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The boorish chanting of the crowd could be heard even inside the thick metallic enclosure in which Till was kept. After the last performance had ended without a winner, most of the chaos strategically covered by smoke bombs and quickly cleaned up by staff, the segyein were left thirsty for blood. His more so than Ivan’s, probably, after that whole spectacle with the living guitar.
Their voices rang inside his ear like nails scratching on the walls, closing in on him tighter as the time for the sixth round approached.
Even the fact that Mizi had been most likely rescued wasn't enough to put his anxiety at ease. Rather, he was frustrated that he had taken no part in it, that his next song wouldn’t reach her even though it might be the last.
At the very least, thinking of her kept his mind away from him .
Till had never known how to feel about Ivan. All smokes and mirrors, a liar with a convincing smile.
A friend, perhaps, in a fucked up way, irritating as he was. A savior, once. Maybe a guillotine soon enough. An enemy .
A rush of adrenaline and fear had sent his heart pumping when he had struck his last opponent. A spark of pride, even, when the collision made Mizi look up.
But when he imagined Ivan’s blood painting the stage, he felt nothing but nausea, as if his heart was freefalling into a deep abyss.
Till closed his eyes, covering his ears with both hands and digging his nails on his scalp like blocking out the noise could keep away his anguish as well.
It deafened him enough that he didn’t notice the little envelope being slid under the door. He didn’t see it there until after he opened his tired eyes. Till had only half a mind to pick it up, and only decided to do so because he recognized the handwriting on the front. Round and uncharacteristically girly calligraphy. Ivan.
‘To Till’, it read.
He hesitated to open it, too anxious to deal with any more bullshit, but before he knew it his hand was already digging into the envelope.
There was another thing besides paper. An old, worn out pen, with little bite marks on the rear end. It didn’t take long for Till to recognize it as the one Ivan had stolen when they were kids and then pretended to find for him.
It almost made him laugh. That bastard .
Was this his idea of a goodbye present? Till pulled out the letter next after deciding any distraction was a welcome one.
This is the last time we'll see each other, so I guess there's no point in keeping it a secret anymore. I know you've always liked things straight to the point, so I won't beat around the bush.
I love you.
Whatever he was expecting to find —an apology, a mocking provocation—, this wasn’t it. His eyes widened and a heaviness settled on his chest like he was suddenly crushed under a pile of rocks.
By this point, though, he couldn’t put it away.
I've loved you since we were children and I didn't even know what that word meant. Maybe you'll find that hard to believe from how much we used to fight, but even when I got under your skin, I really only wanted you to look at me.
Selfish, I know.
I'll always remember the warmth of your hand in mine as we ran under that burning red sky. I hadn't smiled like that until then and haven't since —so easily, without thinking.
I still grieve who we could have become —what we could have become— if you hadn't turned back. I don't resent you for it, though. I did the same foolish thing, after all. Because I also didn't want freedom as much as I wanted to keep feeling the way I did when I was with you.
Our time together was too short. I keep wishing we could have a little longer, wishing I could relive those few, rare moments where we both let our guard down, that we could stand under that same sky on our own terms.
But just like a shooting star, maybe their beauty lies in how fleeting they are. They're there for only a few seconds, they burn bright, you wish on them and then they vanish.
You burned brightly in my heart and cast an everlasting shadow that will never leave me even if you soon do.
My wish to you is that you don't forget me if I'm the one who vanishes. And when you step on that stage, whether you resent me or still hold some affection from those flickers of memories we had, I want you to keep your eyes on me until the very end.
This time your life depends on it, after all. ♡
PD: Yes, I stole your pen. I held on to it after graduation as a keepsake from you.
I think it's finally time to let go.
Something arose deep within his chest, making it rumble and burn like molten lava erupting from the mouth of a volcano, a chaos of emotions colliding and spilling out in tandems.
But the one that stood up was fury.
That selfish bastard! Was he trying to throw him off balance right before their stage? Did he want to mock him one last time?!
Till grabbed the pen and slammed it hard against the letter, stabbing through both paper and table.
Until the very last minute Ivan just had to play with him. He hated his condescending tone, that thinly veiled threat, the fact that he had managed to piss him off this much.
He hated that he believed him . That he, too, had grieved the part of him he had given up that day under the meteor shower.
He hated that he had the nerves to confess something like that now, when they had no more time.
Just a song, and there would be no more time .
Not even enough of it to get anxious before he was dragged out onto the stage, and his gaze met Ivan's.
Under the blinding lights of the podium, for the first time, Till saw him —the melancholy in those knowing pitch black eyes before his lips turned into that carefully curated smile that didn’t at all reach them.
And that burning hot anger started to feel a lot like pain.
Till clutched the microphone in his hand, and took a deep breath before their last fleeting moment.