Chapter Text
The rain had already soaked through their clothes completely, and yet the song wasn’t even finished. It felt like the longest round yet, with the rain, the endless black backdrop, and the towering heights of their stage. Till swayed in front of the mic, eyelids nearly closed. He knows who will win, knowledge deep-seated in his bones, and perhaps that’s the exact reason he didn’t— can’t look him in the eyes.
Unbidden by his wishes, images of their time spent together, their childhood and every waking moment, flashes in the forefront of his brain, like a nightmare come to life and it makes Till wants to claw at the soft edges of the memory. Voice scratching against the dry walls of his throat, he hears Ivan pick up the lyrics after him. He can feel the staring, those dark eyes on him again, and his knees nearly buckle under the weight of it.
It was heavier than the rain.
*
Till never got to find out who would win, between Ivan and Luka. Not like he was expecting to be alive when the round happened, but he was still in the belief that Ivan would’ve won.
Like how he should’ve in their round, too. It’s not like Till would’ve won against him anyways.
Except, Till never got to see the words “IVAN WIN” on the screen, like he expected, before screams and gunshots engulfed the entire stage. Except he wasn’t paying attention to any of the chaos.
Because—
The moment he saw pink hair and blazing eyes, he knew. He knew his life doesn’t have to end here. It won’t.
*
Everything is warm. Their clothes are still wet and Till can feel the dripping water from Ivan’s hair. Or is it his? He can’t tell anymore, with how close they are. Still, his heart pumps loudly in his chest, still working off the death they narrowly dodged. Yet, even with the soaked fabrics bunching on their heated skin, Till can’t remember the last time he’s felt this warm, this safe.
Ivan sighs heavily at his side, shifting to press his large head into Till’s neck.
Till swallows.
Scratch that thought. Under red skies, real grass under his feet, the echoing laughter of their youth. A hand in his. His heartrate speeds up. It must be the adrenaline—
“Ivan! Till!”
Till snaps his head up at her voice, her voice. She looks— different, is the first thing he thinks of.
Mizi nearly trips over herself in her haste to get to them and Till almost stands up to steady her— except he stumbles too, because Ivan’s weight is heavy on his side, but she rebalances herself before he could shift Ivan away. She reaches them in no time, skidding her knees in the process, though she doesn't seem to care or mind.
“Mi-” He opens his mouth, and it still tangles.
She wraps them both with her arms, reaching even Ivan, uncaring of their drenched state. “I’m so glad you’re alive! I’m so happy!”
Till’s heart nearly jumps out of his chest at their close proximity. Feeling heat rise to his cheeks, his arm hovers above her shoulders, shaking and frozen. Without a working brain, he blurts out—
“You look different.”
“Eh?” Mizi blinks her golden eyes, tears prettily clinging onto her lashes, and she’s so close Till unconsciously grips on white blood-soaked fabric, chest tight. Her short hair curls around her ears and flushed cheeks, as if reacting to her emotions. He didnt even register her sound of confusion, paused before she’s laughing wetly, eyes closing. “Pfft… your face, Till,” she smiles.
Till stutters in the face of her blinding glow, but someone else replies before he could form a coherent thought.
“We’re glad you’re safe too, Mizi.” Ivan murmurs.
Till could feel the vibrations of his throat through his shoulder, and it makes Till tilt his head to look at him, albeit in an awkward angle. He can barely see anything but Ivan’s shut eyes and wet tousled hair, shiny despite running away from (everything they’ve ever known) the segyeins, but he can feel Ivan’s breath as he deeply inhales from Till’s neck.
Mizi wails even more, and it catches Till off guard, as tears freely fall from her eyes, as she squeezes them both in a hug with a strength Till didn’t knew she had. He feels his lip twitch though, and a smile blooms for the first time in what felt like years. Ivan bleeds, watches, and breathes.
(Nothing has changed.)
*
Mizi has been acting weird.
Till doesn't know why, but after their check-ups and getting proper clothing, Mizi started to act… off.
She’s been staring… at him? Till flusters at the thought, giddy when he first noticed. He thought he was finally getting noticed. His heart speeds up every time they catch each other’s eye and Mizi jolts, before smiling and looking away. But then he realizes her stare was… unnerving. Like it goes through him, and never really at him. Like she’s rewriting the image in her mind to something or someone else entirely, unaware of her surroundings. Until, at some point, he realizes it wasn’t really him Mizi was staring at.
When the three of them were sitting in the cafeteria, the area was familiar with its mixture of smells, numerous tables, and groups of people talking; what wasn’t familiar was the absence of one person in their table. Mizi continues to chat and eat, while Till tries to keep the conversation going, stuttering. Ivan whispered, “Thirsty, gonna get water.”
With his head down, Ivan moves out of his seat and grabs his half empty cup of water. Till’s gaze trails after them, off-put by his… non-annoying, quiet demeanor. Maybe he’s still tired. Till really doesn’t understand him. But when he looks back at Mizi, it feels like looking into a mirror. She stares at Ivan as he goes further, but her eyes look so… foggy. It’s the look Till often recognizes as the look she gazes at him with, but now it dawns on Till; it was never him to begin with. Till doesn’t know what to feel. A strange mix of jealousy, worry and defensiveness rises in him simultaneously, because he doesn’t like the stare. For many reasons. It’s not the kind of stare he thinks he associates with his own feelings, but it’s… different, and familiar. Like, the reason he thought it was directed at him, was because he has been at the end of that look before. It prickles at his skin.
When Till opens his mouth to ask about it, Mizi snaps back to attention and looks at him. They stare at each other silently, before Mizi chuckles, sweat beading on her brow. Till doesn’t say anything, until Ivan comes back and sits beside him again.
“We— were you thirsty too, Mizi?” Till asks in a daze, flushing at talking to her, taking initiative.
“Ah? Oh! Not—” Her eyes flicker everywhere, smile awkward, and it cruelly reminds Till of his own behavior, back then. “Yes!” She blurts out, changing her mind, as her gaze resolutely finds his, “yes, actually, now that I think about it... I should also, uhm, get some water.”
Till stands without a word and goes to the water dispenser, mind awhorl. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. He comes back, cup of full water in hand, and places it near Mizi’s plate of food. Mizi’s hand twitches.
She mumbles a thanks. Till nods, and sits in his own seat. He turns his body to face Ivan, and grabs his cup.
“If you wanted your own water, you should’ve just grabbed one,” Ivan says, looking down at him. It wasn’t a protest, just a statement, but he doesn’t stop Till from drinking it until only half is left. Ivan pokes his cheek mid-gulp and Till jolts, slapping his hand away. He swallows, and prepares to bicker with Ivan once again, the only constant throughout his life that has yet to change. Mizi laughs at their antics, not touching the cup of water. Ivan steals back his own cup, glances at Till with a smirk, and drinks from the same spot Till did.
Till feels his ears heat at the twinkling laughter from Mizi, grumbling at Ivan for being weird. Their food remains where it was, two half eaten, the other clean; one cup of untouched water, and one half-full. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t mention whatever Mizi was doing. Mizi doesn’t either, and nor does Ivan know what transpired during his short walk away from their table. For a while, it’s normal. He needs the normal.
Until it all comes to a head.
*
They were in the middle of getting some drinking water after endurance training when Mizi mentions Ivan.
Till tenses up. It’s never been good, whenever someone mentions Ivan. Recently, the search for the human rebellion has gotten more serious. Mostly due to Unsha, Ivan’s guardian, leading it. A man of great power, lost his pet? It sickens Till to remember the live commentery he made about Ivan.
“If Ivan had died, I would’ve said he was a great investment, even if he didn’t win Alien Stage. He’s still quite popular, isn’t he? Haha.” Unsha’s great figure trembled, having a good joke about Ivan's life. Then, the segyein got darker, in both tone and attitude. “But kidnapping him is much different.”
The device broadcasting it only spoke through Segyein language, but someone in the rebellion— Isaac, his name was— translated the news to them during one meeting, since it was talking about the rebellion. Keeping abreast of the current Segyein society, especially regarding human tracking was important, Isaac replied when asked about it. It keeps them informed, and on their toes.
“Please,” Unsha’s wife spoke up, “please bring him back! He's so precious to us… Nothing can replace my Ivan!” She then bursted into tears, as Unsha tried to placate her with a hand on her back. Even without Isaac's translation, just the voice enough grates on Till's ears. Turning her away from the camera, he directs one last line to the masses. “Come back, Ivan. You have a place here, with us.”
In the room were the people leading the numerous factions Till hasn't memorized yet, but he only knew they were all looking at Ivan, waiting for his reaction. Ivan, beside Till, just sat ramrod straight and smiled at the room, eyes closed, tooth digging into his lip. The news continue playing in the background, as the light of it bounces off his fair skin and dark hair, illuminating him— almost hauntingly. But Ivan's silence cuts through the noise as cleanly as he swept through his classmates back in Anakt during exams, and refocuses them on the layout of the facility by pushing the hand-drawn blueprints forward.
(He hadn't said a word back then.)
Till shakes his head at the memory, disgusted. Anywho, he's had to defend Ivan's worth to Hyuna for a while. She didn’t say anything, but Till was afraid. Afraid of Ivan losing his spot in the rebellion, like a punishment. He knows Ivan knows the layout of the Garden, knows he can unlock the chokers, because he's always done it for Till. Except, after being rescued, Ivan became… subdued.
“Till?”
He jumps, yelping when he realized Mizi got closer to him. When did that happen? Skittish, he took a step back and smiled shakily. “Sorry, got lost in thought. What did you say, Mizi?”
She chuckles nervously. “Just… do you know what's up with Ivan? He's never… acted like this before.”
“What do you mean?” Till replies, wiping the sweat off his neck.
“Just… you can tell, right? He’s… not himself.” She continues; “I just think something is wrong.” and “I’m just worried for him.” She looks genuinely dejected about it.
“Why are you so...” Till trails off awkwardly, not knowing how to end the sentence. After witnessing it once, Till kept seeing her do it. Often. During physical training, meetings, bar breaks, meal times— anything. Images of Mizi staring at Ivan flash before his eyes, clear as day. The same foggy, far-off look she gets, sometimes with a smile paired with dimmed eyes. The touches too. Mizi has always been affectionate, and Ivan was never bothered by her reaching out. Or was he? It rumbles in his gut. The comfort of touch, between them. “He's just not used to the… new environment.” Till finishes lamely.
Mizi smiles and it doesn't reach her eyes.
They talk a bit more, and tension slowly seeps out of Till's body the further away they get from Ivan-related topics. But Till can't tell the same for Mizi, who moves coiled and with a frown. So, despite Till's horrible conversation skills, he attempts to liven up the atmosphere with jokes and idle talk. Eventually, Mizi stops replying with laughter and affirmative sounds, while Till slowly grows more awkward by the minute. It's like he's just talking to himself. Till, as a last attempt, tries to coax her out of her sudden stupor by reaching out to her with two cups of chocolate in hand.
“Miz-”
“He reminds me of her!” Mizi bursts out.
Till jumps— nearly drop the cups, spilling some of the liquid, before stupidly blurting out, “who?!”
Mizi snaps her head up to face him, teary eyed and glaring, her hands in an iron-kuckled grip. When she opens her mouth, Till expects to be screamed at, flinching.
Instead, what comes out was a feeble, anguished, “Sua.”
It claws out of her throat painfully, like she was hoarse from repeating the same word over and over, caught in the air and never left her back. Her hands come up to cover her face, gripping her forehead harshly, enough to make Till worry over her skin there, red in anger, as she trembles in her spot. An imaginary chain linking her brain to nowhere as she tugs herself bloody from the ghost of her.
“I never noticed… they looked so similar.” Mizi furiously whispers. “You know I was never the smartest in class,” She inhales, words muffled through her shaking fingers. She slowly pulls them away to tuck them as close to her body as she can, while Till stares in silence, taking a step forward reluctantly.
“They explained something about… having the same blood, or genes, or something. That makes you a ‘unit’.” Mizi brings up a hand to stare at it before wiping off the tears on her face.
Till remembers that lesson. Something about biology and the anatomy of humankind. Ivan was always better in those classes, while Till couldn't care less. He finds now, in this conversation, he regrets not having paid attention.
“I didn't get it. But then Sua explained it to me.” Mizi looks at him, but Till feels like she’s looking through him, somewhere far, far away from anything he has the right to peer into.
“They're actually siblings.” Sua whispers the words into Mizi’s hair.
“Siblings?” Mizi tilts her head.
“Yes, Mizi. People who have the same or similar genes as you, meaning you have part of their blood and they have part of yours. It's when humans have decided to want more than one child. I have them, siblings. I don't remember them much, it's a bit blurry. But they— we did look awfully alike.” Her voice echoes through the memory, stuck in a chamber-like candence.
“Where are they now?”
Mizi knows Sua clenched her hand tightly in this moment, taking a breath before answering.
“I don't know.”
“That's all she said to me. So, I don't know if—”
“If Ivan and Sua are siblings?” Till's voice reaches a higher pitch, eyebrows furrowing. His gut churns at the thought. Ivan would've told him, right? If he had a unit, if Sua was part of his life like that. Right? Unless he didn't know.
(Till doubted it, somehow. Ivan, not knowing about his own unit?)
“Didn't Sua ever—”
“No! Don't you get it?!” Mizi swipes at the side, anger bubbling over her skin. “Sua never told me anything! She— she,” This would the moment Till would never forget, because when your Goddess drops to her knees in despair, after the worst has passed, what is there to do with your devotion? Is it right to worship a Goddess who's never accepted such faith from you?
Or was it someone else who sustained her, accepted that you will never be?
Mizi’s sobs are loud and gut-wretching, akin to a dying, caged animal, prompting Till to kneel by her side, placing the cups of chocolate by the floor. He pats her back robotically, not knowing how to comfort Mizi through grief of a lost loved one. He think he’s lost someone too, a long, long time ago, but that sorrow has long since faded along with the painful memories.
So, with nothing else but those withered memories to guide him, Till simply sits by Mizi’s crumpled form, patting her back. Mizi suddenly slaps his hand away— he grunts, taken aback— as she pushes him off her personal space and glares, hard and heavy, as tears fill up her eyes. It furrows her otherwise smooth skin, crinkling the edges in a rage-spilled contortion as sweat and tears drip from her jaw. Her hair fans around her face, curling around the edges and it seemed sharper, pinpricks of something tangled in a way Till can't describe. He gulps, confusion warring with fear and worry. This wasn't the Mizi he spent all those years looking from afar; this was more akin to the creature that beat Luka to the ground with nothing but her fists and grief.
(Or maybe, it was still Mizi. They are one and the same, and it was Till who mistook the layers as someone else entirely. There's no time, however, to realize such a grievance, nor does Till had the capacity for it, at the current moment. Maybe life would've been kinder if he did.)
Till doesn’t move then, after that, while Mizi stays rooted in her labored breathing.
“I’m sorry,” she gasps, but a wretched smile worms its way onto her face. “I’m sorry.”
Till nods his head, in lieu of a proper response. An apology in silence.
*
It’s like that moment opens a dam between them. Mizi started confiding in him about things he never thought Mizi experienced, or felt. She tells him of moments he saw from afar, and gives him a vivid imagery of unadulterated happiness within Mizi and Sua’s life. She gives him context to expressions Till only ever saw from behind the bushes. She gives him moments that feels too intimate for him to know about, to see something so personal that makes him shy away from her stories.
It’s exciting, because she starts to hang around him more. It’s envious, because he wishes it was him she was so happily recalling. It’s guilt-inducing, because Sua has her place by Mizi’s side and to honor her, Till would never think of replacing it. Mizi wouldn’t ever do it, but Till knows where the line lies.
To hear the person you so adored speak about someone else with such tender care and loyalty, Till slowly learns how to uncurl his palms. He feels it slip from his fingers, the more Mizi breaks upon retelling their stories of being together. He picks up the pieces he never thought he’d hold, and helps Mizi come back to herself.
*
Despite the change in their dynamics, Mizi still stares at Ivan sometimes, and now, Till thinks Ivan has noticed.
Ivan doesn’t say anything about it though.
Till still feels his chest constrict every time.
He tries to see what Mizi sees, the similarity. Sua was described to be sweet, tender, caring and soft. Till manages to only say she's quiet and amicable, if only a little awkward to everyone except Mizi. He never had many interactions with her, save for the graduation letter and meeting that... monster Ivan visits sometimes, back then.
Then he looks at Ivan, and feels the burn at his chest. He's nothing like Sua, isn't he? Maybe the black hair and dark eyes, he can understand. But he's annoying, popular, knows how to talk to people. Till thinks of red skies. Reckless.
Ivan finally decides to acknowledge the two pairs of eyes on him, ever perceptive of gazes trained on his figure. He pauses in mid-conversation with Dewey, waving at them mildly before making direct eye contact with Till and sticks his tongue out. Infuriatingly, like clock-work, Till bristles like a cat facing a stealing thief. A rat, maybe, or a bunny that keeps provoking him.
It's moments like these Till wonders, are they that similar, Sua and Ivan? He can't find it in himself to agree.
But when Till looks back at Mizi, she's staring with a stuck look on her face, as if someone used glue to freeze her features in that expression of— shock? Grief? Like she was reminded horribly what she—
“Ivan!” She bursts out, bouncing over to him in quick skips. She says something Till can't hear, frozen on the spot, and Mizi laughs. Similarly, Ivan grins at her.
It's a gorgeous scene, Till idly notes. The florescent light dapples color onto their skin in the bar, blue on Mizi's side and red on Ivan's. They intermingle in their hair and face, tinting it a faint purple, highlighting Ivan's pristine teeth and Mizi's shaking shoulders. Till finds himself stroking an imaginary pencil across the picture, painting the minute details before it gets washed out, blurred away from his memory.
Ignoring the sudden feeling of his stomach dropping to the floor, and clenching his fists. They look good. Of course they do. So, why does Till feel like clawing his way through multiple canvases?
*
“You're happy, aren't you?” Ivan asks one night. They're in Till's bedroom, after Ivan barged himself in while Till was getting ready to paint. Being out of Anakt was wonderful, as it was difficult. Paper was usually scrapped, dirty, or of low quality, now that Till knows the difference. Anakt always had good paper for their tests, and provided they wanted results, would give Till equally good paper for his drawings. Now though, those types of paper, he found, is actually a luxury. Grown from actual trees on real soil require oxygen and sunlight for growth, plus the creation of such human-made produce means it's only popular amongst those rich enough to even afford a human pet.
Thankfully, paper is well-known in the rebellion, as it's used for communication, posters, logistics, and creative expression. He was given as a reward for helping her fix some banged up instruments she picked up on her recent raid.
“What?” Till flicks his gaze up to Ivan with a frown, pausing in his pen stroke. Ivan's laid himself down on the bed, spread all over the covers like he's begging to be immortalized on paper. The sheets curl around him artfully, striking black shirt against gray covers, while he tilts his head to the side and smiles an award-winning grin. Till finds it all too fake, for it to be in his bedroom.
“Congratulations,” Ivan laughs, a beautifully curated sound, made to be swooned at on purpose. He glares at the man in his room, defiling it with plastic.
“The fuck are you even talking about?” Till snipes, bubbling with the urge to spread wild, red paint all over the picture just to give it some life.
"Congratulations for finally improving on your Mizi nose practice! It always looked a little too pointed, you know."
Till slams a fist on the bed, and it bounces with his anger, fervent. Ivan just laughs, an aggrivatingly familiar sound.
And says nothing more; Till feels the tension melt from the room. The silence while he goes back to sketching is familiar, but while his shoulders relax, he can't help but feel he's missing the big picture. The focus of the conversation. His mind flashes with an apple, bite after bite, until only the core is left behind, yet he's not quite there to make out what was carved on its edges.
And like wisps of smoke, it's gone before Till can even catch the outline of the shape.
*
Till finds out Hyuna has a brother.
“Had.”
He blinks. He glances at Mizi. She pursues her lips in a thin imitation of a smile. It's weak, and with weight. He looks at Ivan next, but Ivan is steadfastly staring at Hyuna's bowed figure, working over her prosthetic leg with oils and metal.
“Who did it?” Ivan asks. Till quickly reaches over to smack him on the shoulder, and Ivan just glances at him, rubbing at the spot. His eye twinkles though, and Till narrows his eyes at him.
She pauses. At the same time, Mizi squeaks. Hyuna quickly stares at her to shut up, and Mizi looks away.
Till raises a silent eyebrow. Maybe, months ago, he would've asked, “what? who is it?” out loud. Maybe, he'd have demanded why a "who" was even part of the question, and not the "how", though he can make a few guesses. Death isn't unknown to him, as evidence with how he's been helping Mizi through it all, and living beyond the threat of it.
But Hyuna's eyes and Mizi's body language says they won't get any answer. At least, not a true one.
Till learns to let it go. He's learning a lot, in the rebellion.
*
(The night before wasn't any different than usual. Till whacked his brain for any signs of change, of anything that would've predestined the event that would happen later. He should've paid attention.)
*
Till shuffles, feeling an intense gaze on him even while half-asleep. He cracks an eye open to see a shadow over his door, and he groans out loud. He sighs, grouchy at being woken, but this doesn't stop the shadow getting closer to him across the room. It stalks around him and Till can feel the dip in the mattress as the shadow sits down on it.
"Till." A voice, deep and soft breaks the silence.
"Ivan," Till acknowledges the shadow. Then, Till burrowing deeper into his sheets, "d' you think we're still kids, or s'umthin'? We aren't g'nna fit."
The staring continues, digging a hole into Till's skull. "Till."
"Wha'z wrong with your bed?" The usual sharpness of his voice is diluted by the raspy sleep that clings to his throat.
"Nothing," was the quiet reply.
"Idiot." Till huffs, grumbling something else under his breath. But he still moves slightly to the side.
Ivan took that as invitation to grab the covers and lay down beside Till, wrapping himself up against the chill. Ivan inhales, deeply, before settling down.
He turns his body to face Till, laying down on his side, his fingers nearly touching Till's exposed arm. Till didn't even flinch, simply closing his eyes. It's an uncomfortable fit, squeezed in a single-person bed, especially with Ivan's ridiculous stature and build.
The warmth beside him, if anything, is familiar though, so Till finds himself slowly falling back into sleep.
*
(Why didn't he pay attention?)
*
Till’s consciousness slowly ebbs and goes, and he thinks he feels a ghosting touch on his cheek, his forehead, his hair, before it dissipates into nothing. Groggy, he burrows deeper into the bed and welcomes the full darkness again. Though, he gathers what little brainpower he has left to pat his side of the bed, and instead of a warm body—
Empty sheets greet him, and Till sits up to furrow his brows. There’s still an imprint of heat on them. Usually, Ivan stays in bed until Till wakes up and kicks him out. But since Ivan has decided to escape without getting on Till’s nerve so early, he’ll consider it a blessing. A… weird blessing. He shakes his head, and gets up to start his day.
Till busies himself in the morning, shoving bread and egg into his mouth without looking. Counting off his to-do list in his head.
His days usually consist of eating, training with Isaac, reconvening with Mizi, drinking with Hyuna, and in the rare moments he's alone, he's scrapping up songs in his head, but seldomly does he write them down on paper these days. It always slips through his fingers, like sand, when he tries to think about the subject of those songs. Oh, and... whatever the fuck he does with Ivan. Some mix of hanging out, trying to get him to talk, and trying to parse his behavior.
(He'd have thought Ivan would've been... well, happier? In a sense. When they escaped. Till thought of red skies, with bright falling rocks, a hand in his and laughter that echoes with far more emotion than he's allowed himself before. He shook his head.)
Well, whatever. Now that they're out, they have no time lounging around. Ivan must've been hit the most with the change of lifestyle. They have a rebellion to plan.
Or, that's what Till tells himself, despite spending his free time knocking around pieces of wood together. He'd have to ask Dewey or Isaac to help him carry this out, since he's far from the shape he wants in order to carry heavy shit back to his room.
"Till!" Mizi's voice snaps him out of his thoughts.
"Mizi," he greets her with a smile.
Mizi opens her mouth, before tilting her head. "What are you working on?"
Till shakes his head, "just some furniture." Hyuna had given him room with just a bed and said if he wanted more stuff in it, he's welcome to build it himself. He can still hear her stern voice, melodic despite the gruffness.
"And you'll have to pay for it, the scraps, I mean. It's much cheaper to buy raw stuff but real trees aren't easy to find this in fucked up planet."
It also just got embarrassing when Ivan visited and kept commenting on his scattered underwear around the room, so he's resolved himself to build some sort of cabinet.
And a few other stuff.
"Well, come with me. Hyuna said it's important." Mizi's voice snapped him out of his memories. He mumbles an 'alright' before brushing off any stray wood dust on him.
Mizi stretches a hand for him, smiling all the while.
Till stares at her outstretched hand, and waits for the flush to creep at his cheeks.
It doesn't.
It's only when he grabs her hand to stand up does he look up at her. She's as beautiful as ever. Yet there's something unhidden from her gaze, the keenness, the sharpness, the maturity in them. Her smile is genuine; that hasn't changed, yet her eyes have. It's grown a deeper gold, than a bright sunlit yellow. Her short bubble-pink hair has washed off its shine, leaving a murky, clouded color in its wake, looking nothing like the angelic deity he used to hold her to. Now, she stands next to him, in the same dirty soil as he sets his legs on.
Somehow, it feels different, to have her by his side, than over beyond. It's not what he's expecting. He's not jumping with joy, or flushed with pride at the fact he's getting closer to her. It feels... lighter. Breathable. Like the halo he placed on her head has dissolved into the specks of her eyes which grew dim, melted into sand, and hardened over a fire. Like Till's not in front of a creature of divine judgement over his own flawed skin.
When she frolicked with Sua from afar, ignorance on her tongue, and softness still embedded between the lines of her fingertips, Till thought she was everything he held dear, personified. Now, however, he thinks she's just as lost as him in this entire universe.
"Thanks," he mumbles.
"No problem," she replies.
And Till's heart has yet to race.
*
Till learns to let go, but he wishes he was taught how to hold onto someone too.
*
Meeting Hyuna for the first time always felt like meeting hope personified. Gritty and hard-woven hope, made from fragments of shattered glass and glued with the blood from their still bleeding wounds. She was as much of a natural disaster as she was the only survivor turned savior.
Not only that, she was an incredibly expressive leader, stern but warm. She knows how to motivate her people as well as the moment they need the lonesome. Till himself was subjected to her heavy energy and quick understanding of his mood swings when he first joined the rebellion. He owes her a lot in this lifetime and he's willing to stand by her to repay it.
But as he stands in front of her, barely processing what she just said to his face, he thinks he'll have to break her decades-long plan of hers to smithereens, screw the life debt.
"Ivan did what?!"
Hyuna sighs, a hand massaging her temple. Her thick brows furrow in thought, and she stares at Till.
"Don't you hang around him the most? What's gotten into him?"
"I—" Till stutters, confused and hurt and trapped under two piercing gazes, "yeah, but. I don't... I don't know."
Why now? Didn't he want to escape that wretched place and only came back for Till? So why is he— is he returning there? What's there that he won't have here? The luxury? The certainty of food and safety?
No, that can't be it. Can it? It's Ivan they're talking about. That guy barely cares about. About anything! He can't have wanted to win that competition.
Did he?
Till wracks his brain for anything, anything these past few days that might've indicated this radical change in Ivan's behavior. Nothing jumps at him. Ivan's always been a little weird, lopsided and just plain. Plain Ivan. Then, he starts to think about anything he knows about Ivan in general. No birthday, just an adoption day. Unsha. The flowers. Likes to be annoying. Literature? Incredibly smart. An asshole.
The list Till makes in his head is pitifully, painfully short. His heart squeezes in dismay.
He must be making a face, because Hyuna approaches him with hard footsteps until they're shoulder to shoulder and reaches out with a firm hand.
"Look. We'll go back for him," she reassures, and Till nearly slumps to the floor in relief, "but just this once. If he rejects you then..."
The silence weighs on the room, cold and unyielding. Till knows what Hyuna is not saying. If Ivan rejects the escape, they will have no choice but to leave him there. They have other people to think of. Other plans to execute. An entire species to defeat. An era to take back.
If you ask Till though, nothing seems more important than dragging Ivan's ass back—
Back here. Back home. In the rebellion. With— with them.
With Till.
Hyuna moves away, as Mizi stares down in shock. The carefree way they walked to this room, chatting and laughing, dissipates like music to the wind.
(Till didn't know when their roles were reversed. But what used to be Ivan chasing him, seeking him out, Till is now the one doing the chasing. He supposes it's only fair.)
While Till would like to think he wasn't... dismissive of other back then, Till can't help but feel like Ivan's attitude is achingly familiar, like looking at a fogged up mirror, muddled with only the silhouette barely distinguishable from the masses of color.
Time passes slowly, as Till wrestles with it to try and come up with a plan to save Ivan. But something else nags at the back of his head, and it worms a disgustingly painful ache at the base of his neck that crawled up from his spine.
Each question directed at him and Mizi about Ivan's situation manifests itself in a shorter list than he anticipated, the phantom cracks in his ribs spread all the way to the tips of his fingers, tingling and aching, like the strings holding them up is finally snapping.
It's unnerving then, when everyone looks at Till to know, to provide everything about Ivan, and comes up with barely substantial information.
"I thought you were friends," Hyuna remarks offhandedly, looking at the map of expensive land owned by the rich Segyeins, as well as guard positions and their time of rotation. Courtesy of Ivan, of course.
We are, Till wants to snap. They've known each other since they got in Anakt, they were each other's the first human interaction after being dropped into that facility, they would've been each other's last face to see, during that cruel round of life and death. So, they are friends, aren't they?
Except Till isn't sure what Ivan thinks of him, why Ivan clings, and why he's so invested in blowing Till's patience to dust.
"Really? I thought they were lovers, honestly." Isaac quips.
What?
Were they?
A smack. "Idiot, don't say that so carelessly. They're obviously going through something if this happened."
They could be. They could've been. Till grapples with his thoughts like sand, falling between the cracks of his fingers. Could they? Lovers. Two people who love each other. Are they? He doesn't know, okay, he doesn't know!
"That isn't right though, is it?" Mizi speaks up, asking the question at the back of Till's mind. He's seen them, humans of the same gender interacting with the intent you only should between the opposite sex. He's never brought it up, too awkward about it and he thought he was the only one bothered by it, having grown up in the facility. He just didn't think it'd be relevant to him. Not when—
He looks at Mizi.
And Mizi looks at him, stricken.
The silence stretches as teal eyes stare into molten gold, feeling the floor underneath Till's feet collapse under him, and he's freefalling into oblivion. At least, Till thinks at the back of his mind, Mizi looks like she's been drained all her blood. So. He's not alone in this.
“Hey.”
Hyuna cuts in, a knife wielded carelessly and unceasingly.
“Either get your issues sorted out here, or—” She pauses, for dramatic effect or she's thinking, Till doesn't know. As emotive as she is, she can be hard to read. Not that Till has much experience in that anyways.
“Or I'm banning you from the mission of saving him.”
Now, that electrocutes something in Till's spine, as he straightens his posture. At the corner of his eye, Mizi does the same. Glaring? Is she scowling? He hadn't noticed, but everyone's in the process of leaving the room. All he can focus on is Hyuna's hard stare and unbroken stance. Mizi might be trembling.
“So. Better get to it then.” Hyuna smiles, sharp as she tilts her head down to lower her glasses and stare at them in the eye. She slides out of her seat, easy and assured. It radiates her aura, even as the clinking of metals alert them of her physical weakness.
Not a weakness, Till can practically hear her voice in his head, sing-song allure. Yes, Till nods at her physically, as well as the mental thought. Not a weakness. Certainly not one to bring her down when the world tried.
She ruffles Mizi's hair and pats Till's shoulder on the way out, before gripping the handle, and having the last word in, “It's not wrong. It's...”
She trails off, suddenly hesitant, before shaking her head.
The door clicks shut.
Till swallows. Mizi sighs imperceptibly.
God, is this awkward. What do they even talk about?
*
Till doesn't know what Hyuna intends to do with two people who doesn't even know anything about the topic, talk about— the topic. Love? The same-sex abnormalities? They surely don't know what to call it.
But eventually, Mizi, ignoring the multitude of chairs in the room, plants herself squarely on the floor. She starts to take her shoes off in silence, hands quick and deft, rough from time, Till can see how mutinous the gesture is. Till can relate. He feels gittery, like he can't sit still. Ivan isn't in the rebellion, or anywhere near walking nor running distance, and the absence is a keen throb, like a vein with fabric tied around it, choking the blood flow to a violent stop.
"Till."
He jumps, blinking. He stares at Mizi with hesitance, and a sudden bone-deep fatigue. He was supposed to be nervous, and flustered, and shy. He used to be. So, what was he to feel now?
Eventually, in hushed tones, Mizi confides how she feels about the reproductive aspect of humans, without looking at him in the eyes. How the opposite-sex was supposed to be your co-creator, and yet, Mizi felt nothing but disgust over it. Her words are rapid fire, quickly melting into the air, as if afraid she'll run out of steam and hide into the shell she kept all her secrets in, cracked as it is.
"It was revenge." Mizi hisses in quiet regret.
"Over what?" Till whispers back.
"Your confession. I wanted— you needed to know. I love Sua more than anything. You needed to know that won't change." She finally looks up at him, shaky but determined. Always on the brink of something awfully wretched.
Till’s eyes widens once her words sink in, and a flush took over his body, shame crawling up his spine. He grimaces.
Till finds himself admitting to the floor, how Ivan and his final match made him feel. How ready he was to drop dead then and there. He couldn't have imagined winning. He couldn't imagine Ivan losing. In quiet tones of his own, scratching the back of his neck, he's tumbling over the words worse than Mizi, not at all graceful like she did.
(Unbeknownst to him, there was supposed to be a kiss. There was supposed to be hands over his throat, gentle yet violent in nature. Familiar hands replacing the choker. There isn't, not in this life. There comes a price— with that loss.)
"Do you love him like how I love Sua?"
He thinks of Sua and Mizi, of her stories with them as the starring protagonists, with nothing to tear them from their self-made bubble. He thinks of their grasping hands, of soft laughter, of a gorgeous understanding. They were never bloodied and bruised from each other's fists, or at least, Till's never seen them like that. Except—
How can he know for sure, when he doesn't even know Ivan as well as he thought? He looks at Mizi again, and her hands are unlike the hands Till imagines holding another in its palm, gentle and loving. The hands that held Sua close are the same ones that instictively found Luka's face a home with a fist. It doesn't connect. They don't make up. Calloused, bloody, clenched. Ivan's grin, Till's pain.
It boils his skin. He's getting a headache. How is talking about this supposed to help with getting Ivan back?
Till must've took too long to answer, because Mizi finishes up on tidying her shoes. He doesn't remember her bringing out tissues to wipe off the grime, but then again, his attention is never caught too long with her recently.
(Silence is already an answer, Mizi thinks back to what Hyuna said. She didn't understand then. She thinks she understands it now.)
Mizi sighs. Till flinches at the disappointment, an involuntary tensing of all his muscles.
“Relax, I won't bite.” Mizi pouts.
Till eyes her warily. A vision of Mizi in a gorgeous gown of snow punching Luka bloody on the floor flashes in front of his eyes, and, looking at Mizi's awkward smile, must've been a memory jogger for her as well.
“Well, not for you. You've never—” She hauls herself up, grunting, “done me or Sua wrong.” She grins sharply.
Till shrugs, still tense. He wants to break into a run and get out. To ride his motorcycle and drag Ivan back from whichever rich mansion he's holed up in. He doesn't know why a conversation like this can't have waited until after the mission, but Hyuna's words are different from the rules of Anakt. Till has done a lot to earn his place here, and with that comes respect for her and her team. It's not something Till is so willing to break. Till grips his arms, breathing in and out. It burns his throat, a phantom of weight pressing down on his esophagus.
This isn't how he intended to end the conversation. This can't be all there is to talk about. As unsatisfying as it is, Mizi and Till can't fill up what they don't know with the absence of the topic. They need Hyuna or maybe Isaac and Dewey to be a soundboard.
Till feels his eyes droop in fatigue, worry wrinkling his forehead and constricting his chest. There's got to be a faster way, isn't there?
Same-sex abnormalities. Opposite sex units.
Till blinks.
Oh. That could work.
*
Till dreams in fragments of color and abstract shapes, where nothing fits in the palm of his hand and the skies is the size of Ivan’s eyes. The colors mingle with each other in both gradients and sharp contrast. Half-aware, he supposes this comes with being an artist. He wakes up, though, sweating bullets and a catch in his throat, never restful in his bedroom.
Clutching at his sheets, he gets urges to break this newly made bed frame he built from scratch, with his own two hands, for the size of two people in mind. No warmth, no weight, no breath. Nothing that speaks of another in this empty bedroom he's caged in.
The darkness looms, as always, but the lack of… presence—
That's a thing they don't teach you, Till's fleeting thought strikes at his chest, acute and hurting as his eyes sting; learning what's it like to lose grasp of what you had.