[ '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. ]
[ 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. ]
[ 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?
[ 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?
We spoke about a lot of things. Sua and I upset one another a lot, but we were... family. I might think that more than she does. When I envision what a 'sister' might be, I think of her.
Sometimes she didn't answer, but I think we both didn't know how to 'care'.
[ In hindsight, it was an easy answer, wasn't it? They spent playtime together, but they weren't particularly raised for such things. He and Sua were different people from different situations, trying to cling to the things that made a bleak life better. He understood. He was so sure they both understood each other. Ivan could still remember how it felt when he came to learn Sua wasn't being shut out like he had.
He wished he spoke to her more. If he asked for her advice, would she have given it? It was too late. They both made their choices. ]
I like the way you say it better.
[ His words were muddled and awkward. It was difficult to know how to say the right thing and express what he felt in the moment. Maybe it was due to his own feelings that the memory of seeing them happy and how all four of them were close had been blurred out in his mind. What options did she have? What could any of them do?
Ivan's body visibly relaxes at the feeling of fingers in his hair, letting out the slightest, mournful groan.]
I'm a moron, but I didn't know what else to do. I've never been brave like you are. The lights don't shine for me.
If I knew you cared, I wouldn't have done such a hurtful thing.
[ He still would have been wreckless, but he at least wouldn't have been hurtful while trying to save his life. ]
But you didn't look at me once. You gave up. You were going to vanish.
[ Rejecting the very notion of the idea, Ivan moves, dragging till with him to lay down onto of the bed. Ivan does not remove his arms from around Till, curling himself around him in a tangle of limbs where he doesn't have to think of a 'lack' of Till's presense.
[ Family? From Ivan's tone, from the topic alone, Till knows that a family set is not what is being referenced, and yet it cannot be defined the same way he has come to learn about family from Hiyori. They are not genetically related (as far as he knows). This is something different. It's not about a provider or siblings with matching genes, and yet such a conversation had once made him ponder something similar. Somewhere out there, perhaps there are pet humans who he shares genes with, and years before, who knows how many were once that guy's pets, and after him, there will be more. Are those his siblings? There is no connection beyond wondering if they, too, were subjected to the same harsh treatment and if they desperately fought back.
The only awareness he has of those pets is that they never achieved victory, and that asshole will continue to throw them into that competition until there is success. There is no control over their lives; they too, must have known the end, and what can they do? There is hope in happiness, in contentment, and those moments are precious. Till doesn't forget. When they could have fun together. When Sua wasn't so dour, when he could manage a word or two in Mizi's direction, and Ivan was always there. His absence became prevalent after his passing.
Till cannot let go now. What they have. This is also real, right?
Yet, guilt remains, a new reason causes that sensation to surge. He may not know Mizi's fate, but he feels as if he is abandoning her. Hopeless and alone, as he once felt. He senses that upon his return, he may not have long to live (he knows this), but if he has one last chance. No. He needs to make a final decision, and a repeat of that first rejection is not an option. Till will not consider it. ]
Family is different. The people here treat it differently. But I think I get a sense of what you mean.
[ Is his way of expressing that better? He, at least, wants to acknowledge that they got along (sometimes) and that they found happiness. Short intervals of joy, intertwined with peace, even if Anakt Garden was a hellish place, they still had each other. That's not something to be forgotten. Why let their only memories be of suffering and only let their thoughts be stained with blood? Yet that's a prevalent part of where his mind races, the recollection of their last performance. ]
I'm not brave!
I was focused and I was scared. But I was willing to, yeah that, vanish. Fade away.
[ He was at a loss without a guide, yes, Mizi lit a path for him. Her smile bright, warm, and inviting. And hadn't she been the one who could bind them together? The four of them. Losing Mizi dissolved his will, leaving him listless and without fight. He bent at the knee to those fucking segyein. And losing Ivan was incomprehensible. Unable to process what happened, what should not have come to be. Till knows he should have lost, he should have stained the stage. He could not, he cannot. Thinking about it makes his ears ring, makes his hands shake, the very hands that tried to reach out for that constant shadow. Why are they talking about this? He thought he had managed to tame tears and that he was moving in the correct direction.
The change of position is an opportunity to hide his face, as he eases his hold. He doesn't want to end up pulling on Ivan's hair. ]
Everything we say is always going to be different from everyone else.
[ It wasn't a thrilling thought. They were different. Even among humans, what they experienced was strange. In Anakt, they all understood the same thing because they were going through the same thing together, but they could also understand humans who lived outside of that. Here, it was rare to have a conversation where he didn't have to take notes or think about what he lacked.
Family was different. He knew that. Family was different even in The Garden. Some pets had a provider, and some of those remember being with them. Some pets had family; siblings born from the same group, providers that had them. They were rare to end up in Anakt, but it did happen. At the very end of the group, there were ones like him. The illegal pets made and rounded up in the slums. Most of the pets like him will never know where they began, and their end will matter to no one. That was the fate of the ones like him.
Ivan made a choice to make his own, even if it was a silly thought in the back of his mind. No one needed to know if he cared for them or not. Those shallow feelings really wouldn't change anything. So it didn't matter if they understood it differently.
Till understood, so that was good enough for him. ]
I'm sorry that you have to be the one to live for the rest of us.
[ It was never going to be Ivan. He may not have known how Alien Stage was going to go, but he had a healthy understanding that he would fall to Till or Luka. He wasn't as smart as Sua was in the end. He didn't prepare for the moment or lay the hints. There was nothing he could truly say to soothe the weight they left on Till's shoulders. ]
It may not feel brave to act when scared, but the fact you do, even when others don't, is all it takes.
[ The verbal acknowledgement leads Till to ponder if perhaps Ivan also felt at odds when conversing with the other resort guests. If he also began to feel self-conscious whenever a mention of their origin was made, primarily regarding specific details. What they are. How they are made. And their inevitable fate. Reactions make it challenging to be open and honest. Till knows he has restrained truths. He has avoided facts. He has blurred the image of reality.
It's barely recognizable from its abhorrent truth.
Till does not want to be a victim; he wants to be himself. He wants to be that something. Whatever that is, he has yet to define. He wants to believe he has time to reconcile feelings about himself, rebuild a self-image, and understand sentiments. Not every thought is aimed toward his most disliked self. Mizi is on his mind, of course; she has always been present. He seeks her light like a fledgling sprout. But Ivan is here; this man is his reality, his ever-present companion whom he is unwilling to relinquish. Entangling himself with the taller man, finding comfort, and it all ends when his temper flares—when he fears the chance of lacerating, irreparable wounds. ]
I want—
[ It's not the first time he cuts himself off. It's difficult to put desire into words when even he is unsure of what he wants, at least, in this moment—the mention of family, the comparisons that living here has granted him the opportunity to make, give rise to the idea. And that idea is nice. It's warm. It's good? It's something he could want, and maybe Ivan wants it too. If for no other reason than because they are all they have here. Just each other. While it always felt downright impossible to comprehend Ivan, to decipher him, at least, experience is one area that they both share. That may be where they can find some form of understanding. ]
This moment to last a little longer.
You want that too right?
[ Just as he is aware that inevitably they may quarrel and part ways (that he would create distance), there must be a desire for closeness. Is he correct in that assumption? Otherwise, why else would Ivan be so willing to receive him every time that Till eventually crawls back to him? Or is familiarity the only reason they are drawn to each other, because despite being entangled in confusion, only they can show complete comprehension toward each other and their life experience. ]
[ Till's ability to say the most complex thing in so few words continues to baffle Ivan. If Till had managed to see him standing so close to him before that final moment, would the rest of it have happened? Ivan didn't want to think about it. What was done was done. Till was right, however. Ivan did want the moment to continue.
This moment where he could hold Till, and attempt to speak truths was one that he would remember for the rest of his stay in this place between 'living' and 'resting'. He would love to whittle away his time with Till in his arms like this, but he was conscious of the selfishness of such a desire. It would be impossible to look this opportunity in the face and say no, but he knows he can't let Till stagnate in this painful hell with him. ]
I want that, but it shouldn't be only me.
[ That was the most correct answer, Ivan tilting his head up to look at Till, rearranging the way he was laying so he could rest his head closer to Till's face. ]
I think when we're like this, that would be okay. Alone and getting along.
[ When they had these peaceful times, it was okay to just look at each other and extend 'this moment'. ]
[ Once Ivan expresses desire what follows is baffling. Till made an offer, a willing one. He would see Ivan, focus on him, and give him his time. And really, what more is there for him to do? Navigating through the resort in a haphazardly improvised schedule isn't all that important. He can walk through that place, which is closer to a vision of real nature, at any time; flowers can be collected on other occasions. Earning vouchers, while best done in the morning, can wait. Besides, most of his time is spent in his room with only his thoughts for company.
And due to their proximity granted to them as neighbors, he knows well that Ivan doesn't go much of anywhere either. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if Ivan left his room less often than he did.
Then why refuse him? Ivan cannot deny that he said it was something he wanted. He already expressed his desire through words, and there is no room for confusion. It's impossible to misconstrue what was said. The only perplexing part is what came after. Again, Till begins to comb fingers through Ivan's hair, this time slowly, hesitant. His heart is racing with a question he wants to deliver, and also, because of what he does next. He's never done this; or rather, he has never initiated something like this. It's almost a kiss when he presses his lips against Ivan's hair. Staying close as he whispers his question. ]
Why?
[ Just a single word. It's a bridge. Tentatively reaching out to glean a better understanding. ]
[ There was something about Till's affection that scared him. His eyes couldn't look anywhere else when those hands were in his hair and Till was kissing him of his own accord. There was no food or anything else forcing them to do any of this. Till was kissing him on his own, and it made Ivan the happiest he thinks that dark cold place had ever felt.
It was his turn to cry, looking at Till as if the world could be swallowed up, and it wouldn't matter.
Till was showing him affection, and Ivan... was dead. ]
If I take all of that attention, you'll never learn how to live without me.
[ Part of him wondered what it would have been like if they did have the opportunity to live that way? It was a pointless fantasy. His mortality wasn't the only reason he was saying this. Even if it broke his own heart, he couldn't be impractical. ]
I also heard how this place hates people who do that. I don't want to get separated. It's okay if it's just sometimes. We spend a lot of time like this. It will feel like a lot.
[ Facing each other once again, Till gets a full view of Ivan's expression. Their eyes meet, and Till's widen. The reaction is unexpected. Countless times, he has shed tears; he has only seen Ivan cry once. It was a first and a last. That's what it was supposed to be, that's what Till envisioned, and this place has managed to reunite them. And it has also granted Till this—a chance to be a witness to Ivan's feelings once more. As it turns out, the expression that left him confused, which became ingrained in his memory, also causes deep distress.
Ivan was the image of composure in the presence of their peers, their teachers, the segyein, and the world at large. Only Till got to see the cracks in the perfect image. When Ivan's expression morphed, a slight change and a condescending expression took hold to match words.
Tears. What does he do about tears?
No one ever comforted him. It was all about observations. Only he is slow to realize that is not entirely correct. Out in the garden, there was someone he could lean on. Slowly, he moves his arm. It's distress that makes movements sluggish and hesitant, but he does get his arms around Ivan and draws him close. This time, he can be the one Ivan can lean on.
Ivan's words are funny. Stupid. He cannot do that. He doesn't want to acknowledge it, but how can he live without someone who has been a constant? Ivan's presence was the single thing he could most rely on. It's not just Ivan who is absent. They all are. How can he live on? Maybe it's possible. He fears death, he fears living, but it probably won't be for long. Perhaps the future was set the moment that Luka was set to join the current competition. ]
And if I stay?
What do you mean it hates people who do this? I thought this was also a part of it. Some of it. Or is it because it just wants that other thing? I can do that other thing too. I don't give a fuck about what it wants. I'll do what I want.
[ Comfort wasn't what he expected. Tills arms wrapping around him to try and sooth the tears was new. Strange. Everything now was new ground, and Ivan was ill prepared for it. The tears shouldn't be happening. There shouldn't be anything between them right now but words. Yet, the tears slipped out on their own. It was hard to help when he thinks this was truly the first time he was feeling as if Till wanted something from him.
Ivan's arms adjust around him, trying to make sense of their new position, while wondering if they're thinking about the same thing. What does Till truly want? Staying was a bad idea. They were barely making it work in this game already. Or Ivan wasn't. It was difficult to come to a reasonable conclusion. It was even worse when Till was saying things that Ivan wished he heard a long time before. ]
I know you'll do what you want.
[ The only times Ivan has been moved to action, they all end in terrible ways. It's always Till. It's always how they end. What changed? Why did it change? Did Till really want things like this? ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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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.
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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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
Sometimes she didn't answer, but I think we both didn't know how to 'care'.
[ In hindsight, it was an easy answer, wasn't it? They spent playtime together, but they weren't particularly raised for such things. He and Sua were different people from different situations, trying to cling to the things that made a bleak life better. He understood. He was so sure they both understood each other. Ivan could still remember how it felt when he came to learn Sua wasn't being shut out like he had.
He wished he spoke to her more. If he asked for her advice, would she have given it? It was too late. They both made their choices. ]
I like the way you say it better.
[ His words were muddled and awkward. It was difficult to know how to say the right thing and express what he felt in the moment. Maybe it was due to his own feelings that the memory of seeing them happy and how all four of them were close had been blurred out in his mind. What options did she have? What could any of them do?
Ivan's body visibly relaxes at the feeling of fingers in his hair, letting out the slightest, mournful groan.]
I'm a moron, but I didn't know what else to do. I've never been brave like you are. The lights don't shine for me.
If I knew you cared, I wouldn't have done such a hurtful thing.
[ He still would have been wreckless, but he at least wouldn't have been hurtful while trying to save his life. ]
But you didn't look at me once. You gave up. You were going to vanish.
[ Rejecting the very notion of the idea, Ivan moves, dragging till with him to lay down onto of the bed. Ivan does not remove his arms from around Till, curling himself around him in a tangle of limbs where he doesn't have to think of a 'lack' of Till's presense.
They were both morons. ]
no subject
The only awareness he has of those pets is that they never achieved victory, and that asshole will continue to throw them into that competition until there is success. There is no control over their lives; they too, must have known the end, and what can they do? There is hope in happiness, in contentment, and those moments are precious. Till doesn't forget. When they could have fun together. When Sua wasn't so dour, when he could manage a word or two in Mizi's direction, and Ivan was always there. His absence became prevalent after his passing.
Till cannot let go now. What they have. This is also real, right?
Yet, guilt remains, a new reason causes that sensation to surge. He may not know Mizi's fate, but he feels as if he is abandoning her. Hopeless and alone, as he once felt. He senses that upon his return, he may not have long to live (he knows this), but if he has one last chance. No. He needs to make a final decision, and a repeat of that first rejection is not an option. Till will not consider it. ]
Family is different. The people here treat it differently. But I think I get a sense of what you mean.
[ Is his way of expressing that better? He, at least, wants to acknowledge that they got along (sometimes) and that they found happiness. Short intervals of joy, intertwined with peace, even if Anakt Garden was a hellish place, they still had each other. That's not something to be forgotten. Why let their only memories be of suffering and only let their thoughts be stained with blood? Yet that's a prevalent part of where his mind races, the recollection of their last performance. ]
I'm not brave!
I was focused and I was scared. But I was willing to, yeah that, vanish. Fade away.
[ He was at a loss without a guide, yes, Mizi lit a path for him. Her smile bright, warm, and inviting. And hadn't she been the one who could bind them together? The four of them. Losing Mizi dissolved his will, leaving him listless and without fight. He bent at the knee to those fucking segyein. And losing Ivan was incomprehensible. Unable to process what happened, what should not have come to be. Till knows he should have lost, he should have stained the stage. He could not, he cannot. Thinking about it makes his ears ring, makes his hands shake, the very hands that tried to reach out for that constant shadow. Why are they talking about this? He thought he had managed to tame tears and that he was moving in the correct direction.
The change of position is an opportunity to hide his face, as he eases his hold. He doesn't want to end up pulling on Ivan's hair. ]
Let me vanish for a moment. Let me not think.
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[ It wasn't a thrilling thought. They were different. Even among humans, what they experienced was strange. In Anakt, they all understood the same thing because they were going through the same thing together, but they could also understand humans who lived outside of that. Here, it was rare to have a conversation where he didn't have to take notes or think about what he lacked.
Family was different. He knew that. Family was different even in The Garden. Some pets had a provider, and some of those remember being with them. Some pets had family; siblings born from the same group, providers that had them. They were rare to end up in Anakt, but it did happen. At the very end of the group, there were ones like him. The illegal pets made and rounded up in the slums. Most of the pets like him will never know where they began, and their end will matter to no one. That was the fate of the ones like him.
Ivan made a choice to make his own, even if it was a silly thought in the back of his mind. No one needed to know if he cared for them or not. Those shallow feelings really wouldn't change anything. So it didn't matter if they understood it differently.
Till understood, so that was good enough for him. ]
I'm sorry that you have to be the one to live for the rest of us.
[ It was never going to be Ivan. He may not have known how Alien Stage was going to go, but he had a healthy understanding that he would fall to Till or Luka. He wasn't as smart as Sua was in the end. He didn't prepare for the moment or lay the hints. There was nothing he could truly say to soothe the weight they left on Till's shoulders. ]
It may not feel brave to act when scared, but the fact you do, even when others don't, is all it takes.
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It's barely recognizable from its abhorrent truth.
Till does not want to be a victim; he wants to be himself. He wants to be that something. Whatever that is, he has yet to define. He wants to believe he has time to reconcile feelings about himself, rebuild a self-image, and understand sentiments. Not every thought is aimed toward his most disliked self. Mizi is on his mind, of course; she has always been present. He seeks her light like a fledgling sprout. But Ivan is here; this man is his reality, his ever-present companion whom he is unwilling to relinquish. Entangling himself with the taller man, finding comfort, and it all ends when his temper flares—when he fears the chance of lacerating, irreparable wounds. ]
I want—
[ It's not the first time he cuts himself off. It's difficult to put desire into words when even he is unsure of what he wants, at least, in this moment—the mention of family, the comparisons that living here has granted him the opportunity to make, give rise to the idea. And that idea is nice. It's warm. It's good? It's something he could want, and maybe Ivan wants it too. If for no other reason than because they are all they have here. Just each other. While it always felt downright impossible to comprehend Ivan, to decipher him, at least, experience is one area that they both share. That may be where they can find some form of understanding. ]
This moment to last a little longer.
You want that too right?
[ Just as he is aware that inevitably they may quarrel and part ways (that he would create distance), there must be a desire for closeness. Is he correct in that assumption? Otherwise, why else would Ivan be so willing to receive him every time that Till eventually crawls back to him? Or is familiarity the only reason they are drawn to each other, because despite being entangled in confusion, only they can show complete comprehension toward each other and their life experience. ]
I'll look at you. Do you want it only to be you?
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This moment where he could hold Till, and attempt to speak truths was one that he would remember for the rest of his stay in this place between 'living' and 'resting'. He would love to whittle away his time with Till in his arms like this, but he was conscious of the selfishness of such a desire. It would be impossible to look this opportunity in the face and say no, but he knows he can't let Till stagnate in this painful hell with him. ]
I want that, but it shouldn't be only me.
[ That was the most correct answer, Ivan tilting his head up to look at Till, rearranging the way he was laying so he could rest his head closer to Till's face. ]
I think when we're like this, that would be okay. Alone and getting along.
[ When they had these peaceful times, it was okay to just look at each other and extend 'this moment'. ]
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And due to their proximity granted to them as neighbors, he knows well that Ivan doesn't go much of anywhere either. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if Ivan left his room less often than he did.
Then why refuse him? Ivan cannot deny that he said it was something he wanted. He already expressed his desire through words, and there is no room for confusion. It's impossible to misconstrue what was said. The only perplexing part is what came after. Again, Till begins to comb fingers through Ivan's hair, this time slowly, hesitant. His heart is racing with a question he wants to deliver, and also, because of what he does next. He's never done this; or rather, he has never initiated something like this. It's almost a kiss when he presses his lips against Ivan's hair. Staying close as he whispers his question. ]
Why?
[ Just a single word. It's a bridge. Tentatively reaching out to glean a better understanding. ]
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It was his turn to cry, looking at Till as if the world could be swallowed up, and it wouldn't matter.
Till was showing him affection, and Ivan... was dead. ]
If I take all of that attention, you'll never learn how to live without me.
[ Part of him wondered what it would have been like if they did have the opportunity to live that way? It was a pointless fantasy. His mortality wasn't the only reason he was saying this. Even if it broke his own heart, he couldn't be impractical. ]
I also heard how this place hates people who do that. I don't want to get separated. It's okay if it's just sometimes. We spend a lot of time like this. It will feel like a lot.
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Ivan was the image of composure in the presence of their peers, their teachers, the segyein, and the world at large. Only Till got to see the cracks in the perfect image. When Ivan's expression morphed, a slight change and a condescending expression took hold to match words.
Tears. What does he do about tears?
No one ever comforted him. It was all about observations. Only he is slow to realize that is not entirely correct. Out in the garden, there was someone he could lean on. Slowly, he moves his arm. It's distress that makes movements sluggish and hesitant, but he does get his arms around Ivan and draws him close. This time, he can be the one Ivan can lean on.
Ivan's words are funny. Stupid. He cannot do that. He doesn't want to acknowledge it, but how can he live without someone who has been a constant? Ivan's presence was the single thing he could most rely on. It's not just Ivan who is absent. They all are. How can he live on? Maybe it's possible. He fears death, he fears living, but it probably won't be for long. Perhaps the future was set the moment that Luka was set to join the current competition. ]
And if I stay?
What do you mean it hates people who do this? I thought this was also a part of it. Some of it. Or is it because it just wants that other thing? I can do that other thing too. I don't give a fuck about what it wants. I'll do what I want.
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Ivan's arms adjust around him, trying to make sense of their new position, while wondering if they're thinking about the same thing. What does Till truly want? Staying was a bad idea. They were barely making it work in this game already. Or Ivan wasn't. It was difficult to come to a reasonable conclusion. It was even worse when Till was saying things that Ivan wished he heard a long time before. ]
I know you'll do what you want.
[ The only times Ivan has been moved to action, they all end in terrible ways. It's always Till. It's always how they end. What changed? Why did it change? Did Till really want things like this? ]
Why do you want to do this?
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