Why are you deflecting? The answer hardly matters. Like you said, everyone has to do it.
[ He closes his eyes, walking past Till to sit on the bed. He was used to this feeling. This ignorance. The deflecting within the unseen whirlpool of emotions between them. Was it really so embarrassing to admit you might have participated in mating? It's what they were there for.
When his eyes open, he looks at Till, leaning back in his bed while observing the way he looked now. It helped him ignore the dull feeling scratching at him behind his ears.]
Don't worry about it. We can talk about something else.
[ Because it's embarrassing and humiliating to talk about stuff like that! They were never meant to go through that process. They were idols, meant only to perform. They were meant to entertain. To be used until whatever outcomes awaited them. Well. At least, there was an ending. Not a tidy conclusion. It was a mess; he was left behind with that unfading image.
Suppose he could make that memory a blur; it would be an improvement over confusion. If he could make it a haze, then he wouldn't have to think about it. ]
I haven't done it!
But I know I have to do it soon.
[ He should hit Ivan again! It would be well deserved! And he feels safe in the knowledge that Ivan is in perfect health. As far as he knows, there haven't been any detrimental effects lingering after what happened. Slowly, he takes the few steps needed to reach Ivan, he raises his hand to strike him, but drops it, making a frustrated sound. ]
I wasn't worried about it! [ He was ignoring it! ]
[ Ivan watched as Till approached with his hand raised. When the hit doesn't come, he raises a brow. He wasn't aiming to be met with violence, but it was curious about Till's wavering emotions. ]
You're talking about it a lot. Am I the reason you're having so many problems thinking about things like that?
[ Usually, Ivan preferred the background. He would quietly follow Till everywhere and fit himself in whatever the other man was doing. This was not something he felt he could find a place to put himself because of the clearly intimate nature of what was being asked of them, but that hasn't stopped him from noticing how Till locked up and dwelled on the subject much harder than he usually did anything else. ]
If you need to talk about why this is bothering you so much, I can listen to you.
You brought it up! Are you going to ignore that part?
[ Essentially, yes, Ivan is partially the reason why he is having so many problems dealing with that act. Although without a doubt, he would have struggled on his own. Perhaps it is childish to find the whole process gross, even more so to ignore it in favor of anything else. He wants something different than a forced, manufactured intimacy. He was chasing warmth that felt strangely nostalgic, yet it wasn't meant for him. He can call for it, hope for it, sing for salvation, but it would not come. ]
I don't think I can do it.
It's too strange. It's ugly. But if I wait too long, it happens anyway.
[ Ivan pushed himself to sit up and lean forward, looking up at Till from their new proximity. He didn't miss that, just as he said, Till did ignore the part where Ivan asked him if it was his fault. The space where he hid the truth was always Ivan's. ]
If you're looking for a solution, my advice is to find someone you think is pretty and ask, or maybe a friend you don't mind. Otherwise, you don't have to think about it around me.
You have to do it anyway, so do your best to prepare and then put it out of your mind.
I read what you wrote. That stuff. Before we left Anakt Garden.
[ Even if his dishonest words don't convey the truth, his expressions always reveal it all. Blame cannot be entirely laid at Ivan's feet. His own experiences make the entire notion difficult. Although that parting kiss still lingers, becoming a hurdle, it's not one he plans ever to cross. That is something between them. Only them. ]
Is that what you will do?
It's not that I spend all my time thinking about it. There is other stuff. I don't think about it at all. [ Until he has to. Mostly because it's a common topic. ]
No, I'm going to deal with it when it comes up. I don't care who it's going to be with.
[ That wasn't entirely true, but he has already decided that this was going to be the way it's going to be. Thinking about impossibilities didn't suit him. He was brought here to play a game, so he would play. This was what he needed to do in order to survive.
And truly, hearing that Till did read what he wrote and then ignored it was just like Till. No matter how much it knotted inside him, that was how Till was. ]
Sometimes you should ignore it, but this isn't something you want to ignore because it's been bothering you, right?
[ His thin eyebrows shoot up in surprise. It doesn't matter who it is? Not to Ivan? Then why was he suggesting that Till choose a person he thinks is pretty or turn toward a friend? If it doesn't matter, then as long as the objective is fulfilled and he collects a card, it should be fine. It can be anyone. He can open the door right now and pick the next person.
That's what he should do.
And what he can't do.
How does everyone do this? Well, Hiyori has his partner, and that one guy told him to do the same. Find someone to be consistent with. In that case, maybe even if it feels impossible, he should take the same approach. ] I'll do the same then. I'll deal with it when it comes up. And I won't care who it is.
[ That should conclude the conversation on that topic. They can move on to other things. Of course, he won't direct them to a conversation they should have. ] Do you know about the food vouchers?
[ It was okay for Ivan to do something like that, but Till couldn't. Till shouldn't. There was no part of him that thought Till could do something like that. Till was romantic and he was loyal to his emotions. Ivan was used to shutting himself off in order to do what needed to be done. Till was not the same.
Yet, he let it go, blinking once and then looking at the pieces of paper Till punched him with earlier. ]
[ Future Till will have to deal with that mess, present Till is going to continue to ignore the inevitable. He does not have to think about it, so he won't. Instead, he will fret about it later when he is alone in his room—nothing he hasn't done before, although not necessarily about that particular subject. There are plenty of other thoughts haunting him. More like a plague before Ivan's apparent revival. It's all still that same red hue.
Looking at Ivan, down at him, maybe for a brief instance, he attempted to hold his gaze. That is, until he decides that trying to glean the color of eyes he knows is not relevant to the whole vouchers are traded for food chat. So, rather than the focus on Ivan, he is going to tear the voucher booklet in half. Give him a moment. That takes some effort.
Finally, he hands over half his vouchers. He doesn't need that many. Mostly, he picks at his food, scoops it around after he's had a taste. ] Everything here you have to trade for. They don't usually just give us food. Or clothes. Or much of anything. These papers can be traded for food. There are some for clothes too.
[ Ivan held his half of the booklet up, looking it over and then looking to Till. After the explanation, Ivan passes him back the half that he gave him. The explanation made sense. It worked like payment then. If either of them were going to need that, it was going to be Till. ]
If that's the case, you should take this back.
[ Between the two of them, Till was going to have far more issues with intimacy than Ivan would. He already found himself divorced from most physical and emotional desires. There was also his past that gave him more knowledge of how to make do with little. It wasn't a way he preferred to live, but it was also the best way to motivate himself into action. ]
You'll need it when you fail to do things with someone.
[ The vouchers are extended back to him, but Till does not reach out to take them. He came here intending to share his vouchers with Ivan (along with finding out what room was assigned to him). Looking at the vouchers, his gaze flickers to Ivan's face in a failed attempt to read his expression. He wants to understand why his aid isn't accepted. He doesn't want anything in return. Much like he received help in settling in, he is trying to emulate what others have done for him.
He is trying to be nice. He is attempting to reforge a connection that he wonders if was tenuous at best. It was something entirely incomprehensible. Pet humans should be able to get along and should be able to connect. Was there something wrong with him?
Ivan's words are a slap to the face. His tentative approach comes to an end. The desire to bond with and understand Ivan is set aside. Anger replaces uncertainty. That conversation had ended. They have already settled on a conclusion, so why bring that back up? It's easier to fall back into old habits and forget progress. Now would be a good time to evade Till's fist; this time, he won't hesitate. ]
[ He saw the hit coming, but the comprehension it would have taken to move before it connected with him failed him. His head turns with his hit, laying on the bed while the pain blossomed and burned. Thank Anakt for small favors. Being in the resort meant he didn't have to care if their fights made him unable to participate in a photoshoot or if he had to favor one side for a commercial taping. Those days were behind them.
Ivan lifts his hand, resting it over where he was hit as he pulled himself back up once more. Turning his head to look up at Till, dropping his hand again. He doesn't yell or complain. There was no turning Till away or telling him he could also go fuck himself.
The only thing Ivan really cared about was Till's wellbeing. He could get by, but if Till's blustering put him in a bad way, Ivan was going to find that difficult to watch. ]
I'll take them if it's not going to be a burden for you to be down to half, but if you run out, I expect you to say so. It's going to be troublesome for me as well if you go too far being nice to me.
[ It was nice to feel something again. Till's normal answer to troublesome things wasn't what Ivan was aiming for, but he had long accepted that it was just the way Till knew to show is displeasure. He's been getting hit by Till for so much of his life that the pain was almost like home to him.
Ivan did wish Till would just learn to use his words, but small steps, he supposes. ]
[ Predictably retaliating to that comment with violence, his fist connects, it's a solid hit and a return to normalcy. Ivan is not dead. There is no Alien Stage. They are here within the confines of a room smaller than a dormitory. A space that is cozy, sheltered. Their little world. A fish bowl for the two of them. Only them. And with that strike, it's an open hand invitation to join him. Forget that. Yet Ivan falls back, still, and only reacts by touching the spot where his fist connected.
When Ivan sits back up, that minimal reaction brings doubt. The typical is lost, what he expects does not follow—Ivan, a mystery as always. His provocation is meaningless when he does not fully comprehend the person in front of him. Hitting him again would be pointless. Observing Ivan gives the sensation of a distant view. He redirects his focus to the floor. ]
I wasn't being nice.
[ Till wants to help.
Ivan just made it far more complicated than it should be. Till was offered help on arrival, so is it wrong for him to lend some aid? No, isn't it what Mizi would have done? He is sure of it. He doesn't doubt it. Mizi is-was that kind of person. Then why did Ivan decide to make a prediction that spelled failure? Is that what's ahead? Then why?
No.
They're here now. This is different. ] Stop talking. You're keeping them. I won't take them back.
[ It was a terrible time to tell him to shut up, but Ivan obliges, letting whatever retort he was going to give die inside him. He wasn't being nice, Till says, and Ivan says nothing. Till punched him in frustration, and Ivan took it because going easy on him was difficult. If someone saw Till beaten up, what would they think of Ivan? Till clearly had friends. There were people that cared about him.
If he did retaliate, what would it have been like? Till was the person who would continue fighting until he couldn't. Blood and sweat would be all over them and splattered all over Ivan's room, but the only one who would be pleased was Till.
Ivan would have preferred to reach out and put his arms around him, or make to feel how delicate his neck was again. How soft his lips were. His hands were small and frail compared to his. He would explore and document everything about him if he could. Not a single drop of blood would be wasted.
In reality, all he really could do was sit there with a blissful expression while he dwelled in the fantasies playing in his mind. Till doesn't have to know why Ivan suddenly had a stupid look in his face. He DID tell him to shut up. ]
[ Ivan opting to fantasize instead of confronting him, in some sense, leaves Till alone. More often than not throughout the entirety of his life, he has been alone. Without a sound, devoid of light. Now this room is silent. His actions receive no feedback. That's not how this should end because no matter what, Ivan has always done what he wants. Till may protest, scream, and push him away, but Ivan is Ivan. He doesn't dare to lift his gaze immediately. Things start to feel awkward. The odd atmosphere evokes a rare thought. Sua is rarely on his mind (usually only an extension of Mizi), but now he is reminded of her alone.
This is weird.
When he finally looks up, catching bliss on Ivan's face, he extends a hand and with his index finger, he pokes the very spot his fist connected with. Treating that place where a bruise should bloom like a switch to shut off whatever daydream may have captured Ivan. He will bring him back to their shared moment. Ivan will return and be a part of Till's reality. He will accept it all, he will take the violence because if they cannot be friends, then they can be that. ]
[ The poke brought him back, his eyes blinking slowly as Till himself came back into his attention. Ivan reaches his hand out, wrapping his gently around Till's smaller one. He doesn't love the sudden sting of pain reminding him of what occurred, but he was willing to move past it. ]
Do you want to sleep in this room?
[ The question had nothing to do with anything they had been talking about. Nor did it have to do with why he was poked, he would guess. It was a question of comfort. Did Till want to sleep in the same space as someone else, or did he want to be by himself? Their rooms were right next to one another, so it didn't matter in the long run. ]
You don't have to. I wanted to offer regardless.
[ That reflexive smile graced his face, that princely aura shining when he didn't want to be 'himself'. Till may have brought him back, but the person who fantasized of having the person they loved was unwanted here. ]
You should also tell me what's wrong. You seem to be high-strung. It's not strange for you to be so reactionary, but you seem more bothered than usual.
[ Dark eyes, once again, attentive and focused on him, means Till can retract his hand. There is no need for him to keep pressing his finger against the spot he struck with a fist. Intent on letting his hand fall to his side, his eyes widen in surprise when his hand is caught in a far too gentle touch. Nothing about this contact is reminiscent of their time at Anakt Garden. Instead, he remembers a warm hand against his cheek, in contrast to the cold downpour, and the frigid adoration from an audience, whose applause was lost to the sound of his heartbeat.
He tugs at his hand impetuously. An impulse that cannot be helped when the mood is sour due to unpredictability. If tranquility is impossible, if they are unable to connect, then he thought to communicate through violence. Ivan's lack of retaliation confounds him.
Till ends up relenting. Letting him keep his grip on his hand. His smaller hand. Reminding him of their difference in stature and physique that had become a burden to Ivan during their scuffles. That reminder fuels his discontent; his expression won't return to a neutral one, which contrasts with Ivan's charming face—the mask of a prince worn for their teachers, their classmates. Who are not here. Then, who is this act for? There is no one else here but him! He hates the calm, measured words. He wants to get away from this!
That also means leaving the single most familiar individual in the entirety of this place. Forget rationalizing that they are neighbors. Returning to his room creates distance. He tears his gaze away from the fake expression without providing an answer, but since he has yet to jerk his hand free, since he hasn't made his way to the door, perhaps a verbal response isn't necessary.
[ The first time Till pulls his hand away, Ivan immediately lets it go. He's done this before, and almost forgot what it was like to hold his hand and have it pull away from him. This time the sky didn't rain around him, not did Mizi linger in the background as a reason for Till to leave him behind. She did, however, exist in his heart as the wall that was erected between them. That wasn't important anymore.
Ivan's eyes remained on Till, watching him and preparing himself for Till's exit. The hand that formerly held Till fell open in his lap instead, Ivan's eyebrows going up. The time continued to pass and even though he was free, Ivan wasn't left alone. He even turns his head to look at the door and then back to Till, making sure that his eyes were working correctly. He remained, and so Ivan continued to smile.
The silence was usually comfortable. They always found themselves descending into a quiet revelry of each other's company. This was almost awkward. Till's face was a mirror of his emotions, an open book to his dislike of Ivan's display and reaction. What Ivan didn't know was why. This face and persona was supposed to be for everyone. The 'nicer' him was more palatable and easier to have a relationship with. It was easy to market and fans loved 'the caring big brother'.
Till was not one of those people. He reacted the same to every facet he wore. It really didn't matter which face he wore. They were all repulsive. Although maybe that was his own thoughts slipping through the cracks.
His expression doesn't fall, continuing to stare up at him and wonder what Till actually was going to do now. Clearly answering was not on the docket. ]
[ Till's longed-for unwavering gaze is on Ivan alone. Only a blink breaks eye contact. Otherwise, it remains steady. Without a word, he observes the practiced mask of a celebrated idol. If Ivan had not been a constant thorn at his side, perhaps he, too, would be a fool. He knows better. He doesn't know everything. It's enough to incense him, embitter him. Does Ivan think he is stupid? That he is like their teachers, their classmates. Till won't be enchanted by fabricated princely charm. As much as what is real about Ivan frustrates him, that's what he would choose. He would choose to touch the surface of that person.
Suppose he goes further, if he peels the layers. The thought alone makes his heart race as a warning—the outcome: Agony. Yet he cannot keep quiet for long. He hasn't kept track of time. How long have they been staring at each other? Wetting his lips, he begins to speak. ]
I hate—
[ His voice dies down, grows quiet, and he doesn't say anymore. No matter what words he uses to express himself, no matter how he rearranges any sentiment, or the method he uses to convey it, he feels unheard and misunderstood. But he cannot expect to receive comprehension when he cannot offer the same to Ivan; he doesn't get him. Whatever this is, it's disjointed and skewed. They are two parts that cannot fit.
He hates it.
That's what it is. That's what he hates. There is no misdirection. Yet there is only one person in this room who should remain unloved. Disliked. There is nothing to be found; it's empty. Constantly needing to be rebuilt.
What can he offer?
Artistic passions mean little, right? Musical talent is nothing here. There is no bastard segyein keeping him alive for that sole reason.
Bringing an arm around himself, he turns away as if shielding himself from a criticizing gaze. His nails begin to dig into his skin. Anxiety is strange; it's familiar enough that he recognizes and immediately disregards the sensation, no matter how his body reacts. It's suffocating, but he is willing to drown here. ]
I'll sleep over there! [ A swift motion is made indicating a spot on the far side of the room. That said, he creates physical distance, ready to do as he said and sleep on the floor of Ivan's room. ]
[ Ivan's head turned, looking at the spot Till pointed out. Acknowledging this, Ivan nods and keeps quiet.
That was it.
Till had turned away, separating the connection their locked gazes formerly held. It was over. They had an agreement. While it wasn't the one Ivan would have preferred, he wasn't going to correct it. He could see Till's spot from the bed, so it would be fine.
The unfinished statement hung in his mind. Till hated. What part of him did Till detest now? Ivan couldn't really comprehend it, closing his eyes to let the moment pass. ]
If you need more blankets or cushions, tell me. And if you want to share the bed...
[ Ivan just smiled again, still wearing that smile suggestively, even if he already knew Till was never going to do something like that. ]
[ A few steps is all it takes to get to the spot he pointed out to Ivan, his hand is up in the air dismissing Ivan's offers. He does not need blankets or cushions. His former room was always stripped of comforts. All he ever had was his writing, his drawings, and the few gifts he managed to preserve (if allowed). The bare floor is fine. Sharing the bed is out of the question. It would defeat the purpose. Till believes that, try as he might, he would not be able to sleep. The truth is, he is questioning whether he can sleep here at all.
Nevertheless, he does not head toward the door. He remains in Ivan's room. He settles down on the floor, turning on his side and giving his back to Ivan. Whatever conversation they could have, should have, won't come tonight. He won't sleep, of course, he doesn't bother closing his eyes. He knows all he will do is focus on any minute sound in this room, even if it means just trying to pick up the sound of Ivan's breathing. He isn't alone. He doesn't have to be. He is here. Sleeping in Ivan's room, which, comparatively speaking, is much easier due to familiarity than anything else required of him. It's comfortable. That's a realization that hits him.
He remains quiet. While he may not be able to fall asleep, he won't disturb Ivan's rest. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ He closes his eyes, walking past Till to sit on the bed. He was used to this feeling. This ignorance. The deflecting within the unseen whirlpool of emotions between them. Was it really so embarrassing to admit you might have participated in mating? It's what they were there for.
When his eyes open, he looks at Till, leaning back in his bed while observing the way he looked now. It helped him ignore the dull feeling scratching at him behind his ears.]
Don't worry about it. We can talk about something else.
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[ Because it's embarrassing and humiliating to talk about stuff like that! They were never meant to go through that process. They were idols, meant only to perform. They were meant to entertain. To be used until whatever outcomes awaited them. Well. At least, there was an ending. Not a tidy conclusion. It was a mess; he was left behind with that unfading image.
Suppose he could make that memory a blur; it would be an improvement over confusion. If he could make it a haze, then he wouldn't have to think about it. ]
I haven't done it!
But I know I have to do it soon.
[ He should hit Ivan again! It would be well deserved! And he feels safe in the knowledge that Ivan is in perfect health. As far as he knows, there haven't been any detrimental effects lingering after what happened. Slowly, he takes the few steps needed to reach Ivan, he raises his hand to strike him, but drops it, making a frustrated sound. ]
I wasn't worried about it! [ He was ignoring it! ]
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You're talking about it a lot. Am I the reason you're having so many problems thinking about things like that?
[ Usually, Ivan preferred the background. He would quietly follow Till everywhere and fit himself in whatever the other man was doing. This was not something he felt he could find a place to put himself because of the clearly intimate nature of what was being asked of them, but that hasn't stopped him from noticing how Till locked up and dwelled on the subject much harder than he usually did anything else. ]
If you need to talk about why this is bothering you so much, I can listen to you.
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[ Essentially, yes, Ivan is partially the reason why he is having so many problems dealing with that act. Although without a doubt, he would have struggled on his own. Perhaps it is childish to find the whole process gross, even more so to ignore it in favor of anything else. He wants something different than a forced, manufactured intimacy. He was chasing warmth that felt strangely nostalgic, yet it wasn't meant for him. He can call for it, hope for it, sing for salvation, but it would not come. ]
I don't think I can do it.
It's too strange. It's ugly. But if I wait too long, it happens anyway.
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[ Ivan pushed himself to sit up and lean forward, looking up at Till from their new proximity. He didn't miss that, just as he said, Till did ignore the part where Ivan asked him if it was his fault. The space where he hid the truth was always Ivan's. ]
If you're looking for a solution, my advice is to find someone you think is pretty and ask, or maybe a friend you don't mind. Otherwise, you don't have to think about it around me.
You have to do it anyway, so do your best to prepare and then put it out of your mind.
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I read what you wrote. That stuff. Before we left Anakt Garden.
[ Even if his dishonest words don't convey the truth, his expressions always reveal it all. Blame cannot be entirely laid at Ivan's feet. His own experiences make the entire notion difficult. Although that parting kiss still lingers, becoming a hurdle, it's not one he plans ever to cross. That is something between them. Only them. ]
Is that what you will do?
It's not that I spend all my time thinking about it. There is other stuff. I don't think about it at all. [ Until he has to. Mostly because it's a common topic. ]
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[ That wasn't entirely true, but he has already decided that this was going to be the way it's going to be. Thinking about impossibilities didn't suit him. He was brought here to play a game, so he would play. This was what he needed to do in order to survive.
And truly, hearing that Till did read what he wrote and then ignored it was just like Till. No matter how much it knotted inside him, that was how Till was. ]
Sometimes you should ignore it, but this isn't something you want to ignore because it's been bothering you, right?
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That's what he should do.
And what he can't do.
How does everyone do this? Well, Hiyori has his partner, and that one guy told him to do the same. Find someone to be consistent with. In that case, maybe even if it feels impossible, he should take the same approach. ] I'll do the same then. I'll deal with it when it comes up. And I won't care who it is.
[ That should conclude the conversation on that topic. They can move on to other things. Of course, he won't direct them to a conversation they should have. ] Do you know about the food vouchers?
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Yet, he let it go, blinking once and then looking at the pieces of paper Till punched him with earlier. ]
I don't. You should explain them to me.
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Looking at Ivan, down at him, maybe for a brief instance, he attempted to hold his gaze. That is, until he decides that trying to glean the color of eyes he knows is not relevant to the whole vouchers are traded for food chat. So, rather than the focus on Ivan, he is going to tear the voucher booklet in half. Give him a moment. That takes some effort.
Finally, he hands over half his vouchers. He doesn't need that many. Mostly, he picks at his food, scoops it around after he's had a taste. ] Everything here you have to trade for. They don't usually just give us food. Or clothes. Or much of anything. These papers can be traded for food. There are some for clothes too.
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If that's the case, you should take this back.
[ Between the two of them, Till was going to have far more issues with intimacy than Ivan would. He already found himself divorced from most physical and emotional desires. There was also his past that gave him more knowledge of how to make do with little. It wasn't a way he preferred to live, but it was also the best way to motivate himself into action. ]
You'll need it when you fail to do things with someone.
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He is trying to be nice. He is attempting to reforge a connection that he wonders if was tenuous at best. It was something entirely incomprehensible. Pet humans should be able to get along and should be able to connect. Was there something wrong with him?
Ivan's words are a slap to the face. His tentative approach comes to an end. The desire to bond with and understand Ivan is set aside. Anger replaces uncertainty. That conversation had ended. They have already settled on a conclusion, so why bring that back up? It's easier to fall back into old habits and forget progress. Now would be a good time to evade Till's fist; this time, he won't hesitate. ]
Fuck you. I'm not going to fail!
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Ivan lifts his hand, resting it over where he was hit as he pulled himself back up once more. Turning his head to look up at Till, dropping his hand again. He doesn't yell or complain. There was no turning Till away or telling him he could also go fuck himself.
The only thing Ivan really cared about was Till's wellbeing. He could get by, but if Till's blustering put him in a bad way, Ivan was going to find that difficult to watch. ]
I'll take them if it's not going to be a burden for you to be down to half, but if you run out, I expect you to say so. It's going to be troublesome for me as well if you go too far being nice to me.
[ It was nice to feel something again. Till's normal answer to troublesome things wasn't what Ivan was aiming for, but he had long accepted that it was just the way Till knew to show is displeasure. He's been getting hit by Till for so much of his life that the pain was almost like home to him.
Ivan did wish Till would just learn to use his words, but small steps, he supposes. ]
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When Ivan sits back up, that minimal reaction brings doubt. The typical is lost, what he expects does not follow—Ivan, a mystery as always. His provocation is meaningless when he does not fully comprehend the person in front of him. Hitting him again would be pointless. Observing Ivan gives the sensation of a distant view. He redirects his focus to the floor. ]
I wasn't being nice.
[ Till wants to help.
Ivan just made it far more complicated than it should be. Till was offered help on arrival, so is it wrong for him to lend some aid? No, isn't it what Mizi would have done? He is sure of it. He doesn't doubt it. Mizi is-was that kind of person. Then why did Ivan decide to make a prediction that spelled failure? Is that what's ahead? Then why?
No.
They're here now. This is different. ] Stop talking. You're keeping them. I won't take them back.
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If he did retaliate, what would it have been like? Till was the person who would continue fighting until he couldn't. Blood and sweat would be all over them and splattered all over Ivan's room, but the only one who would be pleased was Till.
Ivan would have preferred to reach out and put his arms around him, or make to feel how delicate his neck was again. How soft his lips were. His hands were small and frail compared to his. He would explore and document everything about him if he could. Not a single drop of blood would be wasted.
In reality, all he really could do was sit there with a blissful expression while he dwelled in the fantasies playing in his mind. Till doesn't have to know why Ivan suddenly had a stupid look in his face. He DID tell him to shut up. ]
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This is weird.
When he finally looks up, catching bliss on Ivan's face, he extends a hand and with his index finger, he pokes the very spot his fist connected with. Treating that place where a bruise should bloom like a switch to shut off whatever daydream may have captured Ivan. He will bring him back to their shared moment. Ivan will return and be a part of Till's reality. He will accept it all, he will take the violence because if they cannot be friends, then they can be that. ]
no subject
Do you want to sleep in this room?
[ The question had nothing to do with anything they had been talking about. Nor did it have to do with why he was poked, he would guess. It was a question of comfort. Did Till want to sleep in the same space as someone else, or did he want to be by himself? Their rooms were right next to one another, so it didn't matter in the long run. ]
You don't have to. I wanted to offer regardless.
[ That reflexive smile graced his face, that princely aura shining when he didn't want to be 'himself'. Till may have brought him back, but the person who fantasized of having the person they loved was unwanted here. ]
You should also tell me what's wrong. You seem to be high-strung. It's not strange for you to be so reactionary, but you seem more bothered than usual.
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He tugs at his hand impetuously. An impulse that cannot be helped when the mood is sour due to unpredictability. If tranquility is impossible, if they are unable to connect, then he thought to communicate through violence. Ivan's lack of retaliation confounds him.
Till ends up relenting. Letting him keep his grip on his hand. His smaller hand. Reminding him of their difference in stature and physique that had become a burden to Ivan during their scuffles. That reminder fuels his discontent; his expression won't return to a neutral one, which contrasts with Ivan's charming face—the mask of a prince worn for their teachers, their classmates. Who are not here. Then, who is this act for? There is no one else here but him! He hates the calm, measured words. He wants to get away from this!
That also means leaving the single most familiar individual in the entirety of this place. Forget rationalizing that they are neighbors. Returning to his room creates distance. He tears his gaze away from the fake expression without providing an answer, but since he has yet to jerk his hand free, since he hasn't made his way to the door, perhaps a verbal response isn't necessary.
He is staying. ]
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Ivan's eyes remained on Till, watching him and preparing himself for Till's exit. The hand that formerly held Till fell open in his lap instead, Ivan's eyebrows going up. The time continued to pass and even though he was free, Ivan wasn't left alone. He even turns his head to look at the door and then back to Till, making sure that his eyes were working correctly. He remained, and so Ivan continued to smile.
The silence was usually comfortable. They always found themselves descending into a quiet revelry of each other's company. This was almost awkward. Till's face was a mirror of his emotions, an open book to his dislike of Ivan's display and reaction. What Ivan didn't know was why. This face and persona was supposed to be for everyone. The 'nicer' him was more palatable and easier to have a relationship with. It was easy to market and fans loved 'the caring big brother'.
Till was not one of those people. He reacted the same to every facet he wore. It really didn't matter which face he wore. They were all repulsive. Although maybe that was his own thoughts slipping through the cracks.
His expression doesn't fall, continuing to stare up at him and wonder what Till actually was going to do now. Clearly answering was not on the docket. ]
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Suppose he goes further, if he peels the layers. The thought alone makes his heart race as a warning—the outcome: Agony. Yet he cannot keep quiet for long. He hasn't kept track of time. How long have they been staring at each other? Wetting his lips, he begins to speak. ]
I hate—
[ His voice dies down, grows quiet, and he doesn't say anymore. No matter what words he uses to express himself, no matter how he rearranges any sentiment, or the method he uses to convey it, he feels unheard and misunderstood. But he cannot expect to receive comprehension when he cannot offer the same to Ivan; he doesn't get him. Whatever this is, it's disjointed and skewed. They are two parts that cannot fit.
He hates it.
That's what it is. That's what he hates. There is no misdirection. Yet there is only one person in this room who should remain unloved. Disliked. There is nothing to be found; it's empty. Constantly needing to be rebuilt.
What can he offer?
Artistic passions mean little, right? Musical talent is nothing here. There is no bastard segyein keeping him alive for that sole reason.
Bringing an arm around himself, he turns away as if shielding himself from a criticizing gaze. His nails begin to dig into his skin. Anxiety is strange; it's familiar enough that he recognizes and immediately disregards the sensation, no matter how his body reacts. It's suffocating, but he is willing to drown here. ]
I'll sleep over there! [ A swift motion is made indicating a spot on the far side of the room. That said, he creates physical distance, ready to do as he said and sleep on the floor of Ivan's room. ]
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That was it.
Till had turned away, separating the connection their locked gazes formerly held. It was over. They had an agreement. While it wasn't the one Ivan would have preferred, he wasn't going to correct it. He could see Till's spot from the bed, so it would be fine.
The unfinished statement hung in his mind. Till hated. What part of him did Till detest now? Ivan couldn't really comprehend it, closing his eyes to let the moment pass. ]
If you need more blankets or cushions, tell me. And if you want to share the bed...
[ Ivan just smiled again, still wearing that smile suggestively, even if he already knew Till was never going to do something like that. ]
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Nevertheless, he does not head toward the door. He remains in Ivan's room. He settles down on the floor, turning on his side and giving his back to Ivan. Whatever conversation they could have, should have, won't come tonight. He won't sleep, of course, he doesn't bother closing his eyes. He knows all he will do is focus on any minute sound in this room, even if it means just trying to pick up the sound of Ivan's breathing. He isn't alone. He doesn't have to be. He is here. Sleeping in Ivan's room, which, comparatively speaking, is much easier due to familiarity than anything else required of him. It's comfortable. That's a realization that hits him.
He remains quiet. While he may not be able to fall asleep, he won't disturb Ivan's rest. ]