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His fingers brush against the nape of Till’s neck, feather-soft. His skin is horribly pale, chafed with the constant presence of the collar wrapped around his throat. Ivan leans in, thinks about pressing his lips on the soft dip of his neck. He wonders if he would jump, scramble away, scream, pick a fight. But— no. Instead he exhales a breath of hot air onto it, and Till jolts and slaps his hand to the spot.
“You—!”
He can feel his lips curving up into an amused smirk, only half-aware of it and more focused on the furious blush on Till’s cheeks. It makes his pallid complexion softer. “Me?”
Till shoots a mean look at him, scowling. “Yeah, you. Let a guy work in peace.”
“Hm.”
“Whaddya mean, hm?!”
Ivan brazenly places his chin on Till’s shoulders, ignoring his indignant spluttering in favor of studying the stack of papers in Till’s lap. Music notes are scribbled onto it in an arrangement only Till understands, and the thought thrills him, a little. A piece of Till sat right there, a hand’s reach away. He points at the first page of the pile, interrupting Till’s admittedly endearing tirade of personal space, Ivan, haven’t you heard of it?!
“You can sing this,” he says, not a question. Till blinks, and looks down. Something bashful flutters over him, a veil of uncertainty that Ivan finds… unlike him.
“Well yeah, sure, that’s the point,” he mutters, straightening the papers into a neat stack. “Don’t be nosy.”
“I’m just curious,” Ivan hums, staying as still as he could. Perhaps, if he didn’t move, Till would let him stay like this, pressed together with a casual intimacy Ivan craved like a man in a desert would for water. “You have lyrics for it?”
Till seems to get more timid at his prodding, his head turning away from Ivan to stare into the Garden. His eyes unconsciously search for something — someone — and Ivan resists the urge to dig his hands into Till’s neck and twist him back around to face him instead. He doesn’t, though.
Ivan traces his eyes to where the other kids are, but he knows who Till is looking for. He sees Sua first, and with Sua is always Mizi. Mizi, beautiful, bright Mizi, with hair like sakura petals and eyes like gold, she is everything Till wants and everything he isn’t. He doesn’t need to look at Till to see how his eyes shine with awe.
Ivan clenches his fists in his lap. A breath, and his hands relax. His voice comes out steady and teasing, a practiced thing he’s perfected. “Is it a love song?” he lilts slyly, reveling in the way Till flushes and whips his head away from them, as if that would hide who he was looking at from Ivan’s knowing gaze.
“No! What would you know about that?” Till exclaims, embarrassment coloring his face. Hurriedly, he shuffles the pile of papers away to his side, hidden from view. Ivan studies the way the light colors his hair a shimmering silver, how it curls around his neck. He lowers his eyes and averts them to where Mizi is, hand in hand with Sua, looking like a girl in love.
Funny that.
“I like to think I know a bit,” he says, removing himself from Till’s side. Till side-eyes him, one eyebrow ticked up in question. Ivan returns it with a closed-eyed smile, placid and unreadable. “I’m not so dull.”
“I never said that,” Till says mullishly, “but sometimes you’re a real piece of work.”
Ivan’s smile grows a little more genuine at that, and he places his hand under his chin in a considering manner. “You flatter me.”
“Not a compliment!”
Till feels so deeply, and he makes no effort to hide it. Ivan could look into his eyes and know what he was thinking, what he was feeling. In a world like this, he is weak to such openness. It’s a wonder Mizi hasn’t caught a clue, but he supposes she’s been focusing on her own muse.
Something rings in the distance. Till glances back at Mizi, and Ivan at Till. He watches him watch her, a routine he is well-versed in. Something rings again, and Mizi, with Sua in tow, disappears into the mess hall. Dinner time.
Till clambers up, hasty and eager to go back in. Ivan stays on the ground for a moment, not quite as eager and more than content to watch Till. But, Till doesn’t leave. No, he looks down at Ivan, eyes wide and questioning. “Hey, c’mon, don’t just stay here. Let’s go.”
He holds out a hand, easy and trusting, to Ivan. Something catches in his throat, something fragile and tenuous and, most dangerous of all, hopeful. He swallows it down and reaches for it, fingers locking together like a puzzle piece. Till pulls him up, and Ivan goes with him, until they’re face to face.
“Why are you being so lazy?” he grumbles, taking no note of the scant inches between them. He turns his head to the mess hall, and absently says, “Aren’t you hungry?”
Yes, Ivan doesn’t say, watching Till walk away, waiting for him to catch up. I always am. And then, Ivan follows.
——
Sua is a quiet girl, reclusive and almost doll-like. She talks to no one but Mizi, drawn to her like a sunflower would to the sun. Ivan understands. Of course he does; when Till is there, what else is there for him to do but follow? It is the same with her.
He watches Mizi carry Till on her back with ease, darting across the field with a giddy laugh and reckless abandon. Till is much too light, he thinks with a click of the tongue. Perhaps, then, he needed to be spoonfed to get enough food. The thought fills him with wicked amusement, and something must’ve shown on his face when Sua, beside him, narrows her violet eyes towards him.
“Isn’t this fun to watch?” he says, humor in his voice. Sua doesn’t change her expression. “Or no? Maybe you’d prefer to be carried by Mizi, then?”
Sua turns her head away, not dignifying his words with a response. Ivan laughs, his lips curling up in delight. “Don’t cross the line,” she deadpans.
“I wasn’t aware there was one,” he hums, before turning his head and bending forward a little to meet her eyes. “I apologize.”
“Hm.”
Ivan doesn’t say anything back, straightening up and satisfied to be left watching Till and Mizi in the distance. But Sua is the one who breaks the small silence, to his surprise. “Are you going to do something about that?”
He considers playing stupid, but Sua would probably just smack him. Shame. “Are you?”
She exhales, a small huff with an eyeroll that is exasperatedly fond. “Ha, ha.”
“I think that was a fair question.”
“Stop talking,” she orders. Ivan concedes, with no small amount of mirth, if only for a moment, before he opens his mouth again to speak.
“We’re a bit the same,” he thinks aloud, tapping his finger against his cheek. Sua’s eyes are on him again, heavy and unreadable. “We’re always going to be the ones to follow. Haha, maybe one day we’ll take the leap forward.” He had once thought they were the exact same; they both had something twisted in them, like knotted vines on a garden wall, and a yearning for what they couldn’t have.
…Hah, it hadn’t taken him long to realize he was wrong; there was a reason they were always MiziandSua and they were just Ivan and Till. It leaves something bitter stinging his throat.
“Didn’t I say to stop talking?” she asks rhetorically, but she doesn’t seem too bothered. “…One day, you think we’ll be brave enough?”
Ivan peers down at her, a smile ticking up on his face. To have what he couldn’t – reciprocation, something returned – and still be so unsure? It soothes the poisonous envy that sours his tongue whenever he sees Sua. “Oh? No confidence, Ms. Good Grades? Really now, you know good grades are useless if—”
“You want to fight?” Sua grits out, crossing her arms and raising her head to stare him down, regardless of the fact he was almost a head taller than her. He looks back at the two running around, and spots Till’s arms windmilling around before he crashes onto the ground, taking Mizi with him. Ivan hums under his breath.
“No, no,” he says with a laugh. And then, a non-sequitur, “You know, I do see her groaning a lot. She seems to be tired, hm? You must be worried.”
“Mind your business,” she replies flatly, staring ahead. Her eyes gravitate to Mizi like moons to planets, planets to stars. Ivan wonders if that’s how he looks too. “…She’s overworking herself.”
“Maybe you could do something about that.”
Sua glances at him, pursing her lips. Her eyebrows are furrowed into a thoughtful grimace, serious and contemplative. “Hm.”
“Personally,” he says, with a thoughtful air, “if it was Till, I’d force him to—”
“I don’t need to hear advice from you,” she cuts in cleanly. “No one needs to know what goes in your head.”
He does not pout. “How rude.”
Ivan doesn’t get to continue, not when they hear quick footsteps heading their way.
“Sua! Sua!” Mizi blazes towards them, a star in the making. Stardust almost seems to trail behind her. “I can carry you too! Let’s go!”
Sua blinks, wide-eyed and starstruck. Mizi grabs her hand, as natural as breathing, and hauls her up in one easy sweep into her arms. Sua sharply inhales in surprise, and instinctively looks at Ivan, for a second. He tilts his head and smiles.
“Have fun,” he says, wiggling his fingers in goodbye, and Mizi chimes out a breathless We will! before they’re gone. Sua is smiling, now, a secret kind only Mizi is privy to. How sweet, he thinks, and turns to where Till was abruptly deposited by his side, dazedly blinking up at the sky. “You seemed to have quite a ride.”
“Um.” Till’s face is still flushed, whether from exertion, laughter, or just being in Mizi’s arms. Ivan allows himself a spark of envy to burn a little in his ribcage, before he crushes the embers. “Yeah. I did.”
Ivan seats himself down next to Till, considering him. Wonders for a bit, how it would feel to have his weight on him, to feel his warmth. The thought, as always, goes nowhere. He ghosts his hand near the back of his neck, and then, with little hesitation, presses it down in a loose hold.
Till jerks up, his neck lurching forward and leaving his fingers. “Ugh, why are your hands always so damn cold?!” he complains. Ivan flexes his fingers in memory of the brief contact, and lowers his arm back to his side.
“Had to wake you up somehow,” he says easily. “You were looking… spacey.”
“Did not,” he retorts, but he reaches up to his face as if to check. Ivan snorts at the action, and Till scowls, his ears turning a light pink under Ivan’s scrutiny. “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender. Till knocks his shoulders into his, and really now, such a small touch shouldn’t send fireworks shooting up his spine. Till doesn’t notice. He usually doesn’t.
“You’re thinking it,” Till proclaims, jabbing a finger towards him. “I know you are.”
Ivan thinks about a lot of things, if he was being honest for once. He thinks of how he’d like Till to look at him, for once, really look at him. He thinks how he’d like to be peeled open, like an orange, and studied like a bug under a microscope, under Till’s eyes. He thinks of how nice it’d be if he could have what Sua had, with Mizi- he stops himself. Ah, jealousy was never a good look on him.
What he’s really thinking, right now, is how he’d like to hold him on his back and run through the grass like Mizi did.
Ivan never really claimed he was an honest guy, though. “Sure am,” he says glibly, and laughs as Till yells, incensed. His blue eyes bore through his own. Good, he thinks. Keep your eyes on me.
——
“You guys are adorable, honestly,” Ivan snickers, his fingers fanning over his lips in a mockery of primness. “Very cute. I do wish I could take a picture; I’m sure you’d appreciate having one.”
“Don’t you have someone else to watch?” Sua raises an elegant brow towards him, a tiny smirk on her face. She makes a comfortable figure, with Mizi dead asleep on her lap and her elbow laid on the armrest of the couch as she thumbs through a book. Ivan is, despite himself, envious of their easy closeness.
“Well, as much as I’d like to, I can’t just follow him around everywhere,” Ivan says, sighing woefully. Sua aims a delightfully scornful look at him, pausing her flippant reading.
“Really now,” she says tonelessly, lips curling. “If this is you pining… ugh, let’s not go further.”
“Don’t be like that,” he laments. “It’s bad luck if you’re going around cursing my love life.” As if it were going well now. Ivan doesn’t mind, most of the time, but he’s always been a thinker. It’s inevitable that he looks at the distance between them and makes his own conclusions.
Sua reverently combs her hand through Mizi’s long locks, untangling any knots she comes across with gentle tugs and careful fingers. Her attention is still on him, though, even when her eyes soften as Mizi turns her head to pillow into Sua’s stomach. “You’re hopeless as you are right now, really. You’re never going to say anything. What I say won’t make a difference about that.”
“So cold.” She wasn’t quite wrong, though. Ivan takes the two in, the contentment in Sua’s gaze a soothing balm to the conflict bubbling in his throat. “Hm, but maybe you could impart some wise words for me.
“How do you think I would?”
Ivan glances at Mizi, at the trusting looseness in her lax body as she sleeps on. “Well. You have her, after all.”
She pauses, and looks up at him with too-knowing eyes, so shrewd they made his skin crawl. “I don’t have her,” she says calmly, like one would say the sky is blue and grass is green. She resumes her meticulous grooming of Mizi’s hair. “Mizi… she’s not someone I can have. That anyone can. Look at her, Ivan.” The tenderness in her voice almost seemed private, not for Ivan’s ears. “She’s meant for more. But I’m lucky. The fact that she chose me…” She trails off, not one for long declarations. Waxing poetic is not any of their strong suits. But Ivan gets it.
“…Don’t discredit yourself. She’s lucky too,” he chides, a little warmed at her sentiment despite himself. Ivan knows, has known, the two of them are those rare kinds of people who are soulmates, destined to meet in every lifetime.
Ivan does not believe that of him and Till. It is not for lack of love, never that; but it is that he doesn’t believe he’ll ever be lucky enough to get the chance to meet him again. Not like Sua and Mizi.
“Flatterer,” Sua demurs, now massaging Mizi’s scalp. She groans in appreciation, but makes no sign of waking up. Sua smiles fondly at that, and Ivan suddenly feels as if he were an outsider, an intruder, a voyeur to something special he wasn’t supposed to see.
“I try,” he says, weaker than he means it to be, and turns away to escape. He clears his throat, his lips twitching up in a facsimile of a smile. “I’ll leave you be. I’d hate to be a third wheel.”
His hand only just grabs the doorknob when Sua calls out his name. He stops, but doesn’t turn. Her voice is unbearably gentle; she speaks like she knows what she’s going to say needs to be soft, or else— “I am sorry. He’ll learn to see you too, one day.” She laughs, quietly earnest. “You’re hard to ignore.”
He surprises himself when he finds that he doesn’t feel all that bitter. Because in the end, all he really asks for is seeing Till. An honest smile pulls at his face. “I’d hope so. Tell Mizi I said hi.” Then he turns back, and the door clicks shut behind him.
——
There’s a monster in a cave, and it watches them with the lazy surety of a predator that knew it could hunt them whenever it felt like it. Mizi is frozen in front of it, hands clasped over her mouth and mere feet away from its jaw, where teeth bigger than their heads gleamed under the light. A red flower crown lays by its feet, trampled and crushed.
Till shakes on the ground, his hands digging through the dirt with fearful tension. Mizi doesn’t so much as glance at him, golden eyes darting between the flower crown and the monster’s snarling lips.
Ivan watches from the corner, a hidden shadow by the wall.
What would they do? Was the crown worth it? He imagines himself in their place, envisions himself leaning in and pressing his palms on the smooth enamel of the creature’s teeth. He doesn’t fear it like they do; it’s no true monster, not like the ones who run ANAKT Garden. Yet he stays, and watches.
Mizi finally moves, but only to take a step back, slow and careful as to not startle the alien. Its numerous eyes track her movement unerringly, despite her efforts. Her breath hitches, and suddenly something sparks in Till. For a moment, it looks like he won’t move.
But then, but then–! Till is up, determination set in every line in his body as he takes a step forward, face twisted into an ugly snarl. It’s the most beautiful thing Ivan’s ever seen.
Till glares it down like it’s not heads taller and twice armed. He steps forward, and lunges. Ivan grips the wall and tilts forward, enraptured.
Again, he wants. Again.
——
The sky is beautiful, tonight, fiery dark red a backdrop to the stars and meteors that cascade through the horizons. He could join them, he thinks. They could join them. Freedom tastes fresh on his lips, and Till’s hand is warm in his.
“We’re so close,” Ivan breathes out, wondrously. He could reach out and feel it, feel what it’s like to breathe without metal pressing against his throat and without the bland sterile air of the ANAKT garden.
Till’s hand slips away like sand in an hourglass, fleeting and small. Ivan stops, lead in his limbs and his stomach sinking to his feet. He turns, and watches Till stare back, his face crumpled into a mess of conflict and desperation.
“What’s wrong?” Ivan asks, his throat dry. Nothing could possibly be wrong right now. What was putting that expression on his face? Till doesn’t answer, twisting his head to look back at their prison. “Till.”
“I—” Till chokes out, his hands tightening into fists by his side. “I can’t. I can’t.”
Ivan almost makes the mistake of asking why. But he knows, deep in his bones. He doesn’t think he could take it, if he said it aloud. But he is not above pleading. Not when they are so close.
“Please,” he says. Till’s eyes have never shone so brilliantly before, a reflection of all the stars they could never reach. “Don’t stay here.”
Till bites his lip, casting his gaze downwards. Ivan’s heart is in his hands, and he is leaving it behind to drown. “I have to.”
And he turns and goes and runs. He does not wait for him to catch up. Ivan watches and watches and watches. He looks up at the stars, and laughs a bottle-shard kind of laugh, fractured, helpless, jagged. And then, Ivan follows.
——
Mizi is slumped against his back, her spine curving against his as she dramatically complains aloud. “They really are working us to the bone! Don’t they know we can’t sing for that long without getting worse? And then they have the nerve to scold us to hell and back for it!” She shakes her fist above her, shouting complaints to the sky.
Ivan chuckles in amusement, finding her grumbling endearing. “You did well anyways, didn’t you?”
“Still,” she insists, rolling off his back and landing on the floor with a small oof! “It’s the principle of it, Ivan.”
Ivan nods agreeably, and screws open his water bottle to take a shot. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he shrugs casually. “What matters is we do good,” he says, matter-of-fact. “You know what happens if we don’t.”
She looks away, her face hidden from his view. She doesn’t reply immediately, but her fingers drum consideringly on the ground. “Is it possible there’s a life outside of this?” she asks, though the question seems aimed more to the air than to him. She rests her cheek on the grass, her eyes finally turning back up to him. “A life outside ANAKT Garden?…An escape?”
Choked-up giggles threaten their way out of his throat. An escape, hah! He thinks of a red sky and falling stars. “If there were, would you take it?”
Mizi opens her mouth to reply, but pauses. Her eyes shine with memories, and the cusp of a realization that there’s something here for her she couldn’t leave. Ivan knows exactly what— no, who she’s thinking about. It’s a shame that all of them have something to lose.
“I… No. I wouldn’t.”
Ivan tilts his head in acknowledgment; he does not laugh, but he does smile at that, sharp and knowing. “We’re all fools then, hm?”
Mizi shoots him a confused glance, pursing her lips. “What do you mean?”
Ivan sometimes dreams of fresh air and a collarless neck, of how freedom had tasted on his tongue, sweet and wonderful. He remembers spitting it back out and coming back here, where the air stayed sterile and his throat felt lined with acid. What was that, if not a fool abandoning everything in the chase of something he could never have?
“Oh, nothing,” he says airily, waving her off. But the difference between him and Mizi was that she had Sua in the palm of her hands. The difference was that if she did find escape, Sua would follow. “It’s just that would make the both of us.”
“Really?” Mizi sounds surprised. Ivan thought he was obvious, most of the time. Then again, this was the same girl who doesn’t see the way Till looks at her, like she hung the moons.
“Is it so surprising,” he says, amused, “that I have a reason like you do, to stay?”
“Like me,” she repeats, and meets his gaze. Her glasses slip down her nose as she blinks, her eyes widening. “I don’t… wait. You—?”
He leans closer to her, smiling impishly. “Your attachment to Sua is not something secret,” he says, and Mizi’s face erupts into red. Cute, how she thought it was in any way hidden. “Don’t be embarrassed! It’s very sweet.”
She flops over to her back, throwing an arm over her eyes and letting out a long, flustered groan. “Ivan,” she bemoans, “does that mean she knows? Have I been just acting stupid this entire time? What if she—?”
Ivan places his finger on her lips to shush her, and she snaps her mouth shut, arm lifting up the slightest to peek at him. He sighs ruefully, shaking his head.
“You’re acting stupid right now,” he chides, wagging his finger in front of him. She really just was that oblivious; how could she not notice the devotion that Sua had for her? Then he flicks her on the forehead, earning a yelp, and clicks his tongue in reprimand. “What, do you think she is not equally attached to you? Give yourself more credit.”
She rubs her head, nursing the red mark beginning to form there as she pouts at him. “…Okay.” Then she sits up and shoves at his shoulders playfully. “Since when were you so good at this stuff, huh?”
“I’m just observant,” he demurs, taking the push in stride. “I like to watch people.”
“I’d say that’s weird, but it’s helping me right now, so thanks!”
“For watching people,” he says, raising a bemused brow.
She huffs. “Don’t be weird about it.”
Ivan watches her close her eyes as she relaxes on the grass, stretching her limbs and shaking out any soreness. Why Mizi has chosen to befriend him, he doesn’t quite understand, no matter how much he studies her. That doesn’t take away from the act of being chosen; while not to the same extent as Sua, there’s something warm in his chest that starts when Mizi runs to him and rambles on about anything, inane or not.
It makes him feel guilty, sometimes. He doesn’t hate her, couldn’t if he tried, but it’s tiresome, at times, to see Till look at her like he looks at him. At the heart of it all, though, there’s acceptance.
Till is always going to be his world. Mizi is always going to be Till’s.
Suddenly, she pushes herself up to her feet, and drags him up with her. With a startled grunt, he blinks blankly at her as she gives him a blinding smile. “Okay, enough sitting around, let’s go!”
What can he do but laugh and agree?
“Of course,” he says, and follows.
——
Till is beautiful like this, teeth bared and eyes fiery with fury. His fist lands against Ivan’s jaw, and already he can feel a bruise beginning to bloom on his skin.
Red flower petals are crushed between his fingers as he strikes back against Till, the remnants of a gift. He’d feel bad about destroying something Mizi had made, but Ivan’s focus is narrowed down to the twist of Till’s lips and the furious glare pinned on him. Him and him only.
A trill of euphoria runs through him, seeing his attention all on him. Till grabs the collar of his shirt, stretching fabric, and all Ivan can think is eyes on me.
——
The nightclub is never a good place to be. At least, not for humans like them. Ivan readjusts his suit, and combs through his hair, his teeth pressing into his lip harshly as he stares down the darkly lit halls. Music pounds in his ears, unpleasant and jarring.
It’s no wonder the aliens are so fascinated with their singing, if this is how their own music sounds. He walks down the hallway, confidence lining his step. He belongs here, he’s projecting. He is not an intruder.
He stops in front of the room, the one he knows has him in it. He steps through the doorway, shadow stretching forward until it covers his prone body, his torso laid over the side of the couch like a ragdoll. The room has no lights on at all.
Ivan slinks forward, kneeling down in front of Till, hands gently holding his shoulders and eyes lidded with numbing fury. Till’s eyelashes flutter up and down, brushing his cheekbones, but he does not wake. A bruise colors his cheek, evidence of an order not followed.
Ivan closes his eyes. Brushes his knuckles to Till’s hair to tuck it behind his ear. His fingers float towards the damned collar covering his mouth, and press the release button. With a click, it falls into his hands, and he nearly crushes it when he tucks it away, uncaring. His thumb caresses the silver letters emblazoned on pale skin, ever so softly, before cradling his face.
“I’m here,” he says, his voice a facade of reassurance only for himself. He leans his and presses his forehead to Till’s cheek, inhaling deeply and savoring his still-constant warmth. He holds him close, as if he’d fade to dust the moment he looks away. If he could, he’d tuck him into his ribcage and keep him there for as long as possible, next to his heart where it beat for him.
Till doesn’t stir, but breath still leaves his lips. Ivan studies him quietly, the shadows under his eyes and the dark bruises purpling on his skin. Then he glances at the table to his left, a recent newspaper hanging halfway off. In bold red, MISSING headlined it. Pink hair was printed below it.
Round 5 had done its damage to more than its participants, Ivan knows. He looks back down at Till, peaceful in his sleep. Maybe one day we’ll take the leap forward, he remembers, his words echoing in his ears, from once upon a time. Sua had her turn. Perhaps now it’s his.
——
When he stops singing, Ivan knows what he has to do.
Till weakly pushes his chest, but it does nothing against the force that is Ivan, not when he had a mission to accomplish. His lips clash violently against Till’s, teeth clacking together and wide eyes staring right at each other. At the very least, he thinks, he will die knowing the taste of his lips. The shocked silence of the crowd does nothing to deter him. They’re not important, not right now, not ever. His eyes dart up, and sees the numbers going up, up, down, down.
And then he pulls away, his eyes steady on Till. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. His thumbs press against the slope of his throat, and he thinks, faintly, how easy it would be to snap it. And Till would let him. The thought fills him with fury, at ANAKT Garden, at these aliens, even a little bit at Mizi. His fingers do not tighten, his face smoothening out into stoic frigidity he does not feel.
Till is pliant in his arms, unfeeling, his gaze blank. He looks straight through him, as if he were nothing but glass. Ivan does not falter.
He hears the alien’s jeers and boos, the rain cascading around them, white noise to his ears. He sees Till’s eyes close shut, uncaring. He waits, and waits, and waits—
The first bullet hits, pain lancing through his body like fire. He keeps his hands to Till’s throat, determined to see this through. Till’s eyes open and find life, then, realizing. It’ll do nothing to change this, though.
The second hits his shoulder, and he crumples forward slightly, grip faltering. Till starts to move, his hands going up in horror. Ivan resolutely keeps his eyes fastened on his.
The third hits somewhere fatal, he knows immediately. Blood gurgles up his throat and dribbles down his lips, warm and tacky. Till finally — finally! — looks at him, really looks at him. It’s like the floodgates finally open; his eyes flicker with a thousand emotions, as open as ever, shock, fear, panic, terror, grief—all from a heart Ivan never had and never will.
He lets go, legs unable to hold his weight any longer. Till’s hand flies up to his throat, the other half-way to the air, as if he could stop Ivan’s fall. He smiles, blood sticking to his teeth and metallic on his tongue, because, for a fleeting moment, Ivan was brave. For a moment, he was the one who took the leap. And for a moment, Till looked and saw him.
And he knows Till will live.
He lands on the floor gracelessly, strength leaving him so quickly his head spins, though the blood loss does nothing to help. Till collapses to his knees in front of him, hand still on his throat like he could feel the phantom grip of Ivan’s hands there.
There’s a whisper in his ears, barely there underneath the rain. “Hypocrite,” Sua says, the ghost of her fingers curling around his shoulders as the world fades around him. Her voice is something sad, something fond. “Dying isn’t brave.”
Maybe it wasn’t. But it was his last act of defiance. Couldn’t they give him this, this willful way to tell Till, I love you, I love you, I love you?
For Till, he’d do this; to the victim of his whims, his shallow emotions, he’d do this.
He closes his eyes, with the parting sight of Till, looking at him like he’s never seen him until now.