their love. He saw what it looked like when two people mutually loved one another.

It was also when he realized he'd never get to know that feeling. Sua wasn't living in a twisted lie. It was only him. ]

She would. He'd probably hit me, too. She longed for death because she couldn't handle being without the person she loved. She put the plan into action, leaving no openings. Mizi's pain was ignored for such a selfish reason. These were the things that I thought when I confronted her, and when I thought of her.

[ He goes quiet for a moment, letting those words wash over him. He shouldn't have interfered. He should have let Till go. It was enough to make him tighten his hold on the other, pressing his face into Till's chest. ]

I'm not sorry for saving your life. If you died, you couldn't find Mizi. All the love you've accumulated would turn to sorrow.

Someone who was never loved in the first place is the perfect one to fade back into the shadows.

[ Till's attention was never divided evenly among the few people he could spend time with, and his free time was carved into small sections between lessons and punishments. Sua was difficult, standoffish, and he had the distinct impression that the girl did not enjoy his company. Spending any allotted time with her alone felt awkward; they never exchanged too many words, and that's why his parting message to her now reads as childish and stupid to him. They all knew what awaited them, and that only one person would come out alive at the end. How much had she calculated into her self-sacrifice? Had she simply wanted Mizi to outlive her or come out as the winner?

That's not something they may never know.

Or perhaps, it is a possibility considering the nature of the resort. Ivan is here with him now, when it had not been an idea to entertain on his initial arrival. And not just Sua. Mizi could be here too. Someone smarter than him, someone like Ivan, probably already contemplated it. ]

I didn't know. You upset her so often. I could never guess what you two spoke about.

But she wasn't always angry at you. or at me for that matter. We played together too. Remember. Maybe it wasn't often. But we did spend time together. That was real. That wasn't shallow either because you must have felt it too. Weren't we happy? I didn't just see Mizi's smile. I saw Sua's and I saw yours.

I don't know what went on between them. But is it so wrong? What other option did she have? What other option is there?

[ For them when there is little choice. Live with loss, live in sorrow, and drown in agony, or, with a final act, push an important person forward. Both options he recognizes as selfish. Forcing someone to live or abandoning them or dooming them to perish on stage, their blood a painting of entertainment. ]

We don't know what's become of her. They want her dead. We can't escape. We should have...

I know how she feels. Or felt. I know one person consumes all her thoughts. My feelings are my own, I can't help them, that's it. That's all they are. Mine.

[ Lifting his hand, he pats Ivan's head, combs fingers through his hair. ]

But you are a moron after all. So much for that award. I guess we're not too different. I'm a moron too. Ivan, after losing Mizi, did you think I wanted to lose you too? I'm all there is. If I die, then we all disappear, don't we?

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