Chapter Text
Till stood backstage, still as stone, whilst the makeup artists flitted around him like birds. One dabbed at his cheekbones with setting powder, another dusted a shimmer of blue glitter through his hair. They adjusted the folds of his costume, tugged at seams, checked for any wrinkles the cameras might catch. It was muscle memory by now—the pampering, the fixing. But it all felt louder today. Closer to his skin.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His eyeliner was heavier than usual, smudged at the corners in a way that made his eyes look tired. Haunted.
Fitting , he thought.
He and Ivan were about to act out their round 6 performance for Alien Stage, a series which heavily resembled idol survival shows- except you really put the ‘survival’ in the show.
The loser of each round died, death a mere form of entertainment for the aliens who held the participants captive- cheering and waving different coloured glow sticks as if it were an exciting, thrilling experience.
The humans died underneath foreign skies, stars they held no knowledge of, far away from home.
The aliens watched their suffering from behind the glass enclosure. They looked in, but felt no remorse.
It was a heartbreaking, twisted story- Till might’ve actually gotten attached to the series if he weren’t acting in it, since being addicted to a show you’re in is just kind of…weird. Seeing yourself on a screen in a situation completely different from being rugged up in blankets on your couch kinda takes away from the experience.
Till instinctively felt himself relax as the makeup artists pulled away from him, signalling that their job was done. This moment of relaxation didn’t last long, however, because the closeness of the scene dawned upon him.
Round 6 was the semi-final round. It was an emotional scene where Ivan sacrificed himself for Till. Till, who, in the series, was facing extreme emotional turmoil due to the disappearance of Mizi. Till, who no longer found purpose in his art, who had given up on winning.
He quickly scanned through the script in his head as he waited to be given the green light.
He had to act indifferent, ready, and nodded at the director when they asked him if he was prepared.
He can see Ivan just a few metres away from him, surrounded by people pampering his face and adjusting his clothes. He said something with a wide grin to a stylist, then looked right in Till’s direction.
They made eye contact, and then Ivan smirked.
It was stupid. A little grin, a crooked twitch of the lips, nothing out of the ordinary. But it sent a bolt of heat through Till’s body as he snapped his head to the side.
He hated how easily Ivan could do that. How a single look from him made everything feel unstable.
The reason why Till had been feeling so jittery for this scene wasn’t because it was necessarily hard to act, or because he had stage fright. It wasn’t because it was being filmed in one whole take, and any mistake would lead them to start over again.
It was because of the kiss.
After Till stopped singing, ready to sacrifice himself, Ivan, too, dropped his mic and embraced him in a kiss. They had rehearsed this scene many times over the past week- Ivan’s death- but not once had they rehearsed the kiss.
Perhaps that was due to Till’s stubbornness- his refusal to practice the kiss in front of all those cameras, his first kiss.
But could you really blame him? Ivan was the absolute worst person for this situation. Ivan, the man who he had known since middle school, who made him feel uneasy just with his intense gaze. Ivan, who caused Till a flurry of confusing emotions he didn’t understand.
Ivan, the first person to always be at Till’s side when he was hurt, or beat up, or sick, or tired. Ivan, who always provoked him with useless comments and snide behaviours.
Till doesn’t know how he’d react to his first kiss being with Ivan, and he doesn’t necessarily want to find out in front of all these people. It’s probably not even Ivan’s first. He was always up to do it during practice, but Till was always the one to chicken out.
The fact that this scene probably won’t mean anything to Ivan, but everything for him, scared him.
He’s not sure he can face the man after this filming is over.
But, whatever. Till rolled his shoulders back, sucking in a slow breath. His heart raced as the stage crew called out the final checks. The lights dimmed. He felt Ivan’s presence by his side, yet didn't spare him a glance.
“Three…two…one, action!”
Snap.
The director’s board clapped, and Till advanced onto the stage as the backtrack to ‘ Cure’ started to play.
Till wrapped both hands around his mic, the cold metal grounding his thoughts, submersing him into the scene.
He saw the fake guns glinting beneath the spotlight which will lodge bullets into Ivan’s body when he holds him by the neck tightly. He also noticed the electronic scores behind them, where the numbers will blink [89] - [70] as Ivan collapsed.
Till took a deep breath, then started to sing.
“Allow me, to the tips of your fingers…
Allow me, to the ends of your feet…”
Till continued with the lyrics until his part was finished, dropping his head low as Ivan made his entrance. His fingers glossed over his mic in an enticing manner, as if he were trying to seduce the audience. Ivan raised his head, sultry dark eyes peeking out from beneath his eyelashes as he opened his mouth to sing.
And boy did he sing.
“Even if your cold words
Carve scars beneath my eyes…”
Till swallowed hard, his breath catching in his chest. Ivan’s voice cut through the stage like smoke- rich, low, dangerous. Every note was like a church organ, harmonising with the song in a way which rattled your core.
It reminded him of the first time he heard him sing Black Sorrow , and the way all the cast members gushed over his voice in hushed tones behind the set.
It’s too bad Ivan’s character was obsessed with someone like Till. Not realistically, of course- but still. It was a pity. He might’ve won the show if the director didn’t want to go for the self-sacrificial approach and win over the viewers’ hearts with tears.
Ivan and Till sang in sync, the scores slowly increasing behind them. The buildup was perfect. The tension was palpable.
And then- it was time.
Till stopped singing, even as the music kept playing. His heart thudded so loud in his ears it drowned out the music.
It was close. Till wasn’t ready.
Till’s stomach twisted as he stared at the floor, not trusting himself to look up. He heard the clatter of the mic and Ivan’s footsteps as they approached.
His breath quickened as slender fingers caressed his cheek softly; tender, yet desperate. The space between them was so close now. Their breath mingled. The kiss was supposed to come next.
Till braced himself as the lights flared. Ivan’s cue to kiss him.
He waited, but Ivan made no move to close the distance between their faces.
Till opened his eyes in confusion to see Ivan looking at him like he was seeing him for the first time.
He’s hesitating. Why is he hesitating?
Ivan’s lips parted, just a little. Like he wanted to say something. Like he wanted to kiss him but couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Till’s heart surged in his throat. And then-
Bang!
The gunshot split the air like a lightning strike. Ivan jerked back a step, right on cue.
Was that it? Were they just seriously skipping it?
A splatter of red bloomed across Ivan’s white coat. Till didn’t move from his spot. He forced himself to stay in character, even though something about the way Ivan staggered looked off. Just a little too real. Just a little too… shocked.
Still, the cameras kept rolling, and despite his confusion, Till kept acting, and so did Ivan. Ivan coughed lightly and stumbled, as if the impact shook something loose in his chest. His hand came up to his mouth, then-
Bang!
The second shot. Sharper. Louder.
Ivan’s body recoiled like it had been punched. His eyes widened, a flash of genuine fear breaking through his character. He stumbled, clutching the wound on the side of his abdomen and shoulder.
“...Ivan?” Till asked, concern laced in his voice. This wasn’t right. Ivan had stopped moving, stopped acting. Till went to reach out, to see what was wrong, before Ivan brought a hand up to his mouth and coughed.
The other cast members sent each other wary glances behind the set as the director sat up in her chair, ready to conclude the scene.
The last thing Till expected to see when Ivan brought his hand back was red.
Blood .
To see crimson liquid seeping out from the corners of Ivan’s mouth, staining the hem of his shirt a deep red.
Ivan looked up at Till- genuine fear in his eyes. This wasn’t at all like how they rehearsed.
“Ivan!” Till shouted, reaching out to catch Ivan as his body crumpled, knees hitting the stage hard.
The music continued to play behind them, robotic and oblivious, like it didn't notice Ivan’s consciousness slipping away or the blood pooling beneath his coat in heavy, hot drips.
As Till supported Ivan’s limp body in his arms, desperately calling out his name for a response, it clicked.
This metallic smell.
No. Blood drained from Till’s face as he came to a horrific realisation. It couldn’t be. The bullets were meant to be fake- to be rubber.
In a desperate motion, Till fumbled with the buttons of Ivan’s blood stained coat, tearing it open.
The blood pack was still there. Nearly full. A small leak from the first bullet, but nothing that could warrant this.
Underneath it-
A wound.
A very real wound.
“ No… ” The word cracked out of him, hoarse and panicked. “ No no no-”
Ivan blinked up at him, unfocused. He coughed again- and this time, blood bubbled from his lips.
Till snapped.
He pressed his hands against the wounds, desperate and shaking. “Somebody help!” he screamed, voice cracking from the way it caught in his throat. At some point, tears had started streaming down his face, stuffing up his nose. “He’s really hurt!”