All the world's a (ALIEN) stage

“Sometimes, I can't tell if you have anything in your head besides Mizi and music.”
Burying the twinge of guilty conscience beneath his typical bad attitude, Till sneered. “Well, how is Ivan any different? He has no room for anything else in his brain besides pissing people off and the piano he loves so much.”
Hyuna’s action of drumming her fingers on the table froze, raising her gaze to stare at him in dumbfounded silence.
“What?”
Till shifted side-to-side, uncomfortable with her reaction. Did he say something wrong?
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You think Ivan loves... the piano?”
———
At the Anakt Performing Arts Academy, Sua and Mizi are classmates in their third year and final year, while Ivan and Till are a grade below them.
Yet, between school gossip, band gigs, a distaste for Shakespeare, a shitty father and an absent one, bouquets, KakaoTalk, sneaking out to smoke cigarettes, and a whole lot of pining, they might just end up falling in love, too.
Written for IvanTill Week 2024, one chapter for each day. (With some Mizisua. As a treat.)

Chapter Text

Till rarely remembered his dreams.

On those rare occasions when he did manage to retain some gossamer thin strands of memory before they scattered with his consciousness, the details were never very remarkable. Just some mundane, confusing amalgam of his daily life with some intermittent abnormalities. Sometimes it was at school, other times, he was on the subway. Sometimes Mizi would be there, other times it would be stray faces from the times spent in his foster home. Ivan, Sua, Hyuna—the regular suspects all show up from time to time. Nothing wild or all that interesting.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Bleary-eyed, Till pressed the lock button on his phone through his jeans pocket, ruthlessly silencing the call. He didn’t bother checking the name. No one was worth his precious sleep.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

“...”

Persistent, were they?

He blinked, trying to remember where he was, and why this sleeping posture made him feel so entirely like shit.

A car…?

Wait, this was Hyuna’s car.

For a solid minute, Till thought he might still be sleeping, stuck in one of his weird, mundane dreams.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Half-turning over, Till managed to extricate his phone from his pocket, wanting to check the identity of whoever was so annoyingly trying to get in touch with him.

He lifted the screen and—

Promptly lost his grip.

His phone fell under the seat with a thunk-ba-thunk-tink.

“Fuck.”

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Straightening up, Till sighed and leaned heavily against the headrest, ignoring the ingratiating vibration in favor of trying to clear his head. After some amount of time, Till wasn’t sure how long, the phone finally ceased its perpetual chiming, and the renewed silence was a welcome reprieve from the headache currently pounding against his temples.

He scanned the area outside the windshield, taking in the scene. The car was parked behind a building, facing a painted brick wall, black, the kind of thing that must get up to a million degrees when baked in the summer heat. Thankfully, it was only spring, and the weather was just overcast.

Till watched with a blank expression as someone walked out the rear door of the establishment. They didn’t spare him a glance and proceeded along the side of the building, preoccupied with their own affairs.

Till didn’t recognize them, but their movement drew his attention to a sign posted near the door.

Authorized Personnel Only Beyond this Point.

The haze of irreality started to fade and his head cleared up.

“Ah…”

That’s right.

This wasn’t a dream. Rather, it only felt like one, like he was watching one of his dreams come true.

Today, at a categorically cool venue, Till’s band UNKNOWN would be putting on their own headlining show.

A real show, with security at the door, merch in the back, a dedicated sound engineer, high-end monitors that weren’t just some secondhand trash bought off a declining KTV. The stage was more than just some wooden slates hammered together haphazardly in someone’s basement.

The venue is housed in what was once a theater, the building a split-level establishment that had been dragged out of the lackluster, local thespian scene and breathed in with new life.

Appropriately, the venue was named DRAMA.

It was a modest stage, to be sure, but a stage nonetheless. A real stage. Not a house show. He stared at the dedicated entrance for the staff and musicians, and the fact that he was qualified to come and go through those doors when most others couldn’t practically set his heart aflutter. Of course, he had to supply some of his own stuff—that’s why he was borrowing Hyuna’s car, to haul his shit around—but this was the first time he didn’t have to meticulously pack up every wire, amp, pedal, microphone, extension cord, cable, and other odds and ends that he owned, and then cart it up five flights of stairs to a stranger’s apartment or into some shitty dive bar.

A large lobby occupied most of the ground floor with distinct areas cordoned off into different sections for convenience: admissions, bathrooms, merch, concession and bar, et cetera. Across the wide ground floor, opposite the entrance, stood several sets of double doors that upheld the character of the old theater. One could practically imagine neatly dressed ushers in pressed suits and pleated dresses waiting on the other side, eager to escort one to their seat.

But the interior betrayed that vision: a grand, tall room with painted ceilings and elegant trim, utterly gutted of the old velvet and ruffles and replaced with a spacious paved pit, scuffed and worn by crowds and time. What was once box seating for classy operas had been converted into modified balconies, accessible through the lobby, designating two distinct sections for the audience. Despite being squeezed tight for space, the high vantage provided a prime view of the stage.

Everything was clean, but dark, trapezing a delicate line between looking like a punk-house and an old movie theater; tidier than the former, more grungy than the latter. The classical romantic architecture, maintained in the walls and captured in the beams and fixtures, now carried a distinctive gothic gloom.

And Till was scheduled to perform here in just a few hours.

This was a gig. A real, proper, paying gig. One could imagine how Till was feeling right now—

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He was pissed, actually.

Because he caught a fucking cold.

Because DRAMA met, no, exceeded every expectation for what Till wanted to mark the beginning his formal musical career, feeling every bit like the whole thing was a dream come true—the situation was that much worse.

If there was a worse time to become sick, Till certainly couldn’t fathom it.

(Maybe a first date? If it was with someone you really, really wanted to date? No, nevermind. That’s beside the point.)

(... Fuck it. This was definitely still worse than being sick on a first date.)

He’d spent literal years preparing for this day. Dealt with shitty, unreliable ex-band members, sunk hours and hours into practice, spent virtually all his money on new, better, increasingly professional equipment.

And he got sick.

Not some cutesy little fever, like a shoujo anime girl fallen ill after being caught in the rain. Flushed red cheeks and big, misty eyes? No.

This was like, bloodshot sclera and a throbbing headache, with snot dripping from his nose and clogging his throat for good measure. Even something as simple as swallowing water hurt. Each breath rattled his lungs. Till felt like a geriatric patient barreling down on his last days. If he had been trying to go for a chain-smoking, punk persona, his voice would at least sound be appropriately cool when speaking.

But singing?

He can’t fucking sing like this. Being the lead guitarist and main vocalist, it went without saying how his condition would impact their performance. Center stage belonged to him, motherfucker.

The fever and chills were annoying, but he could ignore it. Push down the discomfort, still capable of playing his guitar no matter what. It was less than ideal, but thanks to the miracles of modern medicine, he could keep the symptoms at bay with continuous dosages every few hours. Even if Till was that geriatric patient wobbling his way to the pearly gates, he would sooner die than put his guitar down, but singing with his voice in its current state was out of the question.

That’s how he ended up like this—delirious and angry, in a borrowed car by himself, with only his horrible coughing for company. About an hour ago, he downed a double dose of cold medicine and forced in a nap before it was time to meet with the manager to prepare for the set.

In a vain attempt to make himself feel better, Till tried to sing a few bars.

…

“Still sounds like shit, huh.”

No surprise there.

The show started three hours from now, and his other band members would be arriving in about an hour.

It felt like time was spiraling outside of his control. Shit, how did he even drive like this He barely remembered the ride to DRAMA. He should consider himself lucky he didn’t wreck—if an accident hadn’t kill him on the way, Hyuna definitely would end his miserable life for crashing her car.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

God, his phone was still buzzing? Take a hint. Not answering. No matter who it was, they couldn’t be more important than his shitty brain, which felt like it weighed two tons and had been soaked in boiling water.

As soon as the sound stopped, it started up again. Till groaned.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Wait.

That was a new sound.

Till tilted his head and squinted, discovering the world had become a little darker through the driver-side window.

“Till.”

His name was spoken like a greeting. Soft, low. A little teasing.

Till sneered.

“... Another headache appears.”

This headache came with a name, though.

Ivan.

“I figured you would be here.”

“Go away.”

Till spotted a big, dark car with tinted windows in his periphery, looming on the far side of the parking lot. It was the exact sort of expensive, posh thing that Ivan and Sua were always being driven around in.

Acting like he couldn’t hear him, Ivan continuing to tap on the window like Till was a fish in an aquarium, not a teenager with a notoriously bad temper and a low tolerance for Ivan particular’s brand of bullshit.

“Open up?”

No longer tapping, Ivan presented a pleased little smile, waiting.

… Whatever, this bastard already showed up. Till knew Ivan well enough to know he wouldn’t just leave, and it was easier not to fight him.

He unlocked the door but didn’t open it voluntarily.

(Till couldn’t be too accommodating, or he wouldn’t be Till.)

Undeterred, Ivan opened the door and a blast of fresh air cleared away some of the stuffiness in the car. If Till’s brain had been working normally, he probably should have cracked a window.

“Still sick?”

“Can’t you hear my voice? Feel like pure shit. I’m sure I look about the same.”

Ivan passed over the remark with a meaningful look, squatting down next to the seat so he and Till were closer to eye level. A hand reached out and pressed against Till’s forehead, which was quickly smacked away.

“No touching.”

At least Ivan has always stopped whenever Till tells him to stop, but not without laughing to his own satisfaction first. He took back his hand, wearing an amused look.

“You weren’t picking up your phone, I thought you might have keeled over in an alley somewhere.”

“... That was you calling? Should've figured. Whatever, I dropped my phone, it’s somewhere in the seat.” Waving a hand, Till added with a doubtful look, “Why are you here?”

“Hm? I told you I would help you set up for the show.”

The words were nonchalant, only, Ivan's slightly raised eyebrow made it obvious that he was doubting how exactly Till had such a poor memory.

... No, that wasn’t why he asked.

It was simply surprise, considering that had only been a remark made casually at school. Days ago, Till had been complaining as a means to distract from his very obvious excitement and desire to talk about the upcoming show. He was too proud to brag openly, but venting about the other band members was a good means to bring up the subject without seeming like he cared so much.

At the time, Ivan had laughed at his anger, same way he always did, but asked if Till needed extra help setting up. With a roll of his eyes, Till naturally said of course. The grievances with his band members were all real. He just never expected Ivan to make time when no one else did.

“You were serious?”

“Am I so unreliable in your eyes?”

… Mm, not really.

If Till was really made to think about it, he'd reluctantly admit that, for all Ivan was, he was anything but unreliable. Perhaps it was more accurate to say Ivan was annoyingly reliable—present, persistent, and perceptive. He probably came to more of Till’s band practices than the other members. Hell, the drummer thought Ivan was his manager for almost six months before it was revealed they were childhood friends and classmates.

(Apparently, Ivan looked old enough to be mistaken for a manager? That was more surprising to Till than anything. Whenever he looks at Ivan, he still sees the immaturity of rounded cheeks and lively eyes from the days they would catch grasshoppers or hide from the nanny.)

So no, Ivan wasn’t really unreliable. But, the hell? Till can’t just say that.

“Yeah, more or less.”

With a tilt of his head, Ivan’s black eyes curved into crescent moons as he grinned, canines flashing in the light. Till didn’t notice, focusing on chasing the ghost of his phone before it was completely lost in the abyss of the car seat.

From his vantage point, squatting beside the driver seat, Ivan could easily see where Till’s phone had fallen, and how close Till was to grabbing it. In the spirit of giving an inch and taking a mile, he reached under the seat and brushed against Till’s hand, lingering on the calloused fingertips from years spent plucking strings, before guiding Till’s hand to finally land on phone.

“Oh, and I have this for you.”

Ivan picked up a plastic bag that had been placed on the ground earlier. Till hadn’t noticed it before, but his eyes lit up when Ivan dropped it in his lap. It was such a welcome sight, he didn’t even bother putting on airs.

“Thanks.”

Inside were all sorts of cold treatments. Throat lozenges, fever patches, fast-acting, non-drowsy oral medicines.

“Still think I’m unreliable?”

“... Tch. Fine, you’re not so bad all the time.”

With a wicked glint in his eye, Ivan purposefully crowded over and squeezed Till’s cheek like an adult doting on a child.

“I should have recorded it. Say it again!”

“Gedd’off me!”

“Hehe.”

Ivan let him go, seamlessly gathering each piece of the garbage Till produced as he tore into the various packaging without batting an eye. He took a dose of medicine and popped in a numbing throat tablet first. Then, taking a deep breath, Till gestured for Ivan to move before he finally climbed out of the car.

There was cold medicine at home, and Till had taken some this morning, but it was old and who knew if it was that effective. This was the high-quality, name-brand pharmacy stuff.

Maybe he could survive the show after all.

“Let’s go in and meet the stage manager?”

Ivan suggested, closing the door as Till tried to shake out some of the stiffness in his limbs.

“Yeah, sounds good. I’ll come back for my stuff in a bit.”

“Sure.”

Casting a glance at his text messages while absentmindedly following Ivan’s lead, Till’s heart leapt up when he saw a message from Mizi, interspersed between Ivan’s calls earlier.

[Mizi 17:49]

are you still feeling bad :(? it’s really not a big deal to cancel the show if you’re sick, isn’t your health more important?

[Mizi 17:52]

I know someone who knows the manager of DRAMA and they are pretty reasonable. im sure you could reschedule for later!

Hey, she really cared.

A smile spread across Till’s face, heart softening. Even his complexion looked less haggard from sickness.

Knowing Mizi was trying to help him in her own way only made Till feel more motivated to go through with the performance with the fluttering in his heart.

“Till.”

“Hmm?”

He didn’t realize when they stopped walking, but he didn’t bother to raise his head while typing out a reply. When he looked up, they were already backstage. A few workers cast them curious looks as they were setting up, but no one stopped to talk to them.

“Ready?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Ivan gestured to him to a door to the side, with a name plate matching the manager of the venue.

Squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, Till stood up a little taller and knocked.

After a pause, an older man with a shaved head and a surprisingly jovial, booming voice came out from around a corner in the hallway.

“Hey, hey! Sorry, that door is blocked with some equipment, come this way. I have a second entrance to my office.”

Till nodded and introduced himself while they walked, following the man’s instructions and entering his office after a series of turns.

Till looked around the office. It wasn’t until the door closed that he realized Ivan did not follow them.

… Not that he needed to be there? Since he was just here to help Till set up, it made sense for him to stay back. Just, for some reason, Till felt slightly nervous now that he was by himself.

“Nice to meet you face to face, Manager-nim.”

The man gave a laugh and patted Till on the shoulder before moving behind his desk.

“Oh geez, just call me Mike, alright? Or ahjussi works, if you’re comfortable. You’re surprisingly polite for someone who plays rock music.”

There was a couch and several chairs, but all of them were cluttered with different things—stacks of paper, food containers, empty spirit bottles, instrument cases—so Till just decided to stand.

“Well, no matter what, it’s a job so I should be polite to Mike-ssi.”

Seemingly satisfied, Mike gave Till another glance and said appreciatively, “Hmm, not bad. But what’s with your voice?”

“... Ah, yeah. I got sick. I’ve taken medicine so I should be fine soon.”

“Tsk, you kids never take your health seriously. Are you sure you’ll be alright to perform? I’m not going to be liable if you pass out up there.”

The tone was well-meaning, but Till felt the warning was genuine.

He nodded.

“Don’t worry, I know my limits. Anything I should know before I start setting up?”

“Well, it’s nothing major. Just some standard practices, let me go through them…”

Till stayed backstage with the manager for another ten minutes. By the time he stepped back out of the office, he was somewhat flustered. DRAMA’s regulations were all within his expectations and the pre-sale tickets were good, so they were expecting a relatively full house as long as they could see some walk-ups once the doors open, but just that brief conversation had tested his throat.

“—cough, haa.”

With a bit of self-ridicule, Till mocked himself as he tried to cover his coughs with the sound of the door closing.

I know my limits.

Knowing his limits?

God, he was so full of shit.

He couldn’t suppress the wave of coughing that rose in his throat this time, the strain on his airway so severe his face turned red. Each one sounded sharp as needles, making his throat burn as if it would catch fire the next moment.

Seriously, ha. Why did this have to happen today? Fuck.

Mussing up his hair in frustration, Till groaned and dragged himself back towards the stage. It wasn’t until he looked up that he realized Ivan was standing there at the end of the hall, waiting.

With his arms crossed and face expressionless, he didn’t appear to have just arrived. He must have seen everything from the moment Till stepped out of the office, right?

Caught by that dark stare, the one Till knew saw right through the whole fucking charade, he felt somewhere between pissed off and a little flustered.

“What? Say something if you’ve got something to say.”

Till snapped, defensive, unable to help it when he realized he’d been seen through. When it came to Ivan, it was his damn eyes. The bottomless black of that stare that observed him like a book to be read, line by line, word by word; those eyes that felt as if they pierced down to the ink of Till’s blood and the pages of his bones.

After an extended pause, Ivan simply asked Till a seemingly mild question.

“Everything okay?”

Sigh.

Till calmed down, didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed low with hands clenched tightly by his sides.

Till knew what Ivan was really asking.

Obviously, he was in no condition to sing, but Ivan knew Till well enough not to bother—knew he would sooner die than back out of this chance. It had been his dream to perform on a real stage and now that he was so close, how could he not go through with it? Pushing it back, rescheduling, yeah, that sounded okay in theory, but the further off something in the future, the less real it became. This time, he was sick. What if a band member dropped out before next time? Or the venue closed? Or they didn’t want to bring back a group of nobody’s who flaked on their first shot?

Rescheduling wasn’t something he considered even for a moment. He can’t. To do so went against his very nature.

Till was often his own worst enemy. Self-sabotaging, a young man who fiercely desired so much yet had so little, he couldn’t accept anything quietly. If he saw something he didn’t like, he had to speak out; if he was forced to do something he didn’t want, he would fight tooth and nail before giving in.

The same thing applied even when it should have been in his best interest.

Logic dictated he should have canceled the instant he woke up feeling ill. He should have gone to get medicine himself first thing. He shouldn’t have borrowed Hyuna’s car knowing he was in such bad shape.

Till knew all of these things, but was powerless to stop himself when his heart was hell-bent on something. For him, desires were ignition points, stars that burned so brightly, he would do anything to grasp them even if their light blinded him to reason.

He wasn’t even entirely sure why he was like this, sometimes wished he wasn’t so desperately stubborn about everything.

After a long stretch of silence, Ivan just sighed lightly and stood up. He walked towards Till and flicked his forehead.

“Hey, you! What—”

“Stop thinking so hard, your brain is already overheated. I feel like I’m watching an old computer boot up.”

“Bastard.”

Ivan smiled and tapped his lips with amusement, indicating with his head that Till should follow him. They were still standing in front of the manager’s office, after all.

Once they returned to the stage area, Till walked out, looked up at the eaves and down the aisle. It felt so real. The stage lights weren’t all on, only a few of them, but even so the strain hurt his eyes in the best way possible. Maybe he wanted it to hurt.

Ivan stepped next to him and played with a microphone stand absentmindedly.

“Are you planning on singing?”

Sighing, as if it would help, Till’s shoulders hunched and he shot Ivan a look.

“Well, I have to. The other guys fucking suck.”

“Hah, true. In that case—”

A flash suddenly burst in front of them, one of the floodlights coming on and illuminating center stage with an almost pious radiance.

Till, who stood off to the left, was momentarily stunned at the way the white-golden glow landed on Ivan. The stark contrast of black hair and eyes, with dramatic shadows blocking some of his features while the bridge of his nose and sharpness of his brow were drawn in sharp contrast by the light—damn.

Till had never once thought that Ivan, of all people, could look so…

“Sorry about that, hit the wrong switch!”

A voice in the AV booth called across the performance hall, and Till coughed abruptly while averting his gaze.

Damn, what the hell? He must have been shocked by the lights suddenly coming on like that. And the fever frying his brain. Definitely.

Waving idly, Ivan gave an unbothered smile and turned back to Till, the lights restored to their former arrangement.

“Do you want to start setting up your equipment?”

“Huh?”

“I was saying, in that case, to preserve your voice, why don’t I do the mic check with the sound guy and you start setting up.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, that sounds good.”

Till was happy to leave the stage and quickly escaped towards the back entrance, returning to Hyuna’s car.

His guitar was like a lifeline, one he grabbed eagerly as he clutched the case and grabbed a few pedals for the first trip back and forth. Almost right away, he forgot about the awkward feeling from standing on the stage and started to organize his things. Once he had enough in his arms for the first trip, Till closed the car door with his leg and caught a dark glimpse in the distance.

Huh, that car from before was still here? Till had a vague feeling.

He found Ivan looking at the monitor beside the stage, indicating an “up” gesture with his hand, so Till asked him about it.

“Did you drive here?”

“My father sent a driver.”

“Why is he still out there? Shouldn’t he go back?”

Before answering, Ivan blinked a few times, turning to meet Till’s quizzical gaze. It seemed his concentration was divided and it took him a moment to realize what Till was talking about. When he did, he noted the sincerity and confusion in Till’s expression, and the sight made Ivan feel a little helpless.

“What if someone breaks into Hyuna’s car while we are setting up? I asked him to wait until we were done and to make sure no one tried to pull anything.”

“Oh… Thanks.”

Till pursed his lips, thinking Ivan was overly cautious. He never even considered someone trying to snatch his stuff in the middle of the day. But an extra set of eyes certainly wouldn’t hurt, and Till actually felt a little happy knowing his stuff was being guarded.

After a few trips back and forth, Till was sweating, but he also noticed the medicine must have been taking effect because he was feeling better and better. Ah, the miracles of modern medicine. Another backstage employee offered him a water bottle, which he gratefully accepted, sitting down on an amp to cool off before he started tuning and testing his equipment.

Ivan prepared the monitors and tested all the mics, which was honestly a huge time saver, and Till focused on his own preparations. He needed to check on a few pedals he liked to use that had nice distortion, producing a warbly sound on his guitar, which he considered crucial for the second and fifth songs on the set list. And then there was the rug for the drummer in Hyuna’s trunk he still needed to grab…

A PA on the ground floor called to the stage, rousing Till from his stupor. “Hey, there’s a guy out front with your merch, he wants to know where to set up the table?”

“I’ll show him.”

Without skipping a beat, Ivan dropped down from the stage and landed neatly on his feet, walking around the security barricade that was halfway set-up.

Till paused, not even having reacted fully by the time Ivan was walking away, and then finished off the bottle of water with a scowl.

Hmmph, if Ivan was going to act like Till owed him one after this, he’d better quit while he’s ahead.

A few familiar, languid voices came from the back door, caught in the crosstalk of a conversation.

“... seems way too real, right?”

“Yeah, no kidding, this is wild.”

Dewey and Isaac walked in with their mouths gaping, looking like stupid fish. Acorn came in after them, expressionlessly taking in the surroundings.

Standing up, Till tried to mask his sickness by clearing his throat before greeting them.

“Finally here?”

“Hey! Till!!! This shit is actually real!”

Dewey seemed like he was going to pounce in excitement, but Isaac restrained him with a grimace.

“This isn’t your house, don’t act crazy.”

“Hyuuuung, I just wanted to give our Till a hug.”

Till sneered and turned around.

“Get lost.”

Brow furrowed, Acorn took a slight step to the side, getting a better look at Till’s face.

“What’s wrong with your voice?”

“Er, caught a cold. No big deal.”

“What?!”

“Fuck, are you serious?”

Dewey and Isaac parroted each other, and Till contemplated beating some sense into these hyungs.

More restrained, Acorn just asked, “Can you sing?”

“Of course I can sing!”

It would have seemed more convincing if his voice didn’t break at the end. In fact, his voice was only getting worse because he kept using it. He popped another lozenge in his mouth and ignored the other member’s reactions.

“... We’re doomed.”

“Hey, we can just play without lyrics, right? That’s not bad.”

“It’ll be fine.”

Dewey frowned, very serious. “No, Till, listen to your hyungs. You sound like Isaac’s grandma on her ventilator! We can’t let you sing. That would be cruel and inhumane to the audience.”

“...”

Regardless of seniority, Till smacked Dewey upside the head.

“Ow!”

“Deserved.” Isaac shook his head. “How could you compare Gam-Gam to that rasp?”

Another smack, this one for Isaac.

“Ahh!”

“Who wants shithead hyungs like you anyway?”

Comparatively calm, Acorn slowly spoke his thoughts.

“It’s probably too late to cancel, isn’t it?”

“Obviously. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

Their useless panicking was interrupted by the manager, who popped his head around the corner.

“Oh, I thought I heard new voices. This is the rest of your group, Till?”

Till replied, half-warning and half-introducing, “Yes. Everyone, this is the manager.”

Like good little school boys, Dewey and Isaac bowed and said in unison, “Hello, manager-nim!”

Acorn also gave a quiet greeting.

Seeming quite happy, Mike spoke to another staff member who walked by and gestured with the wisdom of an elder.

“Yes, yes, quite lively! That’s why I like bringing in new artists around here. Keeps the place fun. What positions do you play? Anything specific you need us to provide? Although it looks like Till has set-up most things.”

Isaac, as the oldest, reported each of their positions.

“I play bass. Dewey is the drummer. Acorn is second guitar, and Till is lead.”

The PA who stopped to chat nodded as if understanding something.

“Ah, so I assume that other young man is the singer?”

“...?”

With patience he didn’t know he had, Till spelled it out before Dewey could say something stupid. “She means Ivan. He’s here, helping us set up.”

“Ohh.”

“He’s not the sing—”

“... !”

Dewey interrupted, grabbing Isaac’s arm with a loud gasp, shocked as if a bolt from the blue. He gestured towards the bassist with wild blinking as if communicating in morse code.

No one, least of all Isaac, had any idea what he was saying.

“What’s, ah, what’s wrong with him?”

Mike asked with an uncomfortable chuckle, glancing worriedly at these newcomers. Had he made a bad judgment call?

Upholding a worldwary look, Acorn only cryptically replied, “No one really knows.”

“Till!” Dewey pointed at the doors across the venue, which, as if on cue, opened to reveal Ivan walking in speaking to a staff member. “Ivan!!!”

Isaac scratched his head in frustration, reminding him quietly, “Use your words.”

“Excuse us, Mike-ssi.” Till used his most painfully professional smile to get them to leave. “I think he is nervous. Can you give us a moment?”

“No problem, no problem. Just, uh, let us know if you need anything else. We’ll do final sound check in thirty minutes.”

After the two left, Till spun around and glared at this useless band member. Shit, were drums that important? Maybe he should just smash this guy with a hi-hat and be done with it.

Eventually calming down, Dewey managed to put his thoughts together into a fully formed sentence.

“Ivan can sing! Like that person said!”

“...”

The three others looked at him speechlessly.

Arms crossed, Isaac appeared thoughtful.

“Actually… It’s not a bad idea. Ivan’s always around, I’m sure he knows the songs as well as any of us. Doesn’t he go to your school? He’s in the music program too, right?”

Incredulous, Till looked at Isaac who, while not the brightest star in the sky, was at least a little more luminous than Dewey.

“Wait, you want him to sing?”

“Well, even if it’s not perfect, I don’t think you can sing at a level you’ll feel good about right now. You might regret performing in this condition later, Till. It’s up to you.”

Till felt his headache worsen as the two echoed one another, turning his attention to the sound booth in the back corner. Ivan, in the midst of a conversation with the PA, said something to make the other laugh, while he himself wore a good-natured, yet somewhat perfunctory, smile throughout the entire exchange.

Acorn, who had lowered his gaze earlier as if deep in thought about something, abruptly raised his head.

“Ivan is actually… A very good singer.”

Very good?

Till clicked his tongue.

What an annoying thing to say.

Acorn attended the same school and may be a peer, but they weren’t particularly close. Did Till need anyone, let alone some random classmate, to tell him about Ivan? As if he didn’t already know?

In fact, Ivan was an excellent singer.

As someone who lived and breathed music, Till could not deny that Ivan’s voice was objectively beautiful.

That being said, Till had never seriously considered performing with Ivan. Call him narrow-minded, but it was just not a possibility that had ever occurred to him; couldn’t even wrap his head around it. Trying to fit a square block into a circular hole, they were inevitably incompatible. Ivan played piano, and his voice contained an inherent fullness, cold and euphonious with just the slightest of sonorous undertones; Till’s voice was sharper, containing nuances of softly raspy tones that he poured his emotions into. He felt like Ivan’s voice was an example of a perfect sound, but it lacked vitriol, was missing something that would make him sound more human.

… Anyway, the bottom line was that their voices were simply ill-suited for substituting one with the other. The sound was bound to be discordant, just like they were. Oil and water shouldn’t mix.

And yet…

For some inexplicable reason, Till thought of the moment when that beam of light suddenly cast the rest of the world into shadow and only Ivan stood in the center. With the intensity of the overhead lights, somehow, the effect was such that Ivan, with his black eyes, black hair, even his low voice and his personality—he himself was a darkness that shouldn’t have felt so right exposed to that much light. But it seemed like he belonged there, like he was born to cast shadows on this stage.

… Would Ivan sing for him if he asked?

A cough ripped from his throat suddenly, grounding him in the present. A surge of dizziness came, and he realized the other three were staring at him with hopeful gleams in their eyes.

“Till, just for tonight. You’re still the best singer, just think of this as getting through some bad luck. The next stage will be even better!”

“The next stage…”

Mostly to himself, Till nodded and turned around.

He was going to find Ivan.

“So, what do you—cough—what’dy’think?” Till almost choked on his own breath, and Ivan, who had been listening without any expression on his face, suddenly moved. He brought over a thermos from somewhere—where did it even come from?—and told Till to drink.

After unscrewing the lid, a hot mist, tempered with the unmistakable aroma of lemon and ginger, wafted out.

“Tea?”

Till wrinkled his nose. He was more prone to water, energy drinks, or coffee. Tea was a little bourgie for his tastes.

“Well, it’s specifically for sore throats.”

“...”

Lowering his gaze, Till decided to keep his complaints caged behind his teeth. He could drink tea now and then. Even if it was a bit too hot backstage for the drink to be refreshing, it did help to ease his congested throat. The added internal heat made it feel as if he was going to sweat through his clothes.

Speaking of which, he still needed to change… There wasn’t much time left to prepare.

“Well? Don’t think too much, if you don’t want to, it's not a big deal.”

“No, of course, I’ll do it. I’m happy to help if that’s what you want. I was just thinking.”

Ivan’s tone was hard to describe. It wasn’t like he was unhappy, exactly, rather that he was struggling with something.

“I know how much this means to you. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

Now it was Till’s turn to smile, his lips curving up slightly at the corners. So, even Ivan had a conscience hidden underneath all his taunting and teasing?

“I know. The guys made a good point earlier. If getting sick today is just my bad luck, then not leaving a way out for myself… That was my own fault. I can’t do anything now to change it, but I’d prefer if I didn’t have to fuck things up for everyone else because I was too stubborn. You’re a good singer and you know the songs, so this is the best solution I can think of.”

Something seemed to change on Ivan’s expression, but it was gone so quickly, Till thought he may have imagined it. The calm and cheshire smile he always wore was back in an instant, and his eyes glowed in the dark light of the back stage.

“If that’s the case, then I gladly accept.”

“Cool, well, if you know the songs then I guess that all there’s left to do is get ready, yeah?”

As if realizing something, Ivan’s brow furrowed and he turned back.

“I didn’t imagine I would be setting up the sound monitors for myself.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I just need to tell the sound guy to raise mine a bit, I had it adjusted to the volume you usually sing at but it wouldn’t be enough for me. Just go ahead and get changed, I’ll meet back there soon.”

Made sense, Till thought. He was definitely louder than Ivan.

Taking small sips from the thermos, Till walked back towards the old theater’s prop and costume room. It was somewhat converted into a lounge for bands to relax prior to the show, but it retained its old design with rows of mirrors and big bulb lights, and, in their case, some of the original functionality also carried over. Isaac and Archer changed into outfits that were slightly less restrained, although they weren’t in some flashy alt-punk band, so Till urged that they keep the costume details to a minimum.

The real surprise came from spotting Sua and Mizi, seated in the dressing chairs, chatting with the others.

“How’d you guys come here?”

“The girls brought us milk tea! Milk tea! This is the fucking bomb!!”

Sounded equal parts exasperated and helpless, Isaac patted Dewey’s head like a big dog.

“Well aren’t you very easy to please?”

Dewey picked up a pastry that appeared alongside the tea and politely handed one to Isaac and Acorn each before proceeding to eat four of them himself. Till didn’t pay him any attention, unable to restrain his smile as he looked at the girls.

“Your voice is…” Sua gave Till a complicated look, while Mizi excitedly hopped up from her seat and started circling him like a chirping bird.

“I told you, I know someone who knows the manager, and I told them we were your friends, so they let us back here. You really…”

After getting a better look at his face, she frowned.

“... Are sick, huh?”

Embarrassed by their surprised arrival, and especially by Mizi’s sudden proximity, Till scratched his cheek and averted his gaze.

“Yeah, it’s been a wild day, but it’ll be over soon.”

With a serious nod, Mizi gestured her outfit and held up a hand as if stating a solemn vow. “You’ve worked hard. Don’t worry, we both bought shirts, and we’re going to do our best to tell everyone to buy one.”

“Well, thanks. No need to push yourself.”

Sua released a helpless sigh and guided Mizi to sit back down.

“You’re not really one to talk. They mentioned you won’t be singing?”

“Oh! Right!”

Isaac and Dewey both perked up, turning to Till with burning gazes.

“Did Ivan agree? Did he?!”

“He must have, right? Why isn’t he with you?”

“Ivan agreed.”

“Hmm, did I hear my name?

Only loud enough for Mizi to hear, Sua muttered, “Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.”

Appearing cutely clueless, Mizi turned her head around and looked at her with wide, golden eyes. Sua could only pat her pretty head with a smile, not speaking further.

Showing no surprise at Mizi and Sua’s arrival, Ivan strolled into the dressing room with a casual glance around before sidling up to Till and leaning his head on the shorter man’s shoulder.

“We just parted and you’re already talking about me?”

Till ruthlessly pushed his face back and was already walking away before Ivan could even regain his footing.

“Fuck, personal space.”

No one particularly minded Till’s complaints. Indeed, the other bandmates were visibly relieved. Till felt the first hints of the nervous anticipation starting to rise in him, the situation suddenly becoming much more real. His body still felt weak with fever, but at least his head and sinus were doing better. For his own sake, he decided to sit down and try to eat something from the snacks Mizi and Sua brought.

Ivan walked forward and took in the crowded back room before smiling and walking up to Mizi.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, while Sua stared at him vigilantly. Till was busy resting his eyes and didn’t notice, or he might have joined in.

Mizi’s face lit up like a child waking up in Disneyland, and she jumped up from her seat once again and ran off to where she put down her things. Unceremoniously, Ivan took Mizi’s seat, while Sua simply looked at him with her expression floating somewhere between pity, disdain, and mockery.

“Till, can I do some make-up for you?”

Sitting down right beside him on the couch, Mizi brandished her make-up bag like a weapon.

“Heh.”

Ivan observed with a hand partially covering his smile as Till, with very obvious reluctance, agreed.

Of course, he only relented because Mizi was so close to him, and she kept compassionately worrying about how his complexion would look washed out under the floodlights.

“It’s normal to wear make-up on the stage even for guys, but you especially need it since you’re sick.”

The other young men around the table seemed momentarily terrified, like they might be targeted next, while Till’s entire face turned a vibrant shade of red.

“... Does mascara really do anything to help me look less sick?”

Mizi paused as she pressed his lashes in a curler, frowning at his wince of discomfort.

“Well, not really, but… It will look good! Come on, put your trust in me!”

Till’s lip twitched but he was resigned to his fate.

“... Fine.”

When it was almost time for the performance, Mizi and Sua bid them goodbye before heading towards the front of the venue to enter along with the rest of the audience.

“Ivan, you’re helping us out a lot.” Isaac put a hand on his shoulder, as if comforting a young, wayward child. “So don’t worry if you fuck up, we’ll cover for you!”

With a slight glance at Isaac’s hand, Ivan straightforwardly said, “Not worried.”

His bereft response rendered Isaac words of reassurance utterly moot. Dewey laughed so hard he nearly doubled-over, and Till snapped at them to be quiet. He’d performed in front of crowds plenty of times, but never one of this size, and damn, he sort of wished they had an opener.

For shows like these, there wasn’t any emcee or the like to get the crowd hyped up. They just had to bite the bullet and walk out when they were ready. If they couldn’t get the crowd pulled in by the first or second song, it would seriously ruin their momentum for the rest of the show.

For the second time today, Ivan asked him a question that caused Till to curl his hands into fists.

“Are you alright?”

“... Tsk, of course not.”

His throat still felt like he’d swallowed hot shrapnel, his stomach was tight with nerves, he felt too hot from drinking all that tea and he was frustrated with himself for ending up in this position in the first place. In his dream, he was going to dominate the stage, his voice would be perfect, he wouldn’t be sweating so damn much, and he wouldn’t need to rely on anyone to show his strength.

But Till knew that Ivan wasn’t really asking him that. All of that was obvious, and Ivan never bothered asking boring questions with obvious answers.

He was asking Till if he was ready.

No matter what, whether it was his dumb pride, his stubborn desires, his impatience with a horrible dash of perfectionism, Till wasn’t going to let it stand in the way of him going out on that stage and performing like his life depended on it.

So what if this wasn’t exactly as he had dreamed?

At least this was real. At least this was something he could reach out and grasp in his hands.

“No chit-chat for the first two sets, jump right into the opener, and then follow with the next. We can do some banter with the audience after that and the songs in between.”

Ivan’s gaze carried a significant shine as he answered, “As you wish.”

“Let’s go.”

Well, Till had to admit—they were good.

Actually, they were really fucking good. Way better than he expected.

He would never have thought someone with Ivan’s intonation could sing to the songs Till wrote so well, but he proved his years spent studying music were really not in vain. At the most basic level, he never sang out of tune or missed a cue, which may not sound impressive if Ivan had been practicing these songs. His only experiences with them were secondhand, however, and only through memory and repeated exposure did he manage not to get lost in the lyrics.

And then, there was the performance itself. Beyond the bare musicality, Ivan’s adaptability on stage was praiseworthy. He matched the energy of the band and led the crowd to follow, and then, most impressive of all, was how he did so in a way that seemed effortless.

If it wasn’t so damn thrilling and validating to be on stage beside him, Till would have been pissed at Ivan for being so damn extraordinary. How were the rest of us supposed to live, jackass?

Anyway.

Their performance wasn’t perfect, especially the first few songs where they weren’t used to looking at stage left for certain cues that Till would give, as he typically stood center, but they adapted well and finished each song to thunderous cheers that felt like they synced up with his own raucous heartbeat.

That’s the thing Till loves about a live performance that he could never replicate in a million years of recording songs. The insane adrenaline, the gratifying shouts of the audience, the edge-of-a-knife like stress that made his heart walk on a wire for the entire show was also the part he could never, ever let go.

Ambition, dreams, and self-reflection aside, most of all, Till couldn’t overstate how fun it was to perform. That was the most shocking part of it all. Even though his voice was a complete wreck by the time it ended, he found himself singing in harmony to Ivan even without a mic to pick up his voice. He got lost in the moment more than once, consumed by the crowd’s energy and with a touch of wildness in his actions.

When he sat down backstage after the show, Ivan was beside him, possessing a composure that was befitting of him and yet not out of place with the other guys' lack of restraint. Even though he wasn’t in their band, the atmosphere wasn’t impacted at all.

Perhaps sensing his gaze, Ivan looked away from Dewey and Isaac as they were entangled in some kind of celebratory wrestling match. He silently gave Till a smile—one that was so sincere, Till actually ended up embarrassed on his behalf, looking away.

Face hot, Till belated thought about the fact that, even after sweating on stage so much, Ivan looked like he didn't have a hair out of place. By comparison, Till knew he probably looked like complete shit, shirt stained with sweat, legs weak and head aching, fever ebbing and flowing with the effectiveness of the medicine.

Yet, despite all the things that sucked today, there was only one thought going through Till’s head at that moment.

He really wanted to do it all over again.

Chapter 2: Cute

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

DRAMA’s manager, Mike, was kind enough to let them leave some things back stage as long as they agreed to come collect it the next day. Especially since, considering this group of kids was new, the turnout was quite satisfactory. The local music scene was rather hit-or-miss, and Mike was a businessman at the end of the day. He was more willing to accommodate them after a successful show.

Till was equally relieved. One, he didn’t want to dismantle everything given how exhausted he felt, and two, he felt like brushing up a good impression with Mike on a day when he didn’t look like a sweaty sewer rat could improve UNKNOWN’s chances of booking a second performance later on.

That’s what Till was thinking as he drove Mizi, Sua, and Ivan home.

“Here.”

A crinkly, paper sound came from the passenger seat.

Not knowing what he was up to, but too tired to care, Till removed one hand from the steering wheel and held it out, palm side up. Ivan neatly placed a cough drop in his hand, and, after a quick glance, Till tossed it in his mouth.

Behind them, Till could hear Mizi and Sua’s whispering. He saw them leaning their heads close together in the rearview mirror, giggling and looking at something on Mizi’s phone. Next to him, Ivan was quiet, looking out the window with a somewhat dazed expression.

He seemed… tired.

Such an expression reminded Till of when they were younger. Ivan rarely showed so much emotion on his face now, and seeing him like this, Till recalled when they would all nap together outside in the summertime, resting in the shade under the big tree behind Sua and Ivan’s house.

For some reason, those memories made him feel a little bad. Till decided to search his brain for something to talk about.

“What happened to your driver, by the way?”

It took Ivan a moment to respond.

“Hmm, you told me to send him back, since he finished watching Hyuna’s car.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess I did.”

With a vague hum, Ivan leaned back and closed his eyes.

The car fell silent again, but was broken after less than a minute when Mizi and Sua both burst out laughing even louder than before.

Ivan indulged them by turning around with good-natured curiosity.

“What’s so funny? Don’t keep all the good things to yourselves, ah.”

“It’s not that, not that.” Mizi waved a hand in front of him, but had to stop to laugh again. “It’s more like—duh, laughing at myself for acting like an dummie. I was recording almost the entire time and I accidentally forgot to stop it when I went to the bathroom! My phone was in my bag but you can still hear when I go into the stall and—”

Sua covered her mouth, but even she couldn’t fully suppress her laughter.

“Shh. Inappropriate for boys.”

The car swerved suddenly, and they all were jerked about in their seats.

Momentarily, they all stopped joking around and looked at Till.

His ears turned bright red—from embarrassment or something else, it was hard to say.

“S, sorry. Something… um… in the road. Cough.”

Mizi quickly composed herself after all of the giggling was out of her system and changed the subject. “That reminds me. Till, you should probably try to take a few days off at school. It’ll be bad if you’re still sick next week when it’s time to prep for exams.”

“Ugh… Exam prep. Thanks for the reminder.”

They chatted about school for the remainder of the drive, different projects and the inhumane amount of coursework imposed upon them despite having exams coming up. Till stopped by Mizi’s house first since it was closest to the venue, and with sparse traffic so late at night, it wasn’t long before reaching the Unsha estate to drop off Sua and Ivan.

Before closing the door, Sua leaned down and said with a gentle tone, “You did a great job tonight, Till.”

Till answered with an uncharacteristically soft smile.

“Thanks for coming, Sua.”

Ivan poked his head in next to his sister with a visible pout.

“What about me, noona, huh? Wasn’t I good? Praise me, too.”

“You?” She made a face, like she was genuinely thinking hard to come up with a compliment. “Well, you were certainly in the right place at the right time. How’s that?”

Without giving Ivan the chance to respond, she dashed off towards the front of the house and left him behind.

“Pfft—cough—”

Till couldn’t help laughing at the rather… profound expression on Ivan’s face as he stared at his sister’s retreating form. When Ivan turned back, he had returned to his typical smile, though some of his usual irritating smugness was softened by the dazed, drowsy look on his face.

“Good night, Till.”

“Yeah, sure. And, ahem, uh… Thanks again for helping today.”

With a wave, Ivan simply urged, “Go home and get some rest.”

“Right. See ya.”

Putting the car in reverse, Till backed out of their driveway and turned around, driving off and putting the end to an extraordinarily long and tiring day.

Ivan watched until Hyuna’s car was completely out of sight before turning back towards the house, where he spotted Sua standing under the eaves, observing him with an incomprehensible gaze.

“Was it really a coincidence that you were able to substitute on vocals today?”

After a withering stare was exchanged between the siblings, Ivan looked away first and replied with a self-deprecating smile.

“I didn’t even realize his voice was so bad until I met him this afternoon. Are you suggesting I got Till sick on purpose just to sabotage his show? Exactly badly do you think of me, noona?”

“I think… You’re someone who isn’t above taking advantage if the situation presents itself.”

“Is that so?”

“Hmm. I hope you know what you’re doing, little brother.”

Laughing, Ivan breezed past her without stopping and strode into the house.

“Mind your own business.”

It wasn’t like Ivan hadn’t thought about volunteering himself, but he saw Till’s determination from the moment he found him curled in Hyuna’s car. Trying to will his illness into submission with nothing but spite… It certainly sounded like something Till would do.

Ivan’s eyes softened by the time he reached his bedroom, closing the door with a soft click.

Till was a bit predictable like that. Yet, he still managed to take Ivan by surprise sometimes.

Like today, for instance. No matter how well Ivan felt he knew Till, his decision to ask for his help was outside of Ivan’s expectations.

Till was more protective of his music than anything. He had always harbored a strong desire to control everything when it came to music, from songwriting, to performances, to base composition. Till talents were at their best when he could be completely unrestrained, when the situation was entirely in his hands. More than just talent, Till had the skills to show for it. He pursued a ruthless perfectionism that demanded he polished his innate talent with extreme devotion.

To Ivan, Till was the exact kind of creature that he longed to understand, to open up his head and pick apart his brain.

Conversely Till didn’t have unrealistic expectations for his other band members; they were mostly just fulfilling a role, a space in an ensemble that Till couldn’t occupy even if he wanted to.

Singing was different.

Singing was as close to Till’s heart as his guitar.

As if a world-renowned sushi chef asked you to prepare sashimi for him to sample—this chef was the one person you didn’t want to disappoint, and at the same time, the person in front of whom you were most likely to fail. By comparison, the other band members were people serving the sushi chef a pizza, or a smoothie—he’ll still be able to tell if it’s good or not, but it’s not a craft he’d poured part of his heart and soul into.

Plopping down on his bed, staring at the ceiling, Ivan tried to untangle this messy feeling in his heart. Today had gone very different than his expectations.

That Till would ask for help at all is a surprise, but that he would ask me?

Rather than persevere through something painful and suffer unnecessarily, Till looked to Ivan for help. Such behavior wasn’t like Till at all, and with that, Ivan was swept by a surging tide of complicated feelings.

For all that he was hopeless, after all, Ivan was not a fool.

He knew how much—and, especially, how little—Till felt for him. Music and Mizi came first in Till’s heart.

But Ivan was greedy, too. He liked to push the limits of Till’s patience for him, liked to believe that Till tolerated him more than he would another person. That, even if it was being measured in anger, Ivan wanted to believe he was not just another person in Till’s life.

In that case, shouldn’t he be relieved that Till chose to rely on him? Didn’t that make him at least a little different in Till’s heart?

… Being even a little bit special to him. That should be enough.

It wasn’t enough.

If it had been that easy, Ivan wouldn’t have been this way for such a long time.

… Like a curse, these feelings weren’t something he ever asked for.

After all, to care about someone was to be stuck in a state of perpetual consideration. Thinking, feeling, wondering, worrying—to care was to let someone occupy every empty space within you, to replace the very air with their absence. Wanting to know where they were, what they were doing, if they were alone, if they were hurt.

Sua was not completely wrong in suspecting Ivan’s ulterior motives.

When he heard Till was sick, Ivan was prepared to find him gritting his teeth and tuning his guitar at his apartment, angry at the world for screwing him over. When he had a driver take him to Till’s place and no one answered the door, the first thing he felt was worry.

He thought, being so stubborn, Till must have gone to the venue already. To force himself not to back out of a commitment for showing a little bit of weakness.

Regardless of the unanswered calls, Ivan simply felt he had to be by Till’s side, even if Till didn’t want him there. Till had a way of making himself more miserable if left to his own devices, and Ivan expected him to be tied up in knots of anger and frustration over being sick on such an important day.

Ivan justified it to himself that he wasn’t so bad at lifting other people’s spirits, so, maybe he could help.

If he could at least provide some distraction and relief to Till when he was in a bad state of mind, he would be satisfied.

And, if Till was acting stubborn and wouldn’t cooperate, then Ivan would forgo lecturing the brick wall that was Till’s determination and directly help him ease his burden instead. He could take on some extra tasks at the venue to keep Till from pushing himself so hard that he collapsed at the end of the night.

… Knowing what Till thought of him, that was the best Ivan could do. If he could act like he was just tagging along to get on Till’s nerves like usual, then Till wouldn’t feel like he was showing any weakness and was less likely to reject him. This way, Ivan could force his way in and shoulder some of the weight.

“I just didn’t expect to shoulder so much of it…”

He didn’t mind, in fact, Ivan was, at the most instinctual, base level, quite happy. It was just so… good. Such a simple word felt like it failed to capture the entire experience, but Ivan really couldn’t find a better way to say it. Performing alongside Till like that—it wasn’t entertaining, since he was part of it; not just fun, since it was stressful; not just enjoyment, since it was hard work.

But it was just good.

The crowd was full of energy and the songs were well-received, and getting lost in the music was something he never thought he was capable of doing. Even when he practiced piano, it was never so encompassing. The pure adrenaline of knowing that if he just looked to his right, Till would be there, his eyes constantly keeping a close technical-watch on everything operational while still being so fiercely bright.

“... Sigh.”

Feeling drowsy, Ivan eventually forced himself to get up and take a shower. He brushed his teeth, watched his face in the mirror, thinking again to the time spent on stage. He wondered what he looked like while singing.

Mizi took all those videos, surely he was in some of them.

The primary focus was to get videos for Till’s social media, though. Promoting one’s band was part of the game if he wanted to make it big, and Mizi was always helping him expand his reach.

Remembering the heart-pounding experience of being on the stage, under those stifling hot lights and unnerved by the volume of the crowd, Ivan thought—it was all worth it, anyway. Till was ignited with something Ivan had never seen before, like he was completely unfettered by all the world’s injustices and unaffected by life’s ruthless partiality.

On the stage, Till looked like he was free.

It didn’t matter if Ivan was happy or satisfied or exhausted or confused by the day’s events; he would do it all over again.

Till had never smiled like that before, so it was definitely worth it.

There was a fairly common sight to behold in classroom 202 during self-study periods, tucked in the back corner of the quiet classroom amongst the scribbling of pens, the turning of pages, and the light chatter of students.

One poor-postured teenager could be found almost laying over his desk, playing on his cellphone, while beside him, another student occupied a desk (which was not his) and kept the former company. Whether that be by watching and commenting on the activity on the phone by peeking over his shoulder, working on homework, or otherwise getting on the former’s nerves for the pure sport of it—well, that sort of thing varied day by day.

Such was the situation of Till and Ivan, when Till rested and returned to school two days later. He wasn’t exactly the picture of health—his complexion was still a little too pale, the circles under his eyes a little too dark—but he was much closer to his usual appearance than he had been on the day of the show at DRAMA.

Despite not quite getting along on any day of the week ending in ‘y’, Ivan and Till formed a strangely harmonious pair at school, such that it was difficult for other people to approach them when they were together. Their individual personalities were challenging enough—Till often being mistaken for a low-life who got into fights every other day, and Ivan's oppressive sense of perfection that made him seem cold enough to freeze the southern seas—but when put together, they created a self-imposed wall that completely kept others out.

This was what Mizi saw when she found them that afternoon.

Unlike an average, run-of-the-mill classmate, Mizi was fearless enough to interrupt them. She started by giving Till a good-natured scolding for not taking self-study time seriously.

“I know, I know. It’s just, isn’t it better to relax when I can? I’ve been too stressed out lately. Besides, Ivan will give me his notes to copy.”

Implicitly agreeing, Ivan gave Mizi a pleading look. “Besides, the game was just getting interesting. Let us go this time?”

So, after Ivan received a scolding of his own, the two had no choice but to turn away their attention from the PvP match to listen as Mizi hinted at some exciting news.

“I have something for you, I need to pull it up on my laptop. Where can I…”

Before getting into the details, Mizi looked around, struggling to find a spare chair.

Seeing this, Till immediately got up and offered his seat, and she gave a cheery smile before sliding down to sit beside Ivan. The latter raised an eyebrow when Mizi’s screen opened to reveal a video editing software.

“This is from DRAMA?”

“Exactly. I’ve been editing the footage I took and wanted your opinion before I go too far, in case it’s, like, not going the direction you wanted.”

Till came behind them and took in the visuals on the screen.

“Wow, Mizi, this was way faster than I expected. I hope you didn’t feel pressured to hurry, exams are coming, so…”

“No pressure! Even though I ultimately decided to stick with choreography, I love doing this kind of thing. Plus, the best way to get exposure as a dancer is through videos. I’ve gotten preeeeetty good at this stuff, if I do say so myself. And in this case, I get to help you out! So it’s a win-win.”

“Well, thank you.”

She pushed Till on the shoulder and playfully stuck out her tongue.

“What thanks, aren’t we friends? This is what I should do.”

Holding his breath, Till felt like his heart was beating so hard she must have felt it even just by brushing his shoulder. His face resembled a cooked shrimp, scarlet and burning, forcing him to clear his throat to regain his composure. He unfurled a cough drop from a stash in his pockets to give himself a few seconds to buffer.

“Ahem, well, fair enough. Should we, uh, watch it?”

Before Mizi could hit play, Ivan got up from his seat and motioned for Till to sit down.

“I just remembered I need to go ask noona something, you guys watch.”

Mizi blinked up at him in distress. “Oh no, in that case, we can wait for you. Isn’t it better to watch it together?”

“Don’t wait, it’s no big deal. I’m sure it looks great anyway, why second guess yourself?”

“Hah, okay, okay. I’ll just text you the draft when I’m done. I still want your input, don’t think you can escape!”

Holding up his hands in a defensive posture, Ivan waved and backed away as if fearing another scolding.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Send it whenever, and I’ll drop everything I’m doing to watch any original product of Teacher Mizi-nim’s.”

With a laugh, Mizi rolled her eyes.

“Just go, go.”

Ivan turned to leave, and Till, realizing he was now alone with Mizi (actually, there were plenty of other no-name classmates eavesdropping on every little thing they talked about, but functionally, he was alone with Mizi), his palms became a bit sweaty. Trying not to appear too obvious, he peaked at her as she rummaged through her bag to find something.

... She really just got prettier everyday. Her eyes never stopped shining, and the way she always hummed a tune was so charming it was borderline painful to keep his feelings from spilling out.

“Uh, right, so… the video. Does it have audio yet?”

Suddenly serious, Mizi nodded and handed Till one earbud from a pair of headphones. His heart inexplicably skipped a beat.

It’s just sharing headphones. Get a grip, don’t freak out.

Maintaining a solemn expression, he managed to accept the proffered earbud and calmly placed it in his ear while Mizi adjusted the settings on her laptop.

“There’s a lot of footage cut together, so if you feel like something is abrupt or doesn’t flow, just tell me and then we can try to find a better transition. Also, the music doesn’t go continuously through, I wanted to capture the energy from that night and, how do I put it? Juxtaposing the intense, high-energy moments of the performance with the occasional lulls and liveliness of the crowd really made it feel… real? Like that genre of movie that was popular awhile ago where it was, like, a house party and the perspective was from one attendee filming casually? Ah, it’s hard to explain, you’ll see what I mean! Just watch.”

Nodding repeatedly, Till probably would have signed away the deed to his dad’s house if she asked, let alone just passively watching to something.

They listened to the video, and just like Mizi said, the footage wasn’t linear, but there was a hard to describe dysfunctional allure to the way she had put the pieces together. In the same way a documentary isn’t usually filmed as a single, straight-forward narrative, but is composed of different segments highlighting different parts of a story, Mizi’s approach retelling the evening left Till thoroughly impressed considering it was only a thirty-second long video. High-quality editing really made a world of difference when there was such a short timespan—every imperfection would be magnified, but Till didn’t notice a single one.

Privately, he was also feeling very overwhelmed that she would do this for him.

Mizi… Not only was she kind, beautiful, and clever, but she was so smart and thoughtful that it was sometimes hard to believe she was even real. What if one day Till woke up and she was just some part of a beautiful dream he had imagined? Would it be so bad to want to sleep forever if that was the case?

“I think this is awesome so far. Honestly, I don’t have much feedback. Maybe just, some more shots of the crowd since the place was pretty filled up, if you have anything like that? It would be good to make it seem like we already have a following.”

For a moment, Mizi froze, like Till had said something unexpected or incomprehensible. Was he asking too much? She wouldn’t take it personally, right?

Before he could worry himself into a frenzy, Mizi pushed up her glasses and her expression returned to normal. The change was so smooth and fast, Till wondered if he had just imagined her reaction in the first place.

“Hm, good point.”

Mizi clicked over to a separate folder on her computer.

“I can show you some of the unedited clips I saved. Maybe you’ll see something you’re looking for?”

Till nodded, honestly just glad that she didn’t seem angry at him.

Phew.

While letting some of the raw footage roll, Till noticed the original audio was still included in these clips since they hadn’t been edited yet, which felt a bit abrupt since he still had a headphone in. These sections sort of felt like B-roll one might see on the news, and at one point, as Mizi’s camera panned over the crowd in the hallway near the bar area, the voices of people who were a little too loud and a little bit drunk were caught by the microphone.

“—oh my god, the drummer’s face, hahaha!”

“What about him? … was his name?”

“Actually, the modding on… guitar…!”

“Someone… Isaac? Apparently… doesn’t…”

“The worst … are when they’re too slow to…”

“Besides a good set… show will be tomorrow night…?”

“Then… name…? Oh, Ivan is so cute. Do you think—?”

Using a little too much force, Till smacked the space bar to pause the video, startling Mizi.

“—Cough, cough, ah, f, fuck.”

He accidentally choked on the cough drop that he started on earlier.

Worried, Mizi’s hands fluttered around like she couldn’t decide if she should pat his back or give him room to breathe.

“‘M, f, fine, just—cough. Okay, okay, now I’m good.”

It took a moment to clear his throat, and the sensation left him teary-eyed, but he waved off Mizi’s concern and managed to stabilize himself.

“That, did someone just say Ivan was—?”

Till paused, realized he was speaking at a regular volume and that many curious glances in the classroom looked his way, seemingly eager to hear some gossip.

With a dark expression, he lowered his voice and whispered to Mizi.

“Did I hear someone say Ivan is ‘cute’? Like, our Ivan? I didn’t mishear that?”

Amused by his exaggerated secrecy, Mizi leaned in to join his conspiratorial behavior.

“What’s so shocking about that? Lots of students have a crush on Ivan. He’s been confessed to, like, fifty times already this year. He’s regarded as super cute by most of the juniors, I heard.”

In a completely embarrassing display, Till actually flinched away at Mizi’s words.

Still, how could he be blamed?

Ivan? Cute?

Ivan?

Was there something wrong with the brains of these girls? In what stretch of the imagination was Ivan cute? Ivan, with his twisted personality, habitually rude remarks, low emotional intelligence, lack of respect for others personal space, disdain towards strangers—that Ivan?

The dial-up tone in Till’s head was struggling to come online, but when it did, another key piece of information finally processed.

Confessions?

“Wait, fifty? Seriously?”

Mizi looked at him a little helplessly. “Well, maybe not that exaggerated, but it’s a lot. You didn’t know?”

“I mean, girls sometimes will give me love letters or little gifts to pass onto him, but I never really noticed how many… But why?”

Lowering her voice further, Mizi glanced around before she continued.

“What do you mean, why? It’s like I said, lots of people would die just for the chance to be with the Unshas. Sua and Ivan have so many admirers; they’re talented, high-achieving, come from a good family, beauti—have beautiful personalities, aha, ahem. Sua told me their father forbids them from being in relationships, though. So, they just blanket reject everyone.”

Mizi’s focus seemed to wander off, sighing, as if it was truly a shame,

“But that kind of thing makes them even more endearing, doesn’t it? It gives them this, like, elusive and untouchable goddess identity… or, er, god, in Ivan’s case. Like, the mentality of ‘they may reject everyone, but what if they don’t reject me?’ tends to make people carried away with their imaginations. Ivan is like the school prince, and Sua is like an angel…”

Pinching the spot between his eyes, Till wasn’t even sure how to begin digesting all of that information.

“Are you still speaking Korean? What does any of that mean?”

Cheeks puffed up, looking slightly indignant, Mizi was about to respond when another voice interrupted—

“What are we whispering about?”

Ivan returned, appearing between them, crouching down so his face was level with the two of them.

“Fuck!”

Jumping in place, Till flinched back, while Mizi simply pouted. Hmmp, her eloquent explanation had totally fallen on deaf ears.

Till gauged the expression on Ivan’s to be the same, devil-may-care smile, and was greatly relieved that they hadn’t been overheard.

Not that there was really a reason Ivan couldn’t hear what they were saying, but just the thought of being overhead in that context made Till feel unbearably awkward.

“I told you, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

He pushed Ivan’s face away and called him a bastard without so much as batting an eye.

Dutifully upholding his title as the bane of Till’s existence, Ivan seized the opportunity to lean against the palm of Till’s hand rather than recoiling according to his demands.

Till broke out in chills. Ugh, it made it seem like he was cradling Ivan’s face in his hand. Till snatched his arm back again before Ivan could do something even more annoying.

“Heh, but your reactions are so cute.”

—Cute.

That word again. It made a chilly sensation spread over Till’s neck.

Ivan stood up, no longer teasing, and patted the top of their heads one after another before addressing Mizi.

“Noona is looking for you in the auditorium, but she said it’s not a rush. You can finish what you need to here first.”

“Oh, Sua is?” Shooting to her feet, Mizi’s eyes burned like bursting stars. “Then I should go.”

“Here, switch seats with me.”

Till, with a reminder from Ivan, moved back to his original seat, and Ivan took the spot he occupied before.

“So, how was it?”

“Huh?”

Ivan noticed Till’s absentmindedness and repeated himself.

“The video? Did it turn out well?”

“Oh, that. It was… Yeah. Good.”

Actually, Till was having a bit of a hard time.

The conversation with Mizi had ended too quickly and had too many twists and turns. Now, he couldn’t help but pay closer attention to Ivan’s face.

Typically, Till made it a point to avoid eye contact with Ivan because, though he would never admit it out loud, Ivan’s gaze could sometimes be a little unnerving.

It had been a long time since he’d really, properly, taken a look at this face.

Angular cheekbones, full, stroke-shaped brows, a healthy, though fair, complexion, thin lips.

Hmm.

Since he was staring, Till noticed as soon as one of Ivan’s brows hooked upward.

“What’s wrong? It’s not like you to zone out. Are you still feeling sick?”

“Ah? Ah, no, no. I was just, uh, thinking about something.”

Their homeroom teacher, perhaps mercifully on Till’s behalf, walked into class before Ivan could press him further and announced the end of self-study and instructed the students to return to their seats.

Ivan stood up from the desk he had not-so-voluntarily borrowed and went back to his own, halfway across the room. At the same time, Till’s timid deskmate dragged himself back over once, head down and eyes averted.

… Geez, what was this guy’s problem? Why so skittish? It wasn’t like Till bullied him. For those not in the know, one would think Till had threatened him at knifepoint or something.

Whatever. Till pulled out his textbook and his notes and did his best to pay attention, throwing all these useless classmates far into the back of his mind.

Ivan’s actual seat was a few rows ahead and one row over, putting him more-or-less in Till’s line of sight as he faced the front of the room. About three-quarters of what Till could see was comprised of the back of his head, with just a slice of his profile visible.

Thinking back to what Mizi told him, Till was really puzzled.

… What about him was supposed to be cute, anyway?

With the appearance as an artist evaluating an offensive work of art hanging in a gallery, Till squinted with doubt as he observed Ivan from this distance. His gaze traced the contours of his face, judging the round shell of his ear, the dark strands of hair clipped at the nape of his neck, the tilt of his jaw. Neither scrawny nor particularly muscular, Ivan’s physique was fairly average, if not a little taller and broader than most people their age.

All in all, Till felt pretty confident in assessing that Ivan wasn’t ugly. But more than that? It was really hard for him to say.

His appearance was probably considered… Handsome, right?

(Objectively speaking, that is.)

(Till didn’t think Ivan was handsome. He would guess Ivan was, like, a six out of ten. Maybe? Above average, but not much.)

Still—where did an evaluation like cute come from?

Could it be that Till was simply out of touch with mainstream aesthetics? Maybe his definition of cute was wrong. He thought, like, Sanrio characters, Hello Kitty and Pochacco—those were what people thought of as cute. Or, like… Cats? Cats were cute. Mizi was cute. That was about the extent of Till’s comparative knowledge.

If he had thought of it at the time, he could have asked Mizi her opinion directly since they were already on the subject. She only mentioned the gossip concerning other students.

… No, actually, what if she found Ivan cute? Till’s entire worldview might end up falling apart. Better not ask her. Who else could he ask… Sua? No, they were siblings, hearing her answer would be weird no matter what.

He never realized a girl’s opinion would be so hard to come by.

Drumming his fingers on the desk, Till pulled out his phone and eventually typed out a message to the most brutally honest person he knew.

[Till 08:50]

i have a question

[Hyuna 08:52]

[Till 08:52]

so, youre a girl…

[Hyuna 08:53]

hard pass. not my type. im into pretty boys pretty girls and pretty theys

but ur so scrawny i could break you with one hand

toothpick lookin ass

[Till 08:53]

????? LET ME FINISH

ALSO IM *THIN* NOT SCRAWNY??? CAN YOU PLEASE LET ME LIVE

[Till 08:56]

ANYWAY

its a long story so dont read into it, i just wanted an honest answer

do you think ivan is

cute

[Hyuna 08:56]

lol

gay

[Till 08:56]

tf i JUST said dont read into it

[Till 09:01]

noona????

[Till 09:10]

fuck

Till withdrew a message

Goddamnit, nevermind. He forced down the redness that rushed to his face and scowled at the front of the class. He was crazy for thinking Hyuna would be serious. She was honest on her terms, no one else’s.

Expressive as Till was, the teacher noticed his visible anger the moment he looked up from his phone. Goodness, it looked like someone owed him money. For a moment, she even wondered if she said something during the lesson that made this temperamental kid upset, but couldn’t think of anything wrong with the lecture. Everyone else seemed alright, so it was probably unrelated.

… Forget it. When it came to Till, why bother guessing?

Later that evening, Mizi sent the final edited video of UNKNOWN’s performance to Till. He put down his guitar and picked up his phone, watching and listening to the video carefully.

Of course, it was excellent.

Don’t be deceived by the fact the video was only 30-seconds long—the amount of editing that went into any video was always exponentially greater than the actual length of the content. The end result was polished and felt very professional. The way Mizi chose to do the audio overlay with the songs from the show made it seem like a music video rather than a promo for social media; Till almost felt like he should offer to pay. Then again, he knew she would refuse anyway.

Expression soft, Till thought—no matter what she did, Mizi was always exceptional.

[Mizi 19:55]

before you post it can I ask something?

[Till 19:56]

Of course, whats up?

[Mizi 19:59]

are you planning to make ivan an official member after this?

…

Ivan joining the band, huh?

Since that day, Ivan hadn’t brought it up, and Till had been… well, avoiding it.

Usually, this sort of complicated feeling was the exact kind of thing he would vent to Ivan about, but since he was involved, it was a bit…

“Damn it.”

From the day he began recruiting members, it wasn’t like Till hadn’t thought about asking Ivan to join. Back then, he hadn’t written many songs and could have composed additional parts for keyboard, which, although different from piano, was related. Ivan could probably have picked it up just fine.

… And of course, Ivan was an exceptional singer, the obvious proof of which was shoved into his face last Saturday.

Yet, Ivan was troublesome and pissed Till off three times an hour. How could a band be productive with that kind of inherent dysfunction? Till wouldn’t deny his ability, but for his own sanity and the sake of trying to keep the group harmonious, it was better to draw a line.

From a musicality perspective, Ivan wasn't quite suited to be the lead singer. Till never wrote songs with anyone’s voice in mind other than his own, and he certainly never would have expected Ivan's somewhat cold, melodic register to sound so good despite not being wholly compatible.

But then, in a more self-aware, bitter corner of his brain, Till recognized a large part of his hesitation was rooted in nothing more than a spiteful form of envy. Didn't Mizi herself point it out earlier? Ivan is like a prince. In the eyes of an audience, that bastard probably seems damn-near-perfect. How would Till measure up if they stood on the same stage, night after night? The vocalist always holds the spotlight, and Till wasn't a saint; he didn't want all of his efforts to be spent propping-up someone else.

Even if that someone else was Ivan. Or maybe, especially because that someone else was Ivan.

As one part Till's mind reasoned against inviting Ivan, another other, slightly more sensible (and infinitely more enterprising) voice argued that there was certain value in recruiting Ivan.

First, plain and simple: they sounded good. Really good. Good enough that, if Till had been in the audience, he definitely would have wanted to see them play again. Wasn't that the best mark of success for a band? Besides, being relieved of some of the pressure of handling everything while being the subject of everyone's scrutiny at the same time had been a massive relief. Sharing the burden would be a huge help, even if Ivan himself was a sort of burden.

Till scratched his head, mussing up his hair in frustration. Why was he getting so hung up on this?

No, what really mattered should be the way they played together. A band isn't a one-man show.

... So, how exactly did they play together?

…

His heart pounded, the crowd faded away, blood rushed in his ears, a heady sense of euphoria swallowed up everything around him. Till had lived a day in a dream and found it difficult to wake up. Most shocking of all was the unmistakable pull that Ivan had, a force of gravity stronger than the pull of the moon to the Earth. The crowd’s attention—and Till’s own—were helpless but to be drawn in.

Remembering the sensation, it was a bit dizzying. A little addictive.

Till really wanted to play like that again.

…

But to do so meant compromising on what he always wanted.

To step away from the microphone and give it to someone else felt… wrong.

[Mizi 20:08]

???

Fuck, why was this so complicated?

[Till 20:09]

I’m still thinking about it. Is it bad that i can’t make up my mind?

[Mizi 20:10]

bad? of course not, it’s your band so you should do what you think is best. technically this video shows ivan performing but it also doesn’t directly show if he’s in the band or not, so you can clarify when you post it. i was just curious ^^

[Till 20:10]

I’ll think for awhile before I post it, you’re the best

[Mizi 20:12]

also you can ask what the other members think too, you don’t have to face everything alone!

Rubbing his forehead, Till gave a shallow smile.

[Till 20:13]

You’re right. thanks mizi

Pulling up the group chat with the other band members, Till thought for awhile before sending over the video first.

...

At the same time, in the Sua’s room at the Unsha estate, Mizi frowned at her phone.

After school and evening lessons, she came over to work on her assignments with Sua.

But it just so happened, about ten minutes earlier, Sua had stepped out out to get tea and snacks when Ivan passed by the open door. He greeted her, wondering if she finished with the video. His reminder promptly jolted Mizi’s memory and she hurriedly rolled off the bed and pulled her laptop from her bag, quickly sending off the finished version to Till.

While they messaged back and forth, Ivan had taken a seat on a plush chair nearby, waiting for her to finish typing. Seeing Till take so long to respond, Mizi gave dramatic sigh and lamented, oh, woe is me, if only someone would braid her hair to pass the time…

(Ivan always did the prettiest braid, even better than Sua’s. Not that Mizi would ever say that to her.)

So, by the time Mizi tossed her phone to the side, Ivan had almost finished a french braid that pulled at her scalp in a relaxing way. She tilted her head back to accommodate the movement of Ivan’s fingers, looking at him upside down.

“Well, I sent it, and I asked him about the band, but why didn’t you just ask him yourself?”

Ivan lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug.

“If I suggest it, he’ll probably do the opposite just for the sake of contradicting me. It’s different if it comes from you.”

“I guess so… But you sounded so good! Obviously, you should join.”

She could never quite figure out what Ivan was thinking. In fact, she had a hard time with both Unsha siblings, but at least with Sua, they had developed a certain tacit understanding over the years.

Ivan’s decisions often left her confused, and for someone like Mizi, a straight-shooter, it felt like everyone around her was playing a game with all sorts of cards up their sleeves.

“I tried not to put your face in it too much like you asked, but… Don’t you want to join Till’s band? Isn’t this a good opportunity?”

“Hmm, maybe.”

She still felt indignant when she saw Ivan’s text yesterday. He actually said it was better to not include him in the final cut at all, but Mizi wasn’t having it. In the end, she only agreed to try to avoid direct shots of his face, but that was it.

Harboring some guilt, Mizi was fully expecting Till to criticize her for excluding Ivan; she was ready to launch into a series of complaints, how dare Ivan undersell himself? The moment Till pointed it out, she was ready to pounce. She even had a whole second version of the video ready where she didn’t purposefully adjust those shots to avoid his face.

All Till needed to do was say something, and then, bam! She was prepared! Ivan, you’ll see who gets the last laugh!

Except.

This morning… It was like Till didn’t even notice.

She had nowhere to vent and felt utterly stifled between these two.

“Hmmp, well, what if I make a band, huh? Would you not join my band? Or, you can make your own band! I’ll join you for sure. Let’s do that, let’s make our own band!”

“Pfft, well, not everyone can be like our Mizi. Rest assured, if you make a band, I’ll be the first to sign-up.”

Ivan gestured for a hair tie, and she pulled one off her wrist and tossed it at him. He secured the gentle overlapping tresses of pink that darkened into a rich blue, loosening a few strands to make the overall impact softer.

“There, how is it?”

Inspecting his handiwork in the mirror, Mizi beamed so brightly she was practically glowing.

“Ah, the best, the best! Thank you!”

“It’s nothing.”

Ivan reclined back against the oversized chair, draping an arm across his eyes and blocking the overhead light.

There were a few reasons he didn’t want to show his face in those videos, some self-serving, others not so much. The most basic reason was straightforward.

If Till wanted him to join, he would have asked Ivan a long time ago.

Having a successful band was Till’s dream; Ivan could only accept that he wasn’t meant to be included in that.

Forcing his face into a video for UNKNOWN’s debut was no different than forcing himself into Till’s dream, a place that was already fit to burst and had no room for him. He might feel pressured or worse, obligated, to extend the invitation.

If Till could compromise once, something Ivan hadn’t expected, who was to say he wouldn’t do it again?

Unlike teasing him for fun, inserting himself into Till’s dreams did not bring Ivan any joy. He once tried to project his own desires onto what he thought Till wanted before, and it backfired. Ended up hurting them both.

Now, he wasn’t keen on making the same mistake again.

Watching Ivan in the reflection behind her, Mizi felt compelled to say something comforting.

But why was that?

Even after thinking hard about it, she couldn’t figure it out. His mouth was still visible even if his eyes were covered, and he was even smiling. But there was something about him at this moment that made Mizi feel a bit… sorry.

“Ivan…”

Before she could finish the thought, a voice full of threat appeared at the doorway.

“What are you doing doing in my room?”

Without even raising his eyes to look, Ivan responded to his sister with a matter-of-fact tone.

“Girl talk.”

“Get out.”

“Yes.”

Any other response, and Ivan had a feeling he would have to deal with a dainty little footprint-shaped bruise on his forehead tomorrow.

Quickly getting up and leaving, he bade Mizi good night. She watched him go with myriad complicated emotions bubbling her chest, absentmindedly accepting a peach blossom cookie as Sua put it in her hand.

Nibbling on it like a little hamster, Mizi felt a bit torn.

“Do you ever feel like, sometimes, Ivan is a bit…”

“Shameless?”

“No, not that. It’s more like, does it ever feel like he’s not really… with you, even when he’s right beside you?”

Sua sat down on the bed, her gentle, amethyst eyes focusing on the bedspread, flattening the wrinkles in the duvet out of habit. Beckoning Mizi over, she obediently crawled across the carpet to rest her chin on Sua’s knee like a docile puppy.

“Don’t think too much about it. He is always doing things that nobody understands.”

Those were the words Sua said, but it was a distorted version of the truth.

Really, it wasn’t that nobody could understand Ivan; it was quite the opposite. His heart was so simple that it was easy for others to miss the most obvious thing about him.

Ivan was in love with Till.

Once you understood this basic truth, everything else about Ivan became exceedingly simple.

Till was his most special person and had been since the day they met. Not many people could see it, but Sua could. She might be the only person who remembered the version of Ivan that existed before Till, and it wasn’t a memory that she cared to recall.

Mizi’s face burned crimson when slender fingers traced her cheek, tucking away a silky pink strand that had gotten loose in the braid.

At the same time, Sua smiled from the bottom of her heart.

“W, Wh, What is it?”

Even Mizi’s earlobes began to burn. So cute.

“Nothing. The tea will get cold. Let’s finish the homework now?”

“Y, yeah! Good!”

In some ways, Sua felt that they, as siblings, had nothing in common.

Other times, like these, as she watched Mizi restlessly spin away, hiding her shyness behind her round-frame glasses, eyes purposefully looking everywhere except at her…

Sua felt that she and Ivan were far too similar for their own good.

Ivan never ended up saying anything about the band beyond sharing screencaps of the video to make fun of him. He had already created a sticker pack in KakaoTalk featuring every still frame when Till made an unflattering expression.

Till was one ‘hahaha’ away from reaching through the phone and throttling him.

The day after the video for UNKNOWN went up, he finally made up his mind.

Resuming a sense of routine, Till had been waiting for the right time to talk to Ivan about things, deciding it was best to wait for band practice, seeing as Ivan had better attendance than the other members, Till knew he would show up. It was to be expected; the only place big enough to accommodate Till, the other three guys, and their instruments that he could freely access was in the school practice rooms. The system for claiming rooms favored seniority, and then larger quantities of students, hoping to maximize the use of each space.

To reserve a large practice room, a minimum of three students was required. Till and Ivan made an agreement at the beginning of the year (along with Acorn, to make up the numbers) that they would sign up for one together and share the space rather than having to fight for the smaller rooms on a day-to-day basis. Having a standing reservation made things much simpler to organize. Ivan could complete his practical coursework using the piano and sheet music provided by the school in one part of the room, while Till’s group rehearsed on the other side of the room.

On this day, Till planted himself on the piano bench on the side of the room typically reserved for Ivan. His leg was bouncing restlessly and he tried not to stare at the door, taking his phone out to stare at nothing in particular on the screen.

Shit, why was he so nervous? He must be out of his mind. Maybe this was a bad idea?

“Till?”

Ivan was surprised to see him. It made sense, given that Ivan was usually the first one here after school. Their class schedules in the afternoon were different to accommodate electives, with Till’s songwriting course landing him more than halfway across the building.

Today, he had to run to get here first, but pretended like it was no big deal and cleared his throat.

“Hey. So, we never got to talk about the show.”

Approaching the bench, Ivan put down his bag and lifted the key cover, mindlessly playing a chord while sitting down.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Well, I talked to the other guys, and they said, if you want, you could join… us. The band, I mean. Not right away, you’ll have to be on a trial period like everyone else had to go through, but you’re more reliable than those three, so…”

Ivan’s hands were suspended above the keys, not pressing down, but not pulling away either.

Even their hands were so different… Till’s calluses had calluses and his joints were really bony; Ivan’s fingers were long without a single blemish, nails trimmed neatly. They looked like they’d been drawn with a freakin’ paintbrush.

After what felt like a long time, Till snapped out of his trance when Ivan asked him a question.

“Is that what you want?”

“Are you deaf, didn’t you just hear me say all that? I’m not going to repeat it if you want to record it on your phone or something.”

“No, I mean, is that what you want? Not them.”

“Tsk, what a dumb question. I want…”

Mouth pressed thinly together, Till turned his head away, pretending to be very interested in whatever was going on outside.

He thought about that feeling when their eyes met on the stage mid-song, and the wild, unimpeded joy that had come with it.

…

“I want all sorts of things.”

Shit, why was this so embarrassing to talk about?

I’m not some lovestruck girl, get it together.

“I’m not going to lie, I don’t really want to give up being the lead singer, but this band is probably not going to make it big before we graduate from Anakt. And then, it’ll likely dissolve, and I’ll make a new one someday with other people. But for right now, I feel like I can get more out of this experience if you—ahem, if I didn’t have to focus so much on singing.”

Even with his face completely turned in the other direction, Till could feel the weight of Ivan looking at him. He grit his teeth and pretended not to notice, continuing with the things he’d spent the past day or so thinking about.

“So. I decided, there are a lot of ways I can grow, and I should be focusing more on composing and producing, rather than just my guitar and singing. Fuck, I mean, there’s seven billion people in the world, how many of them can play guitar and sing? Hundreds of millions, probably? To be different, to be really special, I can’t just keep practicing the same things, I need to be even better. I need to get stronger in the things that not just anybody can do.”

For a while, the practice room was quiet. Till repeated a mantra to himself to keep from feeling suffocated and embarrassed by the fact that he’d just spoken so much from his damn heart to Ivan of all people. God, what was happening to him? Why not just consign himself into an asylum while he was at it?

He recalled a strange sensation of tension from the night at DRAMA, under the urging of the other members, feeling similarly conflicted. What had Till been thinking at that time?

… Would Ivan sing for him if he asked?

Something like that.

The lid to the keys was slowly lowered. Till sat up a little straighter unconsciously.

“Till.”

He couldn’t help peeking slightly to the side, only to see Ivan with his elbows raised onto the edge of the piano, his head resting on his folded hands as watched him, a the fang hooked on the corner of his mouth caught in Ivan’s perpetual smile.

Some of the apprehension in his heart was put down when he saw that familiar look. Wasn’t he overthinking things?

“I’ll sing for as long as you’ll have me.”

… Ah, see?

Why was I so worked up?

A hint of a laugh was hidden behind Ivan’s words, but Till was happy enough not to be bothered for once.

“So, when does practice start?”

He immediately got up and went to get his guitar, moving away like he was fleeing a crime scene. Thank god, the conversation was over and he could go back to something that made a hell of a lot more sense to him: music.

“Practice starts right now.”

Notes:

the m in mizi stands for mvp because that's what she was this chapter

Chapter 3: Actors

Notes:

this is the longest chapter of the fic (dies) good bye

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Two weeks after the “debut” video was posted, UNKNOWN’s follower count had grown to four digits.

Well, it wasn’t much, but it wasn’t nothing.

If they could keep up their current momentum, they could really end up gaining a small fanbase. This kind of early-career baseline could really pay off in the future.

Practice continued with seemingly no real change at all. The other guys were used to Ivan being around anyway, the only difference was played an active role now. That is—he didn’t just sit in front of the piano or float around Till and bother him the entire time.

Till booked a second gig in the next city over, another Saturday out. This venue was a little smaller than DRAMA, but still not bad, and it paid. Till had no complaints.

(Well, he had plenty of complaints, all of which were either directed at or blamed on Ivan. But none of them were actually worth the effort it would take to describe them.)

Approaching the end of May, the height of activities for their school, made time for practice especially tight.

Academies of the arts had no shortage of exhibitions throughout the year, each weekend of any given semester crowded with pre-scheduled showcases, but the onset of summer made things busier than any other time, bar none. Seniors would be graduating and needed to exhibit their final performances, whether they were dance recitals, orchestral performances, theatrical shows, even operas. The juniors would be preparing for entrance exams to universities. Although, given the unique nature of their school, a fair number of them favored going directly into industry through working internships or other similar programs.

The weekend of UNKNOWN’s next show, Sua had a performance of her own scheduled. Her show, however, was strictly theatrical.

Till and Ivan studied music, Mizi studied dance, with a specialization in ballet, and Sua… She was essentially a triple threat: an aspiring actress that could sing and dance. This would be her last and arguably most important performance.

(Not that it made much of a difference. Even without her diploma in-hand, she had already been contacted by several idol trainee programs interested in recruiting her.)

At this rate, she could probably debut before Till even finished school.

(... Sometimes, Till felt that Sua’s talent was a little scary.)

Unlike a band gig, theater shows ran repeatedly, at least for several nights in a row, sometimes even going for weeks at a time. This play was part of her practical coursework and therefore was only limited to one weekend, with Sua playing one of the leading roles. She had three evening shows in just as many days, and a matinee performance on the fourth. Till couldn’t remember what it was called, just that it was written in English by that Shakespeare guy.

The Saturday show was the one that overlapped with Till’s concert, so he planned to join Mizi and Ivan in attending on Friday—opening night.

Mizi’s own senior showcase was in a few weeks and she was practicing everyday without breaks. Till and Ivan, as second years, were a little less pressed for time, but only slightly since their band—Till was really not accustomed to thinking about it as ‘their’ instead of ‘his’—couldn’t be counted towards academic coursework beyond submitting songs for his composition classes. Any performances and practice had to be carved from their already scarce free time.

Which is why Acorn, Isaac, and Dewey were particularly bewildered when they received a text from Till cutting down their practice sessions by half as they got closer to the next show.

At first, they were worried he got sick again, but he assured them it was nothing like that.

What in the world could be so important as to make Till—who would probably die someday while clutching his guitar in one hand and his middle-finger raised using the other—voluntarily cancel band practice?

An upcoming show should mean more practice, right? Was this heralding the end times?

They texted Ivan separately to voice their concerns.

[Isaac 12:20]
Should I buy incense sticks? Talisman paper?
Do I need to find an exorcist????

[Ivan 12:23]
And who exactly is possessed?

[Dewey 12:24]
till, why else would he change our schedule so last minute? im seriously worried

[Ivan 12:25]
Oh. Got it
Yes. Buy all the talisman paper you can. Maybe holy water, too.

[Ivan invited ‘Till’ to the chat. Say hi!]

[Dewey 12:26]
?????

[Dewey 12:27]
traitor

[Isaac 12:28]
traitor

[Acorn 12:30]
traitor

[Till 12:33]
what is this

[Till 12:34]
…

[Till 12:35]
are you guys fucking stupid
im busy

[Till left the chat.]

[Dewey 12:36]
ivan i trusted you >:(

[Ivan 12:28]
Your first mistake. As if you didn’t know where my loyalties lie

Many, many hours later.

[Ivan 17:50]
Oh did I not ever actually clarify
He’s just helping noona with a school thing. Dont worry about it

[Dewey 17:52]
…

[Dewey kicked ‘Ivan’ from the chat.]

[Dewey invited ‘Ivan’ to the chat. Say hi!]

[Dewey 17:54]
sorry i just needed a way to vent my uncontrollable rage

[Ivan 18:00]
Understandable

It was a habit Till had established with Sua a few years ago, sort of by accident, because he frankly sucked at English. Reading, speaking, writing—all of it, he sucked, plain and simple.

But who made him like the way it sounded in his songs?

He put in hours and hours of voluntary studying just to improve his pronunciation and vocabulary so it would be easier to incorporate English lyrics into his songwriting; it was for this same reason he was always the first to volunteer to help Sua read lines when her scripts were in English.

The trial by fire method worked well for him, and since Sua simply needed someone to read back the next parts of a script, it had become a sort of tradition for them to get together more as the opening day of any of Sua’s shows grew nearer.

(Of course, anywhere Sua and Till were, Ivan and Mizi wouldn’t be far behind.)

The evening after Ivan sold out the others and they were all scolded by Till, in one of the numerous living rooms in the Unsha home, one such practice session was underway.

Well, it was. Up until about five seconds ago.

Sua liked to schedule breaks into her work, and they’d just reached a five-minute stretch to relax. The girls were sitting on the ground on the opposite side of a luxurious coffee table, over half of which Mizi had staked a claim for completing her homework. Sua sat down beside her, pouring a cup of tea and perching her chin on Mizi’s shoulder, examining the movement of her pencil scratching against the notepaper.

Till flopped on the couch, throwing his curled up script at Ivan who was scrolling through his phone on an adjacent chair.

“Thank god I just need to read the lines and not understand them. What was Shakespeare even on about? This is complete nonsense.”

Ivan picked up the weaponized bundle of pages and thumbed through the scenes.

“Isn’t it only nonsense if you don’t understand it?”

“Oh, and you do?”

Choosing a passage at random, Ivan began to read, his pronunciation so smooth it made Till want to hit him.

“There’s little of the melancholy element in her, my lord. She is never sad but when she sleeps, and not ever sad then, for I have heard my daughter say she hath often dreamt of unhappiness and waked herself with laughing.”

With a somewhat resigned sigh, Sua answered with the next line, not having need of a script.

“She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.”

“That’s…”

Till flipped over, crawling forward over the arm rest to squint at the page from which Ivan just read..

He suspected so, but wanted to check first, “That’s not even your line, why bother memorizing it?”

The picture of composure, Sua gave a soft smile and looked down at her teacup, taking a measured sip.

“The same as song lyrics, if you hear certain words said enough times, you can memorize anything. Besides, I have dialogue just before this moment. It’s important to understand a scene inside and out to follow the character’s emotions.”

Till raised his eyebrows, once again raising his evaluation of Sua as a scary individual, and collapsed back onto the couch.

Leaning over, Ivan half-shielding his own face behind the script to whisper, “Noona, is what we would call a fine example of my mom’s friend’s daughter.¹’”

He acted secretive, but it was obvious that he said it with the intention of being heard.

Seemingly unaffected, Sua’s smile only became increasingly gentle as she gazed at her younger brother.

“Better that than an apathetic hypocrite, no?”

“I can only say Beatrice is a good fit for you. Is it too easy to play yourself? A shrew playing a shrew²?”

“Who. Are. You. Calling.”

Rising to her feet, Sua’s expression continued to become softer and more gentle with each word. It was… much more frightening than if she began yelling or cursing, actually.

“A shrew?”

“Have you never seen ppyojogdwijwi? They’re very cute. It’s a compliment. Mizi, look one up.”

Ivan brushed her off without any ounce of fear.

Upon hearing her name, Mizi raised her head from her practice notebook, blinking owlishly. Clearly, she hadn’t been paying attention.

“A ppyojogdwijwi? Hold on, I’m looking it up…” A flurry of fast typing ensued, and then, a happy little squeal.

“Oh my god, they really are so tiny, what is this? This is the cutest thing ever, Sua, look!”

At that exact moment, Sua’s phone alarm went off, signaling five-minutes had passed, effectively saving Ivan from his sister’s wrath.

Ivan looked towards her with a charming, innocent smile. Knowing his sister to always adhere to a strict scheduled, blocking out her time into predictable regiments so as to not impact her daily arrangements, it wouldn’t be a surprise if he timed his provocation precisely.

Standing up, Sua disregarded Ivan, only stopping to indulge Mizi as she showed her pictures of a little fuzzy animal, before returning to the center of the room.

“Time’s up. Till, skip ahead to the next highlighted section, page 78.”

Till, uncharacteristically timid, stood up. He shot an annoyed look at Ivan. That bastard only waved at him like he wasn’t sending him into a wolf’s den.

Damn it, why piss off your sister and then leave me to deal with her?

Till stood across from her, but when Sua turned back around, all her rising emotions seemed to vanish. Ever professional, she seamlessly assumed her character without needing any time to adjust. Till let out a tiny sigh of relief and searched for the next section in the script.

While Till read the lines, Mizi and Ivan weren’t off the hook, either. Sua was far too economical to let these two assets sit around without paying out some dividends. Mizi, once her homework was finished, was to utilize her detailed understanding of the body as a form of human expression. Her assignment was to watch Sua’s arms, legs, and overall demeanor, and to point out anytime it felt unnatural. This was especially important in interactions that required more movement, or making suggestions for ways to interpret a scene if the stage directions were unclear (as was often the case).

As for Ivan, he had been gently threatened by his sister into observing her facial expressions for any slight imperfections. Even if she had a year on him in age and experience, Ivan’s skill in this regard was superior to her own.

Since they were children, they had received formal etiquette training, part of which included how to tamp down their emotions, to practice courtesy no matter the occasion, but Ivan took this habit to the extreme even without need of a teacher. Every morning, he looked at his face in the mirror, adjusting himself like an actor stepping in front of the camera, preparing to shoot a scene in the role of a dutiful child, friend, son, student, or the like. He never particularly hid this behavior, and Sua had walked in him doing this many times; he could summon virtually any emotion he wanted to show on his face at command.

Sua was often frustrated by her brother’s wasted talent. He clearly had the ability to act but had no interest in it at all. Most days, Ivan wouldn’t use any of his myriad expressions besides a typical, neutral, disinterested face, the mildly attentive expression he used when speaking to friends and acquaintances, and the well-crafted, soft smile that was reserved for only times when Till was around.

“... she’s a fair lady. I do spy some marks of love in her.”

Hearing her cue, Sua snapped out of her thoughts and pursed her lips, appearing quite reluctant and proud.

“Against my will, I am sent to bid you come into dinner.”

Anyway, Sua didn’t have time to worry about Ivan.

Opening night was less than a week away.

Tuesday, after school, Ivan was seated on the piano bench, posture upright with one foot on the sostenuto pedal, pausing mid-note.

His phone in his pocket buzzed. He stopped playing and glanced at the empty room behind him. Till had gone to sign-in Dewey and Isaac as guests in the office, so he was presently alone.

Three messages awaited him.

[Secretary Jang 15:35]
Young master, your father request you home by 17:00. There is an event at 18:30, and the driver will leave at 18:00.

[Father 15:38]
Don’t be late.

Ivan hadn’t noticed the first two messages since he had turned off notifications for both contacts.

Ignoring them, he scrolled to the one that just came in.

[Mizi 16:26]
bestie I need help

Closing the key lid, Ivan began to gather his things in an unhurried manner and replied to Mizi.

[Ivan 16:27]
Oh? Psychiatric, emotional, mental, or physical?

[Mizi 16:27]
alll of the above tbh tbh
BUT
right now. mostly emotional???

[Ivan 16:28]
The doctor is in~

[Mizi 16:28]
ok

[Mizi 16:29]
ok so um

[Ivan 16:30]
Take your time

[Mizi 16:34]
AHHH it’s just you know how at the end of a show people go up and give flowers to the cast during the curtain call?? i want to get flowers for sua but I don’t know what she likes, you know how picky she is… cna you help
PLEASEEEE i’ll buy you boba!!

Ivan snorted and covered his mouth with a hand to stop himself from laughing out loud. No wonder she was all nervous. Stepping outside the practice room, Ivan stood at the door and typed a response. Till’s stuff was inside; Ivan figured he didn’t think to bring the room key and didn’t want to lock him out, so it was better to just wait for him to come back and then leave.

[Ivan 16:36]
girl.
Just get married already. It’s embarrassing to watch

[Mizi 16:36]
AHHHHH SHUT UPPPPP
ok but pls dont shut up i need help PLEASE

[Ivan 16:38]
You’re right that she’s somewhat picky. She likes climbing vines, although it’s hard to find bouquets of those on short notice. I’d call around to florists and ask, but if you can’t find them, I’m sure she’d be happy with anything pink.

[Mizi 16:42]
i had to google what climbing vines were lol
so like clematis? ill try to call and ask but why pink?? her favorite color ares purple and white, and if she’s picky then i shouldn’t just choose randomly right?

Sighing, Ivan shook his head. How could someone be so smart yet so clueless?

There were voices coming from the end of the hallway, causing him to raise his eyes from his phone.

Presumably after hearing something funny, Till let out a laugh at the same time that he turned the corner. Smiling openly, a glimmer of orange-sunset landed on him through the window on the stairwell, his posture carefree and expression light. He looked happy.

Ivan had to suppress the urge to switch his phone to the camera and snap a picture.

Moments like these always made him wonder what it would be like to be able to see such a Till up close.

Naturally, when Till noticed him standing there, his smile faded, his guard up.

“What’s up?”

Ivan greeted the older two players with a wave.

“Well, something came up at home, so I’m leaving early. I didn’t want you to get locked out.”

Patting his pockets, presumably checking for his keys and then finding nothing, Till nodded and gave a quick wave.

“Good call. Then, see you later.”

Dewey looked like he heard something truly incredible. “You’re leaving? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you and Till not in the same room together… Maybe ever?”

Rolling his eyes, Till yanked open the door and went inside. “Shut up, didn’t you just see me in the office when I signed you in? Now come in before I lock you out.”

Isaac, knowing Till to make good on his threat, nodded at Ivan and pushed Dewey into the room.

The door shut, and the sound insulation cut-off their conversation, leaving Ivan to stand alone in a brief moment of silence.

He lowered his gaze and began to walk away, returning to his conversation with Mizi.

[Ivan 16:44]
Noona’s picky, but she’s also not. Just trust me. Pink will work.
Actually, even better, I’d say go with hydrangeas. They’re easy to find, aren’t too expensive, and I know she’ll like them. There are some varieties that have multiple colors within the same group of petals. Find ones that turn from pink to blue.

[Mizi 16:47]
ivan those are MY favorite colors GRRRRR
ApeachHeadscratch.jpg

[Ivan 16:47]
Till_expression15_EyeRoll.jpg
I know.

Back in the practice room, Till sat down and switched on the amp connected to his pedals.

“Acorn’s coming late, so let’s start without him.”

“Are we just doing the whole setlist for this weekend?”

Dewey spun a drumstick in his hand while Isaac tuned his bass.

“Yeah, but I wanted to focus on the third and fourth songs since Acorn’s part is minor anyway, let’s start there.”

Nodding, Isaac finished and gave his strings a testing strum before answering.

“Then, we’ll follow your cue.”

“Good.”

Since the third song had a cold open with vocals and no background music, Till cleared his throat a few times and hummed to adjust his voice. He could cover the vocals, obviously, as he had always sung them anyway.

Except, he fell into an old habit.

Over his shoulder, he called out, “Hey, can you play a C—?”

When Ivan wasn’t practicing with them, he would still be invariably seated at the piano.

Just… he wasn’t here today.

Ah, shit. How humiliating.

Isaac and Dewey laughed at him, and Till ran a hand through his hair, pretending he wasn’t red in the face.

“S, shut up! It was an honest mistake.”

Isaac snorted and patted Till on the shoulder consolingly.

“Don’t worry, I get it. Considering he’s always riling you up, it really doesn’t feel like practice when he’s not here.”

The door opened, and Till’s ears perked up, jumping at the opportunity to vent at Ivan for making him look like a fool just now.

“Aw, you guys… I got done with my tutoring early. I didn’t realize I meant so much to you…”

Acorn’s gaze was shining, full of emotion, as he deeply misunderstood Isaac’s meaning.

“Uhh…”

Stunned, the older man didn’t know how to answer without sounding like a complete jackass. ‘We weren't talking about you, sort of forgot you were even coming?’ He’s not a bastard. What to do?

It was especially hard to think of a reasonable explanation with Dewey practically howling with laughter behind him.

Till wasn’t really listening to them anymore, relieved that his own embarrassing moment had passed, but more than that, he was also a little uncomfortable.

Hard to describe…

His mood should be even better since they could avoid having to play their setlist out of order.

So why did he feel so…

…

“Ah, fuck, whatever. Let’s go, let’s play already.”

In true Till fashion, when he didn’t understand or couldn’t be bothered to think about something, he turned to music to avoid dealing with it. He made the others all shut up and told them to get ready to play the set from the top.

The cool scent of posh leather and luxury permeated the air, and with his eyes closed, the scent was especially vivid to Ivan.

“Tired?”

His father asked perfunctorily from the other side of the backseat of the car, while his secretary and the driver were up front, pretending to be invisible.

“It’s okay.”

The conversation ended there.

Others may have found this exchange cold, or maybe even awkward, but it was normal for them.

Ivan’s relationship with his father was so-so. He didn’t hate his old man, but it was a bit much to say their relationship had any foundations of love. Ivan exhibited the requisite amount of respect, and his father displayed an appropriate amount of concern. No more, no less.

Ivan’s mood that evening was less than ideal, since he had to come out and fulfill his obligation as his father’s son. In an attempt to be fair, the man only asked Ivan and Sua to attend these social functions on an alternating basis.

Sua went last time. Tonight, it was his turn.

Perhaps the silence was too unbearable for outsiders, as Secretary Jang politely cleared his throat.

“The young lady’s final performance as a high school student is on Friday. Will the young master be attending?”

“I’m going with Till and Mizi. Will you be there, Secretary Jang?”

“Yes, the young lady presented the President with tickets for the opening performance. The invitation was also extended to several of us on the administrative staff.”

From the corner of his eye, Ivan could see his father turn his head in his direction.

“Even if you’re sitting separately, come and say hello when you get there.”

There was something comical about a man as high profile as him attending a high school performance, but, for all his flaws, their father always supported Sua’s passion unconditionally.

Asking him to come over, Ivan assumed he wanted to preserve the outward appearance of a loving family.

“Yes.”

Greeting him wasn’t a big deal, and Ivan had found it was almost always easier to do as he said than to ask questions.

The driver notified, “We’ll be arriving in another five minutes, sir.”

“Got it. This is Old Heperu’s 60th birthday banquet, so you’ll accompany me until he comes out. There’s usually a speech at these things, so once he’s said whatever he wants to say, you can go and spend time with the other kids.”

Sounds reasonable enough.

“Will we be staying late?”

“Hmm… You have school tomorrow?”

Ivan didn’t know if it was appropriate to laugh, so he held back the impulse and answered seriously.

“... Yes, Father. I go to school five days of the week.”

“Right, then we’ll keep it brief. Old Heperu will understand, his kid isn’t much older than you.”

The car was slowing and they prepared to get out. It wasn’t a big deal to open the door for himself, rather than waiting for Secretary Jang or the driver to come around, Ivan stepped out on his own and arrived at a bustling, yet quaint, Western-style manor. Their own home was really unnecessarily large for it to formally house all of three people, but stepping out like this, Ivan was actually a little humbled. Compared to them, the Heperu family proudly pushed their capitalistic worship to the forefront for the world to see.

Glittering and gold, soft white tones with eggshell accents, trimmed hedges with a light fragrance of flowers, all set to a gentle mélange of violin, the entire property seemed to drip with excess.

For some reason, he thought back a few hours earlier, when the rays of the sun crossed Till at the perfect time. For a moment, Ivan felt a strong unwillingness to attend this party, finding the entire thing gaudy and repulsive.

All things that are golden are not beautiful, but all things that are beautiful will shine when cast in gold.

Ivan sighed, resigned himself to his fate, and walked inside after his father.

[Ivan 00:59]
Are you home?

[Hyuna 01:08]
good boys should go to bed early on a school night

[Ivan 01:09]
I’m coming over

[Hyuna 01:10]
zzzz fine

Fifteen minutes later, Hyuna heard a knock and got up. Her apartment was tiny and, really, unfit for guests, so she simply snatched her cigarettes, keys, and her phone before heading to the door.

When she opened the door, Ivan was standing there, but he looked a little…

“... Why are you dressed like a mobster goon?”

Ivan’s lip twitched. He took off his tie earlier but didn’t bother changing… It was definitely the first time in his life he’d ever been called a goon.

“Well, I recently started working as a waiter. Any thoughts?”

“Just one: don’t.”

Ivan stepped aside as she locked the door, silently following her down the steps towards the courtyard behind the building. It was quiet and deserted this late, and she plopped down on a bench while lighting a cigarette.

Taking one look at Ivan’s appearance, Hyuna silently tossed him the pack and her lighter, which he accepted gracefully.

They sat outside smoking in silence for a few minutes. Hyuna hadn’t seen Ivan in a few months and felt like he seemed… taller? This was the age where kids like him grew like weeds, after all.

Ivan tapped off the ash on the end of his smoke and asked Hyuna, “Guess who I saw tonight?”

“Hmm… Santa.”

“... It’s May?”

She snorted and took a drag from her cigarette.

“Yeah, and Santa’s not real, so why are you acting surprised?”

Laughing, Ivan leaned back, arching his back in a stretch.

“I saw Luka. In fact, I was at his house.”

Hyuna’s hand holding her cigarette twitched. Ivan noticed, but didn’t say anything.

“Did you come here just to tell me that? Why do I care?”

“Heh, I’m just making conversation with my noona, is that not allowed?”

Sensing Hyuna’s clear disinterest in carrying on with that subject, Ivan gazed at the apartments across the courtyard. Third floor, number 319…

Till’s apartment.

After a long pause, he said, “I want to beat up an old man. What do you say?”

“Oh, hell yeah, now you’re talking. Who is it? Who are we jumping?”

“Santa,” Ivan answered randomly, at which point, Hyuna kicked him in the shin with her prosthetic.

“Ow, fuck.”

Taking time to really laugh at his suffering, Hyuna’s voice gradually trailed off as they settled into a comfortable silence.

After they finished smoking, Ivan lit another one. Hyuna didn’t join him this time, watching him intently until he let out the first exhale of smoke.

“So, why are you really here? If you can’t sleep and just came over and talk nonsense, you wouldn’t be smoking. Did Luka piss you off somehow? If you want to beat him up, you’ll have to get in line.”

“Hmm. He’s good at provoking people, but no. Both our parents were there, so he was on his best behavior.”

“Tch, what a coward.”

“Me, or Luka?”

“Both.”

Pouting a bit, Ivan looked at Hyuna with eyes just begging for pity. “Noona, I’ve been insulted twice and kicked already during the course of this conversation. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

“I’m not good at comforting people, and you know that. If you wanted comfort, you would have gone somewhere else.”

“... True.” His expression like a puppy left in the rain was instantly put away. “Will you kick me again if I say I just wanted to come and smoke without getting lectured?”

“Finally, there’s actually some truth coming from your mouth.”

“Heh. It’s really not an interesting story. My mood wasn’t great to begin with, but then someone let a rabid dog loose at the party and it tried to bite me. So, I wanted to smoke.”

Hyuna raised a brow.

“And why didn’t someone put it on a leash?”

“They tried, but dogs can be tricky if they don’t want to be caught.”

“Hmm. And does this dog have anything to do with the old man you want to beat up?”

“Santa has reindeer, not dogs. Don’t tell me—noona didn’t know?”

“You little…”

She smacked the back of his head, causing him to choke on the smoke in his lungs.

Once Ivan managed to recover from his coughing fit, he asked, seemingly out of the blue, “Why didn’t you come to Till’s show?”

“I had to work.”

“Ah. Makes sense.”

“I still can’t believe that, with his temper, he can stand to be around Dewey and Isaac for more than ten minutes. They’re not bad guys, just a little dumb, but Till’s temper is more than just a ‘little’.”

“Hmm. There’s another show this weekend. Will you go?”

“Mhmm. This time, those punks cried and begged. If I don’t go, who would be responsible for their snotty noses?”

“Hehe, then, can noona let me ride in her car? Pretty please?”

“Buy my gas and my dinner that day, then sure.”

“Deal.”

Taking a long, final drag of the second cigarette. Ivan crushed it on the ground and picked up all three butts to throw away.

“Thanks for the smokes. I’ll head out now.”

“No problem, be careful on the way back.”

“Yeah.”

Ivan walked her until they reached the eaves of the building, where she waved and started to climb back to the second floor. He stood still, watching the place where she disappeared at the top of the stairs for a while, before eventually turning back towards the parking lot.

The main source of light in the dark night came from the streetlamps.

It was just as blindingly bright as the Heperu’s home, eclipsing all the stars in the distance.

He stood under the light, looking up at it for a long time.

A few hours earlier.

In an effort to appear amicable while avoiding most of the ego-stroking that went on at these events, Ivan had developed a certain strategy.

“One, two, annnnd—up!”

He played with the children.

At the moment, he was with a little girl, probably no older than four-years old, and he lifted beneath her arms high into the air, earning him a burst of giggles. The other children were a bit older than her, probably closer to seven to eight, making her seem especially small and lonely.

Like him, these children were obligated to come under their parent’s direction, only for their parents to invariably remember that they’re attending a social networking party, not a family barbecue, and it was ill-advised to bring children.

(Of course, those same regretful parents would selectively forget this fact again the next time a big banquet came around. They were too invested in pushing their children forward like show pets, both proudly measuring and competing with the other parents there, to remember such details.)

Most of the parents would try to get a servant to watch them, but Ivan would gently suggest playing with them himself when an attendant eventually came forward.

The elders looked at him, pleased, thinking he was responsible; he smiled right back, very happy not to have to carry on a conversation with these people about boring subjects like venture capital investments or international brokerage deals. Did they forget he was only sixteen, not twenty-six?

Ultimately, his purpose was self-serving, but Ivan liked to think the kids would prefer to be with him over a servant. Also, he liked hearing all their little voices calling him hyung and oppa.

“Heheh.” After being set down, the girl latched onto Ivan’s leg and looked up at him with a big smile. She didn’t seem so shy after playing for awhile. “By the way, I like oppa’s little tooth, here.”

She pointed at her own mouth, but was looking at him. Ivan unconsciously touched the fang that naturally protruded from his mouth with the tip his tongue. It wasn’t the first time he’d been told by someone they liked it, although he felt it wasn’t anything special.

Still, Ivan played along.

“Oh my, a compliment from a little princess? I can die happy now.”

“Aw, but oppa! You said you’d play me a song on the piano. You can’t die.”

Ivan patted the top the little girl’s head with a smile.

“You really want to hear a song, huh?”

“Yes!” After blurting out her response, realizing she may have sounded rude, she lowered her head and shyly amended, “Umm, yes please?”

… She looked just like Mizi when she was caught doing something bad. Ivan was helpless.

Well, one song wouldn’t hurt.

Rubbing the back of his nape, he looked around the grand, sprawling hall for someone who worked here. He spotted a young woman dressed in the same fashion as the caterers, which was close enough.

“Excuse me. Can you help me with something?”

The woman seemed taken aback by the question, her face turning red as she stammered a reply.

“Um, this guest… W, what is it?”

“I’d like to play a song on the piano in the front of the hall, but I’m not sure from whom I should get permission.”

“Ah… I, I’m not sure either… This isn't something I can decide casually, but I can find my manager. Please wait.”

Cheering, the little girl jumped in place and clapped her hands.

“No one’s agreed yet, don’t be disappointed if they say it’s not allowed.”

Fate must have been on the little girl’s side, as after a few minutes, the blushing woman came back with a stern, older looking auntie.

“What is your name, young man?”

“Good evening, ajumma. I hope I’m not disturbing your work. My name is Ivan Unsha, but if it’s inconvenient to arrange—”

Her attitude became immediately much more flattering. Ivan’s smile did not so much as twitch, pretending not to notice the change.

“Oh, it’s the young master of the Unsha family? Then, of course. Please, go right ahead.”

“Well, thank you very much. I apologize for the trouble.”

“No trouble, no trouble.”

He led the little girl to the piano bench and helped her to sit before instructing her to wait for him. Approaching the group of violinists, he exchanged a few words with the one who looked the most senior and explained the situation. Not only did they not seem annoyed with Ivan’s suggestion, they even looked relieved that someone would be giving them a break for a few minutes.

No musicians’ life is ever easy, huh?

Once Ivan sat down in front of the piano, the little girl nervously twisted her fingers together, clearly wanting to test the keys but too afraid to be caught misbehaving.

Awaiting the violinists to finish their current song, Ivan asked his new little friend, “Do you like the piano?”

“I’m not sure. But it’s really big and pretty… Does it sound good?”

“You can play it if you want.”

Gathering her courage, the little girl reached out a finger and poked one of the keys. An extremely soft note rang out, and she couldn’t help but release a little gasp at the sound it made.

“Wow…”

The tone in the noisy hall shifted as the accompanying strings faded after a sustained low note, leaving only the sound of chatting voices compounded in layers of conversations.

Considering the circumstances, Ivan decided to play Prokofiev Op. 65. He skipped a few of the middle No.’s that sounded a little too childish or would seem abrupt given the setting, but otherwise, the lilting children’s piece provided a pleasing contrast against the drolling voices filling up the hall.

A little absentmindedly, Ivan wondered if a piece of this length would be long enough for those violin players to take an adequate break. He didn’t purposefully extend the performance, seeing that he wasn’t trying to draw unneeded attention to himself, but it should be long enough to at least stretch their legs, right?

At the end of the song, as the tone receded like a gentle lullaby, the girl was stuck in a speechless trance for a while.

Eventually, she began to clap vigorously, even drawing the attention of some of the partygoers.

“So pretty! Thank you!”

She looked at Ivan’s hands and then her own.

“Can I learn to play piano like you?”

“Hm? Of course. With enough time, I’m sure you can become even better than me.”

These were not words of humility or those meant for coaxing a child. Ivan sincerely believed what he said.

Having received plenty of feedback from a number of different teachers, both privately hired and under the employ of Anakt, Ivan’s ability had been repeatedly described as hitting a bottleneck. His playing hadn’t managed to advance much for several years. His technical skills were exceptional, far surpassing others his age and with similar experience, but his teachers gently explained that they couldn’t see a viable path forward for him if he chose to continue playing the piano long-term.

When his last private instructor ended their lessons, he told Ivan that, when listening to him play, there was not a single mistake to correct; that to follow the score in the exact way it was written was actually a remarkable thing.

It was intended as a compliment.

When he ended the lesson, he wore an awkward, sympathetic smile, and then left without ever coming back.

Ivan didn’t care much about it, in the end. He was satisfied just being able to play.

It would be nice if he could capture the feeling he’d had when performing at DRAMA, but that emotional, ambrosial state-of-being, sprung from a mixture of strain and reprieve, necessity and desire, was simply too indistinct to recreate casually.

From the bottom of his heart, Ivan believed that, surely, this little girl could surpass him.

As he closed the key lid slowly, Ivan could hear the voices of a few people growing closer. When he raised his head, some of the nearby guests that noticed him playing took the opportunity to come over and strike up a conversation, which was… Exactly what Ivan had been hoping to avoid, but who let this little girl be so cute and persuasive?

Standing up slowly, he plastered on a bashful, charming smile and prepared to greet them one-by-one, right as a familiar face squeezed towards the front of the crowd.

“Secretary Jang?”

The man straightened his somewhat rumpled suit and nodded at Ivan before turning to face the approaching partygoers.

“Apologies, President Unsha is looking for the young master. I’ll be happy to take your contact information for a later appointment if you wish to chat…”

Gesturing the far side of the hall with his eyes, Secretary Jang silently urged Ivan to go while he dealt with the not-so-happy guests that were being rejected.

At the moment, Ivan was feeling rather grateful for this his father’s capable errand runner. He planned to leave after saying goodbye to his little friend.

“Oppa, can you play piano for me again?”

“Well, maybe next time. Be good and don’t run around.”

“I’ll be good. Bye bye, thanks for playing with me.”

After a minute of searching, Ivan eventually spotted his father standing off to the side, near a window, drink in hand. He appeared to be talking with someone, but with his back facing Ivan, he wasn’t sure what kind of mood to expect from this old man.

Stepping forward, Ivan bowed slightly with an apologetic smile.

“Father, I heard you were looking for—”

In front of his father was another familiar face.

Ivan was so shocked, he couldn’t help but pause for a moment.

“—me.”

“Oh, if it isn’t young master Ivan-nim. It’s nice to see you.”

… Speaking courteously, too.

It made Ivan uncomfortable to be addressed with such deference by an elder, not to mention this was not just some random face in a crowd.

This man was Mr. Urak—Till’s father.

Ivan casually shifted his gaze to his own old man, wondering if there was some hidden explanation he could discern from his expression, but his face gave nothing away.

Unable to discern much of the atmosphere between them, Ivan could only be polite in return. After all, no matter what, this was Till’s nominal father.

“Yes, Mr. Urak, it’s been awhile. Are you here to celebrate Mr. Heperu’s birthday as well?”

“Yes, ah, we have a connection back from our school days. I couldn’t help coming to help my old friend celebrate.”

“I see. What a small world, I had no idea.”

On impulse, Ivan almost asked why he didn’t think to bring Till. After all, this would have been much less of a waste of his time if Till had been here. He would have reveled in watching Till get upset over every single thing about this place. The exaggerated excess, the boring violin ensemble, the tiny foods that couldn’t fill half his stomach. It was funny just to imagine.

Trapped in a circus and forced to mingle with so many wealthy clowns, Till probably would ended up burning down the big tent and beating someone bloody before the night was over.

With a faint smile, Ivan realized he answered his own question without having to ask.

Bringing Till to a place like this would have been an absolute disaster for everyone except him.

A pity, really.

“Was that you playing piano just now? Such talent, I can’t believe you and my son are classmates.”

Hearing this tone, Ivan at least had an inkling of what was going on, but he hesitated to make any assumptions. Whether the story of having an old history with the Herperu family was true or not, it at least appeared that Mr. Urak was trying to take advantage of the occasion to make some business connections. Especially considering that, of all the big names present, he chose to corner Ivan’s own father—it probably meant he was trying to pressure him on the basis of their relationship.

“Yes, thank you. It was just a short piece written for children, I’m afraid it wasn’t anything special.”

“Ah, he’s humble, too. You know, old Unsha, if my son was half as good as yours, I would have a lot fewer gray hairs. Actually, it’s good that you’re here, young master Ivan. I wanted to apologize to you and your father on his behalf.”

“That's not—sorry, what?”

Ivan was a bit distracted. He intended to refute the first half of the sentence before being blindsided by the second half.

Apology? From whom?

“That brat, I’m afraid he doesn’t know anything about manners. He has some ability, but he’s just too wild sometimes. When I heard that the young master was a big help for his band’s concert a few weeks ago, even filling in for the role of singer, I wanted to beat that little punk into next week. By all means, don’t take it his behavior seriously. Please, accept my apology on his behalf.”

“Oh? Ivan is in your son’s band, you say?”

With a cold tone of voice, his father spoke for the first time since Ivan showed up.

Ah, this…

This was bad.

“Talented at piano and singing—my friend, you must be very proud. I just feel guilty, if I had known you would both be here tonight, I should have brought Till along to apologize properly. I know he can be a troublemaker, but I didn’t expect him to drag the young master into reckless things like that so-called band of his. Please don’t hold it against him.”

…

Be respectful, be respectful.

Beating up people isn’t respectful.

Hitting bastardly old men isn’t respectful.

Be respectful, be respectful…

Ivan repeated this mantra in his head, eyes and mouth curved in matching, strained arcs, as he focused on pressing down his more violent urges.

Clearly, this man knew what he was doing and was saying these things on purpose. If it wasn’t to provoke Ivan directly, then it was certainly intended to make his father angry.

The other, more selfish reason Ivan had wanted to keep from showing his face in the video Mizi put together was exactly this—to minimize the likelihood that his father would hear about it.

The thing about their old man was, to him, Ivan and Sua were precious trophies. Things he could polish, take down from a shelf to enjoy from time to time, to look at how much he’s accomplished and revel in his success, before putting them back in the glass cabinet and going about his day. He never cared about what they did, how much money they spent, who they befriended, or where they were at any given time. Their freedom was boundless—on the condition that they continuously shined, displaying the immaculate, high-gloss finish he had spent so much time and effort cultivating.

The difference between a museum and a private collection depended on who was able to enjoy the benefits inherent to the art. To Ivan’s father, if there was anything worse than a dull trophy, it was others trying to commodify his glory.

No self-respecting child of the Unsha family would behave so outrageously, to lower themselves to be a means of entertainment for any banal audience; performing unrefined music with undignified people, in a place so far from the light it wasn’t even cast in its shadow.

…

Ivan was truly starting to regret checking his phone earlier in the practice room. He should have just stayed with Till today. What was said said can’t be taken back, so Ivan would have to face the consequences sooner or later.

For now, he had to deal with the old man in front of him first.

Ivan cared very little about most things, but he was also human. He, too, had a bottom line that shouldn’t be touched.

It just so happened that his bottom line had a four-letter name, eyes like cold jade, and a terrible temper.

Whether it was Till’s father or his own, if someone crossed that line, Ivan wasn’t going to simply tolerate it in silence.

“Thank you for the apology, Mr. Urak, but there’s really no need. In fact, Till is far more talented than I am. To follow your analogy, if I was half as good as Till, I wouldn’t have needed so many lessons just to learn the basics for a single instrument. Seeing as he can play guitar, bass, piano, several percussion instruments, along with singing and composing—well. You must be very proud of him. As for that show you’re referring to, it really wasn’t much. I just helped UNKNOWN where I could, smoothing things over.”

The man’s smile gradually faded by the time Ivan stopped talking. A heavy tension lingered in the air, and even after saying so much, Ivan still couldn’t help feeling stifled when he thought about the entire conversation.

How could it be that there was someone in this world entitled to the opportunity to cherish Till—to care for him openly, something that not just anyone was able to do—only for that opportunity to be utterly wasted on a man like Till’s father?

Instead, he chose to step on Till’s achievements as a means to suck up to a group of elitist narcissists.

It was just impossible for Ivan to understand.

“And I should clarify one thing.” He pointedly met at his father’s gaze before shifting his attention back to Till’s father. “As far as being dragged into things, Till has never once forced me to do something I did not want to do. For that, I can only say thank you for raising him so well.”

He gave a partial bow and excused himself, turning to leave both older men behind.

…

Not long after, Ivan ran into Luka, but the conversation was about as shallow and uninteresting as he would have expected.

“How is Till doing? You used to be inseparable as kids.”

“Well, his band is growing in popularity, so he seems like he’s doing well. Hey, why not use your idol platform to promote him? Maybe if you do enough good deeds, karma will take pity on you and Hyuna-noona will unblock your number.”

Luka appeared unbothered, but Ivan could hear the slightest hint of strain in his voice.

“... Have you seen her lately?”

“Not in the past a few months. I imagine she’s doing better now that it’s summer. You know, winter and rainy weather are hard for her.”

“...”

Those pale lashes fluttered, hiding some emotion within.

“Is he still chasing Mizi? Till, I mean. I imagine he’ll feel rather awkward when he realizes she’s been in love with your sister all this time.”

Considering his own mood wasn’t great to begin with, Ivan felt like this was probably as far as he could tolerate Luka tonight without doing irreparable harm to their family’s relationship. He decided to end the conversation early.

“I’m too tired to play your mind games today, so I’ll go first.”

“How boring. Well, go on then.”

It was nearly midnight when they left the party.

The car ride home was even less comfortable than the way there, the air stuffy with an unpleasant mix of different aromas: food, alcohol, scores of expensive perfumes that lingered, clinging like haunting spirits. From the tension alone, Secretary Jang and the driver could feel perspiration gathering on their backs despite the blasting air conditioner.

After a prolonged, icy silence, Ivan’s father finally broached the subject.

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

Sitting back and closing his eyes, he tried to rest a bit while the car navigated them home.

“Not particularly. Didn’t Mr. Urak say it himself?”

“...”

There was a diluted anger bubbling beneath the surface in the car, threatening the longevity of his father’s patience. While his frustration with Ivan was no less real, the intensity had been dampened by years of similar disappointments.

Like following one of Sua’s script, Ivan already knew everything that was about to come. First, his old man would try to rationally, patiently explain the indelibly sycophantic behavior of the Urak family, all of which could be attribute to the unpleasant man they ran into tonight. He might mention that Till could have only approached their family with ulterior motives, something that could have been planted in his head by that man many years ago. Although, after what Ivan said to Mr. Urak earlier, he had a hunch his father would skip over talking about Till specifically. That subject was a battle the man long lost. Then, Ivan would refute each of his points systematically, invariably escalating the situation. His father would end up even angrier for Ivan’s lack of respect, relying on his status as an elder to suppress him; arguing something like, he was only telling Ivan these things for his own good, and that Ivan was only a child who hadn’t seen the world yet. Obviously, as a member of the younger generation, he was better off listening to his father’s instructions rather than trying to refute them.

Ivan wasn’t affected by these sorts of arguments, so things would get worse. Personal.

His father would point out his faults, as if Ivan didn’t know them already, only to turn everything around in self-blame. He would attribute the errs in Ivan’s character with his failing as a parent. Blame begets blame, and to claim responsibility for his mistakes, his father would vow to enact stricter rules to keep Ivan from going down a crooked path.

The closing scene would end with an ultimatum: if Ivan refused to do as he said, he was not unwilling to forcibly sever all contact between him and the Urak family. Transferring schools was not out of the question. All it required was his father to say the word, and Secretary Jang could have it done in a day.

Needless to say, this threat was effective.

Rather than wait for this tired old scene to play out, Ivan took the initiative to cut ahead to the final act.

“No matter what you say, I’m not going to stop being friends with Till, so please don’t bother trying to persuade me. I’ll accept any punishment or scolding, so think about it slowly and let me know once we get home. I’m tired.”

Laughing in anger, the man massaged his brows in obvious frustration.

“I’m your father, you dare to speak to me like this?”

“I don’t feel like what I said was inappropriate.”

“Hah, it’s hopeless, I can’t do anything about you. More and more, is there anything you aren’t willing to do if it’s for the sake of that brat of Urak’s? This time, it was joining a band, putting on some concert—what about next time? If he wanted you to drop out of school, or use drugs, or steal, would you?”

“Father must be joking. We’re talking about real life here, not an American film where just by being exposed to some genre of music, it will lead people astray, somehow becoming a gateway to a person’s life of sin. Even if that was the case, it’s not like I’m being coerced into it by some stranger. This is Till. Regardless of his father’s reputation, the reality is that he wouldn’t do those things.”

“Sigh, this is what I mean. It’s always the same with you. You are too clever for your own good sometimes, except when it concerns that kid. You say the reality is he wouldn’t act that way? Fuck reality, don’t make me laugh. Reality doesn’t matter. What matters is what story the world at large will hear—do you think people will care if you explain any of it to them? They’ll take one look and accept whatever assumptions they want, and usually, it’s the easiest, shortest, or most unscrupulous explanation that suits the narrative in their heads.”

“This isn’t a feudal society where associating with people from different backgrounds can ruin someone’s reputation. Isn’t it enough that I know what is and isn’t true? I don’t care about the fiction that lives in the minds of irrelevant people.”

“Oh, I know. You don’t care. You never care about anything! Never have. But listen to me, you may not care about it now, but what about later? In a world like this, reputation is everything. It’s a thousand-times harder to restore a ruined image than it is to destroy a good one. Your life isn’t just your own, whether you like it or not. I can only protect you kids so much, but if you just go around doing whatever you want, there are limits. All it takes is one bad rumor at the right time, under the right conditions, and your entire career could be choked in the cradle. Is that what you want?”

Running a hand through his hair, Ivan was completely exasperated. This was what he wanted to avoid, yet he still ended up having this useless argument anyway.

Maybe some shows simply can’t be avoided.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, Father. I value my friends, and my life right now is ultimately more important to me than my life years from now. Of course, I care about the future, but not at the expense of what I have in the moment. If you want me to hear me say I regret it, I can certainly say it. But you and I both know it would be a lie.”

They arrived at home, but no one moved to get out of the car. In a small corner of his conscious, Ivan felt a bit of pity for the two in the front, but it wasn’t his place to dismiss them.

“My punishment, then.”

“... Tsk, stubborn. Fine, I’ll shut up, since you clearly don’t want to hear it. You’re to stay at home on the weekends until I say otherwise, with the exception of Sua’s show. You’ll be going with me, not your friends. You must be home from school no later than 18:30. If you really are in that band, quit. And don’t even think of doing something like that again.”

“... Alright.”

Having heard what he needed to hear, Ivan got out of the car and closed the door. His behavior was neither timid nor harsh, as if he had simply agreed to pick up soy sauce from the store the next time he went out.

For all that talking, his father sure did a whole lot of nothing when it came to enforcing his own rules. On his front foot, he liked to keep up the appearance as a strict parent, but on the back foot, he was far too removed from the day-to-day of Ivan and Sua’s lives to impose such restrictions. He may give instructions to the servants that would moderate some of Ivan’s freedom, but it only meant he needed to avoid certain people at certain times.

His father didn’t even have the foresight to extend the punishment to bar others from coming to their house, only forbidding Ivan from leaving, but Ivan certainly wasn’t going to volunteer that information. Till and Mizi were supposed to come by tomorrow to help Sua rehearse once again; let the old man realize afterward and get angry at himself instead.

That same night, less than an hour later, getting to Hyuna’s house was as simple leaving through a window and opening up the KakaoTaxi app.

It could be seen how seriously Ivan took such punishments.

Notes:

¹ The word Ivan uses here is 엄마친구딸 (eom'chin'ttal) which is Korean slang meaning, "my mom's friend's daughter." There's a variety for men that goes, "my mom's friend's son." It's similar to the Chinese slang about the other family's child // refers to a fictional child that is held on a pedestal for comparing one's child's faults. It represents someone who is perfect and over-achieving. There's layers to this joke, as Ivan and Sua have different mothers (although it hasn't come up in the story yet), so Ivan is calling out their status as half-sibling while also calling Sua a try-hard-know-it-all.

² Shrew is being spoken in English here, since both Sua and Ivan speak it and the previous discussion having been about Shakespeare, they're both acting clever. But when Ivan asks Mizi to look it up, he uses the Korean word that specifies the rodent version of a shrew, not the English equivalent of an ill-tempered woman. The joke is that if Sua is offended, it's simply because she's assumed herself an ill-tempered woman (shrew), when Ivan can argue he was trying to say she was cute like a little mouse-like creature (also shrew).

(cough) it's going to get worse before it gets better

Chapter 4: Music

Notes:

Advisory warning: this chapter contains graphic depictions of child abuse because Till's caretaker in canon is a bitch ass motherfucker. no respect i hate that dude
the section is marked in the chapter, proceed with your own discretion

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

After a long time spent practicing guitar and finalizing a new song, Till spent the remainder of his evening making dinner and doing the few exercises he could manage in his cramped room —he was steadfast in his determination to prove to Hyuna’s that he was not scrawny—when the front door opened.

He was surprised; it was quite late for his nominal father to come home. When Till got back after band practice earlier, he noted the shoes his dad usually wore were still tucked into their spot in the cabinet. He assumed the man had been back in his room the whole evening, passed out and dead to the world. Looking at him now, Till figured things out pretty quickly. Dressed up in his nicest suit with some polished, fancy shoes he got from who-knows-where, he was probably just getting back from a party, or maybe he’d been burning through money at some high-class gambling den somewhere.

Standing in the kitchen drinking water after his work-out, Till felt obligated to at least greet him.

“Uh, hey.”

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

Other than the obvious anger behind those steps, Till immediately clocked that this guy didn’t even take off his stupidly shiny shoes—I just cleaned the whole apartment last week, you ungrateful fuck—but he didn’t have the chance to call him out on it before the man was right in his face.

Looming over Till, he stared him down, breathing heavily. He smelled of tobacco, alcohol and not an insignificant amount of rage.

… Just fucking great.

This was a familiar scene, but it’s been a while. As Till spent less time at home and more time at school, he hadn’t had to bear the brunt of this guy’s anger and was rather enjoying not having to see his damn face. This so-called father of his—really, he was just the bastard who fostered him for the past twelve years—was even taller than Ivan, and Ivan was already pretty tall in Till’s book. With a big build and a face that was always twisted with bitterness, even sporting a scar over his eyebrow, to many people, this man was pretty much the textbook definition of intimidating.

Standing right in front of him, he completely eclipsed the kitchen light and cast Till’s frame in shadow.

Till took in this sight, his father’s enlarged face, body surrounded by a ring of light. It didn’t resemble a halo, and there wasn’t a single good feature about him to highlight. No, to Till, that unnatural glow looked more like an unwelcome omen; an illuminating prophecy of a coming catastrophe.

Some rational corner of his mind told him to just turn around and go back to his room, but that went against Till’s baser instincts to resist when faced with injustice. Why should he leave the kitchen? He hadn’t done anything wrong, so if anyone should back off first, it was this old man, not him.

[Warning: Graphic depictions of physical and verbal abuse against a minor. Read at your own discretion. To skip this, proceed to the “TTTT” at the bottom of this section]

Unable to completely mask his disdain, Till’s upper lip pulled back when he asked, “What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter? Haha. What isn’t the matter? I picked out a good-for-nothing dog and now I’m stuck with it. No, actually. Dogs are at least obedient. What I’m stuck with is even less useful than a half-witted whore.”

Till blinked, too surprised to even be angry at first.

Whatever happened, motherfucker, why was it his fault?

Hasn’t he been minding his own damn business?

Slowly sipping from the glass in his hands, Till moistened his throat and swallowed. Then, without batting an eye, he splashed the rest of the water right in this guy’s shitty face.

Serves him right, the fuck did Till do for him to be so angry?

“You little son of a bitch.”

Lunging forward, the man reached out to grab him, but Till wasn’t planning to passively let him do whatever he wanted. Jerking his shoulder back, he tried to put some distance between them, but the kitchen didn’t leave him a lot of room to move around. Rather, Till sort of saw this result coming the moment he decided to bite back, so all he could do was grit his teeth and brace himself.

The back of the head was grabbed by a huge hand, and then, the world spun, followed by a loud bang.

Till’s brain rattled around in his skull, realizing only once the pain set in that his head had been slammed ruthlessly into the table, and he was currently being held in that position.

“You really want to die, huh? See if I don’t kill you today!”

“Piss off, ugh, fuck. Seriously, what is your problem? What did I even do?” Till glared with clear murder in his gaze, which was quite a feat considering half his face was pressed into the warped wood beneath him. There was an ashtray right next to his nose that smelled so bad, it made him want to retch.

“Or is it just the same bullshit as usual? Embarrass yourself in front of some rich people? Did someone wound your fragile fucking ego? Renege on another deb? Get dumped by some old woman who couldn’t stand your face anymore?”

Again, his head was lifted up, and this time was smashed on the edge of the table, not just the surface.

The metallic, hot scent of blood spread out in the kitchen. Till felt dizzy but was, in typical Till fashion, unwilling to shut his mouth even if he knew better. Knowing and doing were two different things, and Till would sooner die than submit to this piece of shit.

“Haha, so angry? I must have guessed right. Or should I keep going? The list of pathetic possibilities isn’t too long, there’s only a couple more.” Not that being right mattered. When drunk and angry, all logic ceased to exist to this man. He would find any excuse to blame the world for his shitty lot in life, and Till was a convenient and close target.

“Little bastard, do you think I would have to resort to those kinds of measures in the first place if I didn’t have to feed and house you? Embarrassing me to death, I can’t even be bothered to bring you to things like that, who knows whose drink you’d piss in. You’re the same age as that little Unsha brat, and he has people eating out of the palm of his hand, but what about you? If you had half the ability, at least you could learn to flatter a few people. Do you think I have it easy?”

Through the throbbing haze of pain and his own mounting, bloodthirsty resentment, Till managed to latch onto a key piece of information.

Or rather, a name.

Unsha brat…?

Is he talking about Ivan?

What did he have to do with this?

“I asked you to do one—”

Tossed aside like garbage, the entire left side of Till’s body slammed against the wall. A cough was forced out of his throat as he groaned and attempted to sit up.

“—fucking—”

The top of his hair was grabbed and yanked up from the ground, physiological tears springing to his eyes at the strain. Still unable to catch his breath, his coughing got even worse.

“—thing.”

Lifted to eye level, Till thought the top of his scalp was about to be ripped from his body. Fuck, this old son of a bitch wasn’t satisfied just killing him, he was going to turn him bald first.

A mix of relief and a secondary surge of pain came one after another when Till was released, gravity mercilessly dragging him down the wall and colliding with the bruised left side of his body.

Spitting and cursing wildly, the man crossed the kitchen and pulled out a chair, practically throwing himself into the seat and met Till’s fierce glare with an even more menacing, crazed version of his own.

“Going to a school like that, there’s no shortages of little masters to latch onto, and instead of trying to make your dad’s life a little easier making some good connections, you have to befriend the fucking Unsha family. When nothing came of it in the first place, I told you to stay away from them, but you're so brain-dead-useless you can’t even do that much. Everytime I cross paths with them, I have to humble myself for your sake, do you know how humiliating it is to act servile to that prick? All he has to do is say the word and he’d ruin my life.”

Between the ringing in his ears and the fact that most of his rant was muttered under his breath, Till only caught bits and pieces. He still didn’t have a good grasp of what happened, but it sounded like he must have met with Ivan’s family and embarrassed himself and, somehow, decided it was Till’s fault.

The tirade was put on pause as the man tried to find his cigarettes in his pockets, to no avail. Till used this opportunity to carefully get up, trying to test his side for any broken ribs. Felt like mostly just bruises, but it was hard to tell.

“I just don’t understand, you’re the same age, and yet you can’t do anything. Is this family a fucking joke to you?”

Forcing a laugh, Till faced his “father” with an expression like he was looking down at a pile of filth.

“Family? Yeah, definitely a joke. You and me—we aren’t family. I’d rather die a bastard than have a father like you.”

That condescending attitude, it was the same as all the other people in the upper circle who looked down on old Urak.

His rage, which had been interrupted in his craving for tobacco, flared up again. He grabbed the ashtray off the table and hurled it across the room.

It brushed against Till’s ear, causing a dull ache beneath the other pains, before shattering against the wall. The disgusting musk of sweat, blood, and stale cigarette smoke combined to create something positively vile in the cramped little apartment. Till was on the verge of throwing up.

Rather than go back to his room, which was no guarantee of his safety, Till thought this guy might really try to kill him today and would rather not risk it. Even if he didn’t, with the way things were going, Till might end up in the hospital—being hooked up to an IV would certainly put a damper on his show this weekend.

[TTTT]

[End of graphic descriptions. Summary: Till’s dizzy, his head is bleeding, and the left side of his body is badly bruised. He was almost smashed in the face with an ashtray but it just grazed against his ear. He and his father fought, mostly drunken nonsense on his dad’s part, about Till not being useful to their family. He uses Ivan as an example, who is the same age and seems highly capable by comparison.]

Without even going back for his phone in his room, Till turned around, grabbed his key off the hook, and left the apartment. He didn’t bother putting on his shoes.

He stumbled a bit while walking, trying to gather his bearings so he could make it down the stairs without falling. How embarrassing would that be? Trying not to get killed only to trip down the stairs and break his fucking neck.

It was such an outrageous thing to think about, he actually ended up laughing out loud as he slumped down in the hallway beside the stairs.

Damn, he was going to pass out right here, wasn’t he? The ajumma across the hall already nagged him all the time for playing his music too loud, now she’ll probably think he’s a drunkard who can’t even get home.

Whatever made his dad so angry, Till couldn’t be bothered to understand. Inferiority complexes were like that. All the money, power, influence in the world couldn’t make a person happy if they were fundamentally unhappy with themselves.

Till closed his eyes, finding it too difficult to keep them open at the moment. Thank god it was summer, or he’d be freezing. Too bad he didn’t get to shower, and now he smells like smoke.

…He’ll just rest for a few minutes and when the dizziness clears a bit, then he’ll definitely… leave this damned place…

“Mmm…”

… What was Ivan doing right now, anyway?

Probably sleeping…

Why’d he think of Ivan anyway…?

Mizi was probably sleeping too…

Before he could even fully wake up, Till wondered, vaguely, if he had been run over by a car.

… He had a dream like that once, actually.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Why did this feel familiar?

Till tried to crack open his eyes and turn his phone off. Can’t whoever was calling tell he’d been in some kind of horrible accident, otherwise, why would he feel like he’d been crushed by a fucking steamroller?

His arm groped towards the nightstand, but after aimlessly swatting at the air about a dozen times, he realized there was no nightstand.

…

Where the hell am I?

Recalling the events leading up to falling asleep (read: passing out) yesterday, Till’s eyes flew open and he sat up so fast, his head spun.

This wasn’t his apartment, nor was it the hospital. It couldn’t be hell, right?

No, this living room, it was similar to his house but—

Disoriented, yet relieved, Till called out lightly, “... Noona?”

“Oh, shit.”

The familiar timbre of Hyuna’s voice was heard through the thin wall, and she nearly slammed into the wall in her haste coming around the corner.

“Holy shit, kid. You scared me yesterday. If you didn’t wake up by noon, I was going to seriously stuff you in my car and take you to the hospital.”

“What time is it?”

“A little after 10.”

“... School?”

She raised a hand to smack him, but, taking in his dazed appearance, pitifully patched up with bandages, Hyuna restrained herself.

“Fuck school, look at yourself, you’re worried about school? I think I might just kill your old man. If I didn’t hate cops so much, I would have called them yesterday.”

“Tsk, you think you want to kill him? He was out of his mind last night. I don’t even know what his problem was, ranting some shit about Sua and Ivan’s dad, next thing I know, I’m practically wearing the ashtray he kept on the kitchen table. What a psychopath.”

“...”

Clenching and unclenching her fist a few times, Hyuna took a deep breath to calm down. Till could tell how angry she was from the lack of humor that was usually tucked away somewhere in her expression.

For someone who absolutely detested other people’s pity, Till actually didn’t mind if someone got angry on his behalf. It even felt kind of nice. In Till’s life, he could count the number of people he cared about on two hands, and the amount of people who were willing to protect him? It would be a real struggle to use up all the fingers on one hand.

Aside from Mizi and Sua, Till didn’t have any reliable noonas in his life at all, and those two weren’t exactly the protective type. They were caring, sweet and soft-spoken, talented and clever. Till was incredibly grateful that both of them were in his life, no matter if his feelings for Mizi were requited or not.

But Hyuna? She was all fire and fury. Till felt a sort of kinship with her that was unique to anyone else.

From his perspective, no one hated anything as much as he hated everything, but Hyuna really wasn’t far behind.

Of all the places to wake up after such a shitty night, Till was actually pretty content.

“Hungry? There’s some fried rice you can have.”

“Ahh, yes please.”

“Get it yourself, it’s in the kitchen.”

Till nodded, throwing off the blanket and fumbling off the couch like an old man without his cane. After watching him struggle for a while, Hyuna laughed herself to breathlessness and eventually pulled him up by the collar.

“Can I shower first, actually? I feel gross, and I probably still smell like smoke.”

“Hmm.” After walking around and opening a few cupboards, Hyuna tossed a towel in his face. “You can’t get your head wet, there’s a bandage on your temple and your cheek. Just wipe yourself down and come eat.”

Till touched his face, realizing he’d already been patched up. After agreeing, she let him go and Till was relieved to have a moment of privacy. He stripped, taking stock of his injuries, the purple-black bruise on his shoulder was especially ugly. His outer thigh and hip bone had some bruising, but it wasn’t as severe and only hurt when touched. Lifting his arm hurt like a bitch, though.

His split temple was covered in a skin-tone adhesive, so it wasn’t terribly noticeable despite being a pretty big bandage. The one on his cheek was…

Till snorted. He couldn’t believe Hyuna actually had Rilakkuma band-aids. Well, she was a girl, even if she wasn’t quite like Mizi or Sua.

Maybe Mizi will think it’s cute. Till just decided to leave it.

After freshening up and putting back on his clothes, he rubbed the towel in his hair and came out of the bathroom. Hyuna was standing in the kitchen, typing on her phone.

“I really owe you one for yesterday, noona. I didn’t even grab my phone, how did you end up finding me?”

She raised her head, squinting at him, checking to make sure his face wasn’t wet. Good, at least this one can listen to instructions.

“Noona?”

Returning to her text messages, Hyuna gave a half-assed reply.

“Hmm, and what if I said Santa delivered you right to my doorstep?”

“... Santa?”

Such a lame excuse. Till assumed she just went outside for a smoke and heard his shitty dad yelling from the courtyard.

“What, you got a problem with Santa? Huh? Bringer of good tidings? Spreader of joy?”

He played along, anyway. Till was in an unusually good mood after sleeping for a long time and getting to chat with Hyuna first thing in the morning.

“No, just… It’s May?”

She froze for a moment, then, perhaps she thought Till’s joke was really something, because she almost doubled over in laughter.

“Hahahaha. I know, right? That’s… Such a true statement. Man, God is dead, Santa’s real, the government is useless, and the cops suck.” She pointed to the wok still on the stove. “Now, eat your breakfast and get the hell out of my house.”

Not bothering to be polite, Till did as she said and grabbed a bowl to help himself. It was clear from his actions that it wasn’t his first time navigating Hyuna’s kitchen, a familiar ease to his actions as he sat down at the table in the living room.

A minute later, Hyuna followed him and sat across from him, claiming she already ate and was just keeping him company.

Till, between wolfing down the rice, chatted casually with her for a few minutes. His body was actually in decent shape all things considered, he just shouldn’t lift his left arm too much. It won’t have much impact on playing guitar, he’d just find some extra foam padding to make a temporary cushion for his shoulder strap. Easy fix.

Face resting in her palm, Hyuna was watching him with the same expression one looked at a preschooler making a mess with finger paints. Resigned and a little curious.

“What do you think about Ivan?”

Mouth full of rice, Till could only furrow his brows in an unspoken question.

“?”

She poked his bulging cheek.

“Look, the first known hamster-human hybrid is sitting in my apartment. Should I call the national science academy?”

He jerked his head back, annoyed, chewing faster so as to sooner rebuke her.

“I’m hungry, damn, cut me some slack. First I’m too scrawny, now I’m eating too much. You’re going to give me a complex.”

“So you admit you’re scrawny?”

“... What did you ask me before? Something about Ivan?”

“I asked what you think of Ivan. Are you guys dating?”

Till was glad he finished swallowing the rice in his mouth or else he likely would have choked.

“The hell are you saying? No? Why would I be interested in someone with a dick?”

“What are you, my grandma? Who cares about that anymore? I like men and women, and anything else for that matter. As long as they’re hot.”

Rubbing her chin, Hyuna looked at the ceiling with a thoughtful, sage-like expression.

“Hmm, in that case, if you’re not dating Ivan, maybe I will.”

Till really did choke this time.

Hyuna was just messing with him like she always did, right?

“What the fuck, noona, where is this coming from all the sudden?”

“Hmm, all the sudden? You’re the one who texted me randomly asking if I thought Ivan was cute. Now that I’m thinking about it, yeah, he is pretty cute. Thanks for bringing it to my attention.”

On the receiving end of her stare, Till was uncomfortable.

“... That… apparently, the girls at school all say he’s cute, I wanted a second opinion.”

She looked at him with a bit of pity, like such an excuse was really pathetic.

“... Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious.”

“Okay, and so what? If they think he’s cute but aren’t man enough to ask him out, I certainly am.”

“Seriously, you must be insane. Besides, his dad doesn’t let him or Sua date anyone.”

“Oh, then it would have to be a secret romance? Now that’s exciting.”

Till wasn't even sure how to reply to that.

Sporting a sly little grin, Hyuna pointed out, “You sure know a lot about it for someone who isn’t interested.”

“Mizi told me that, why are you so… ! Ugh. Anyway, what do I care? I wouldn’t bother, but I guess I just have standards.”

“... You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

Till’s appetite started to taper off as soon as Hyuna brought up the subject, but now he couldn’t even finish the last quarter of his bowl.

“What did I do? You’re the one speaking nonsense.”

“Is it? Is it really nonsense?”

Hyuna stared at Till for a protracted silence, her gaze ruthlessly examining him like some sort of specimen in a cage.

“You say you don’t care about him, and then turn around and say it’s not okay for other people to be interested in him. Then, to wrap it all up, you put on a ‘fuck you’ ribbon by saying he’s not even up-to-standard. That’s cruel, even for you.”

“That… I mean… Just, what’s the big deal? Ivan’s my friend, but I don’t befriend people based on the criteria of whether or not I would go out with them.”

Tapping the table repeatedly, appearing deep in thought, Hyuna didn’t seem like she was going to reply at all. Just when the silence reached the point where Till found it unbearable, she seemingly changed the subject.

“Sometimes, I can't tell if you have anything in your head besides Mizi and music.”

Burying the twinge of guilty conscience beneath his typical bad attitude, Till sneered.

“Well, how is Ivan any different? He has no room for anything else in his brain besides pissing people off and the piano he loves so much.”

Hyuna’s action of drumming her fingers on the table froze, raising her gaze to stare at him in dumbfounded silence.

“What?”

Till shifted side-to-side, uncomfortable with her reaction. Did he say something wrong?

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You think Ivan loves... the piano?”

Frowning, Till didn’t understand her accusatory tone at all.

“And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

No response.

She opened her mouth, twice, seemingly about to say something only to abruptly stop.

Eventually, she covered her eyes with a hand and burst out laughing.

Despite her attempt to hold it in, Hyuna burst out laughing and smoothly stood up from the table.

“Hahaha, oh, man. I’m so glad I’m not in high school anymore. Just, hilarious. Hilarious and pathetic.” She waved, wiping away tears in her eyes before heading back towards her room. “Can’t you tell when someone is messing with you? Ivan’s a minor anyway, I’m not into that cradle robbing shit.”

“Oh, yeah…”

Momentarily dazed, Till thought he must be going crazy. This was Hyuna, like she would ever be serious about this sort of thing.

“... I mean, tch, of course.”

Being mocked so openly, he felt angry, his face burning, but he couldn’t even argue when Hyuna had already walked away. Till lowered his head, staring at the unfinished rice in his bowl. He began eating again, not wanting to waste food, but in the end, he couldn’t end up tasting it at all.

Obviously, Ivan loved the piano, he’d been playing for as long as Till could remember. Hyuna was definitely just messing with him…

Lost in thought, Till only awakened from his trance when he realized his chopsticks weren’t picking up anything but air.

… Now what?

He should probably go home soon and get his phone to text the others and let them know why he just up and vanished, they’ll probably be worried.

When Hyuna came back, she had her car keys in her hand, a pair of reflective sunglasses on and a leather jacket that made her look way too cool to be hanging out with someone like him. She fished around in the lining of her jacket and found a candy-coated sucker, and, after tearing off the wrapper, popped it into her mouth.

“Come on, let’s go. Let noona take you out to play and clear your head.”

“No, I should go to school.”

Almost like hitting the pause button, Hyuna froze mid-step, spinning around like a vengeful spirit.

“... School, school, school! That’s all you say. What kind of rebellious phase is this? You’re just another book nerd, except someone swapped the packaging. Gah, hopeless.”

“You’ve got it backwards, that’s exactly why I need to go. If I miss a day, I’ll fall so far behind, all the make-up lessons in the world wouldn’t be enough to save me. Will you drive me?”

Rolling her eyes, Hyuna pestered him into joining her for fun a few more times for good measure before reluctantly agreeing—with one condition.

She forbade Till from going back to his apartment alone, insisting on tagging along while he got the things he needed for school.

Peeking through the tiniest crack in the unlocked door, the young woman’s eyes darted around like a spy on a covert operation.

… Really, you’d never think she was legally an adult with the way she acted.

Till rolled his eyes and pushed the door open, walking right in.

“Hey! What if that bastard is here? Shh, stand behind me, I’ll beat his ass.”

“If he’s home at this time of day, he’s passed out drunk. Otherwise, he’ll be at work. It’s fine.”

“What does your dad do, anyway?”

“He’s in construction, sort of like the supervisor to the foreman on a site. He works with contractors on coordinating building projects.”

In his room, Till checked his phone and saw a lot of messages, but decided to reply in the car. He focused on getting changed—with the door very much closed, much to Hyuna’s teasing.

“Our little hamster boy is so shy, aww.”

Till ignored the impulse to kick her out, knowing she meant well in accompanying him, forcefully choosing not to act on his annoyance.

From outside the door, Hyuna didn’t seem deterred at all. She continued to carry on a conversation with herself, pulling the sucker out of her mouth now and then with a light pop noise.

“So, even if he’s a gigantic piece of shit, he still gets to be a member of society? Tsk. The cops really would have just let it go, I bet.”

Now in uniform, Till opened the door and glanced at her with a faintly suspicious expression.

“Why are you so intent on calling the cops?”

“Why aren’t you? You know this is, like, a classic case of domestic violence, don’t you? You’re a victim yet you’re acting like nothing is wrong. It’s not my place to intervene, but it’s hard not to when I care about your well-being. If you’re not getting help from someone, can’t you at least tell me why?”

Till paused as he put his bookbag together, hesitating. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand those things, but what the hell was he supposed to do?

If he can’t live here anymore, he’ll end up back in foster care. He’d rather take his chances with a predictable piece of shit than rolling the dice with a whole new family—the older one got in the system, the worse your odds turned out. Not to mention, he might end up being moved somewhere so far away he can’t continue going to Anakt.

If he can’t be with Mizi, then what was the point of any of this?

“... I have my reasons. Isn’t that enough?”

Hyuna’s eye twitched.

This little punk.

She really doesn’t understand what Ivan finds so fascinating about him, was torn choosing between which of them was more pathetic. Truly, a match made in dysfunctional heaven.

“Whatever, go ahead and feed my good intentions to the dogs then. Are you ready? Let’s go, this place feels like a haunted house.”

Waving at her to back up, Till carefully positioned his guitar case to rest on his uninjured shoulder and then closed the door to his room. It was awkward to maneuver the bulky case on half his body, but he managed to extricate himself from the narrow apartment after some careful maneuvering. A glance toward the kitchen before he closed the door showed it was in the same sorry state as yesterday.

He said a prayer for the once clean floors, followed Hyuna out of the building, and didn’t look back.

Ivan had been staring at his open notebook for a while now.

The morning was truly insufferable without Till, to the extent that Ivan ended up staring at an empty page, unmoving for nearly forty minutes.

Self-study ended with Ivan’s hand poised over the same page, with only a large, bleeding stain of ink as evidence that he’d been in class at all. His day proceeded with Ivan preoccupied in much the same fog as his day began, mechanically going through lessons without bothering to absorb anything.

The window to see Till during their joint morning classes came and went, but word spread that shortly after lunch, Till ended up coming to school. Ivan didn’t personally see him, but that didn’t stop gossip from traveling at lightning speed.

After all, in a student body composed in part by edgy art students dedicated to their craft and wealthy buy-ins who couldn’t be bothered, neither group of which was known for their discretion, it was expected that word would get around fast.

Whispers reached Ivan in his literature elective about Till showing up halfway through the school day without an excused absence, all bandaged up. He overheard their speculation, not as to whether or not Till had got into a fight, rather, disagreeing over the reason behind it—was it drug-related? Maybe he got on some thug’s bad side? Could he be in debt, and the loan sharks came for him? Was he in a gang?

… Ivan marveled at the imagination of his peers. Their horizons seemed to extend to exactly as far as K-dramas and American television, and no further.

With the end of term approaching, the students in this particular class were increasingly idle. They no longer had full lessons, and were instead given class time to prepare their final essays from readings off a curated list provided by the instructor.

The teacher left halfway through the lesson to return to the office after giving instructions to the class monitor, and almost as soon as the door closed, a senior approached Ivan and pressed him for details.

“Little junior, you and Till are close, right? You’re always together.”

He looked up from the book in his hands, trying to remember this person’s name. Was it… Ri? Ren?

“... Close, hm? I don’t know.”

Without needing to look, Ivan could sense many eavesdroppers, their pencils slowing and wanting to get the latest information from a reliable source.

Rather than wait to be interrogated, Ivan directly answered, “I’m not sure about the details of what happened, although, I’m certain that even if Till did get into a fight, he wasn’t the one to start it.”

Tapping the spine of his book against his chin, Ivan suggested, “If this classmate is really so curious, you could ask him. Just don’t blame me if he gets angry.”

The other backed away with his hands raised, making an excuse to mask the fact that he was obviously afraid of the backlash, fearing Till would fight him next.

… And Hyuna called him a coward. She would have a field day with these kids.

The other students who had been listening more or less gave similarly wary reactions, though they did a better job hiding it. Ivan glanced at them with a faint, humorless chuckle and returned to reading.

The irony of the situation was so profound, sometimes he really couldn’t help but laugh.

Between the two of them, he was far less of a model student than Till.

Till was admitted with a scholarship, created his own band and still balanced it with his coursework, even volunteering his own time to help a friend prepare for her performances. He didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t start fights (although he wasn’t afraid to defend himself), and never voluntarily skipped class. His bad behavior really only extended to his gratuitous cursing and stormy temper.

Indeed, wasn’t the fact that Till came to school today after everything that happened proof of his habits?

More often than not, Till complained to Ivan at length about the very things people often accused him of doing. His own father’s drinking disgusted him, and if the smell of cigarettes wasn’t enough of a reason for Till to despise the habit, then he was absolutely unwilling to partake at the risk of harming his vocal cords.

Ivan’s father, their classmates—they all simply saw in Till what they wanted to see, whatever confirmed their preconceptions.

It seemed no matter how far science had come in correcting people’s eyesight, there was no shortage of those who lacked vision.

A pity.

Regardless of the second-glances he received, not five minutes later, Ivan ended up putting his books away and got up to leave. The teacher wasn’t coming back for the remainder of the lesson, and it was his last class of the day.

After debating between crouching outside Till’s songwriting class to jumpscare him when the lesson ended and going to the practice room early, Ivan eventually decided to cut Till a little slack and headed to the music wing of the building.

Ivan had been spending less and less time in front of the piano since joining Till’s band, so he could use this time to squeeze in some exercises. Even just repeating some chords should do; it was all about not letting his muscle memory dull.

A black and white array greeted him upon sitting down. The empty echo of the practice room absorbed the middle C with an easy familiarity, as if chatting comfortably with an old friend.

Thumb, index, middle, ring, pinkie.

His hand played the notes like a second nature.

Posture upright, wrists lifted, eyes low…

The keys before him seemed farther away than usual.

After a few random repeated chords, Ivan ended up playing something else.

Opening E, lower C…

Thumb, index, middle, ring, pinkie.

His hands were perfectly steady at the moment, but they had been shaking last night.

… Last night.

He had been trying not to think too much about it.

The scene wouldn’t stop replaying in his head.

“... Till, can you hear me?”

With half his face dirty from smeared blood, Till’s nose scrunched up like he’d smelled something offensive.

Is it because I smoked?

Till didn’t like the scent of tobacco. Knowing this, normally, Ivan wouldn’t have come here after bumming cigarettes off Hyuna, but he felt uncomfortable when he was getting ready to leave. Standing under the streetlamp in the parking lot, Ivan looked back at the apartments, gaze lingering on the third floor.

He wondered if he was being paranoid, troubled by a sense he couldn’t explain. There was no need, or even just cause, to check on Till. Nor would Till want Ivan checking in on him.

Ivan knew that, but he just couldn’t help himself.

Self-justifying, Ivan said he would simply listen at the door to 319, only long enough to confirm for himself that everything was as usual. It was surely one of those things that his sister would have labeled as hypocritical; that Ivan’s high regard for respect totally fell to the wayside when it came to Till’s boundaries.

Such arguments weren’t enough to convince Ivan to stay away.

Really, they probably never would be.

…

Turns out, Ivan didn’t even need to reach the front door to find out things were certainly not as usual. Or maybe they were exactly as usual, to an uncanny degree.

One knee planted on the ground, every nerve in Ivan’s body felt cold. A little numb. A little relieved that he did decide to turn around and come back here.

Mostly, he felt unbearable.

Earlier that very same day, Ivan had entertained himself with the thought of what it might be like, what it might feel like, to be so close to Till when his guard wasn’t up.

Ivan regretted it.

He’d never wish for such a thing again.

At least Till’s breathing was stable and deep, indicating that he had fallen asleep, hopefully just from fatigue and not from blood loss. Going to the hospital was the best course of action, but Till wouldn’t want that. He couldn’t stand anyone making a fuss, and a hospital admission would require Ivan overseeing the situation, almost certainly ending up with a police report.

Not that Ivan minded, but Till would hate it.

Ivan weighed the pros and cons. He decided to move Till somewhere better suited for checking his condition. If, after a closer look, the injuries seemed more serious than they initially appeared, then Ivan had no choice but to take him to receive treatment anyway.

He’s accepted Till’s resentment for so long, what was stomaching a little more?

Ivan reached a decision, but he didn’t move immediately. Such decisions all originated from the rational part of Ivan’s brain, the part that wasn’t functioning exceptionally well at the moment.

Thumb, index, middle, ring, pinkie.

His hand extended before his mind could keep up, cupping the side of Till’s face that wasn’t injured, tried to adjust his posture so he wasn’t straining his neck.

The weight of Till’s head when it lolled to the side, seemingly lifeless, was the heaviest thing Ivan had ever held in his life.

… Did this happen because of him?

Those drawn out comparisons made by Till’s father—all of the ways he dared to say Till was worse—was that his justification for treating Till this way? Or had Ivan simply angered that man beyond reason?

Perhaps, was this his fault?

… No, it didn’t matter.

Thinking like that wouldn’t accomplish anything. Even if he was a spark to ignite the man’s anger today, Till’s father had been like this for as long as he could remember. That man would have simply found another reason to make Till miserable.

(Ivan hypnotized himself into believing this statement, repeating it enough times until it firmly became true. Accepting the alternative would have shattered something within him that could likely never be repaired.)

Seven years ago, Ivan learned that he couldn’t take Till away from this life if he wasn’t willing to go. Promised himself he wouldn’t push Till again according to his own desires. The life he thought Till wanted—the plane tickets for seats that went unoccupied, the packed luggage that never was never unpacked in a different country, the car waiting to take them to the airport that drove off without them in it—Ivan remembered it all.

He remembered how it felt to watch a completely different future, slipping from his fingers.

Most of all, he remembered the look on Till’s face when he turned away that day, the way his back looked, growing smaller and smaller until it could no longer be seen.

That day, Ivan decided if he couldn’t take Till away from this place, he would do his best to protect him from it instead. He wanted to make this hell a little more bearable.

Mind hazy with a rush of unwanted memories, Ivan tried to recall Till’s face yesterday.

His brows furrowed in restless sleep, lips pressed together, probably from discomfort. Ivan lowered his own face unwittingly, nudging at his Till’s cheek with his own, willing as if by some miracle that some of the pain Till must have been feeling would transfer to him instead.

It didn’t. Of course, it didn’t.

Ivan didn’t make any effort to pull away.

This close, at least the icy feeling of Till’s skin seemed a little less cold. Sometimes, Ivan thought, everything about Till was pleasant, even the smell of his blood didn’t bother him. The sweat, the scent of his shower gel, the slightest whisper of mint from brushing his teeth. It all overwhelmed him for a moment.

In his hands, Ivan could feel the proof of survival, could trace the signs of life with his fingertips.

Till’s life.

Hard-won and in spite of every difficulty, this little life that refused to let the world win. A stubborn flame, weathering hurricane winds and tempest rains—Till himself was a fire that seemed like it could burn forever.

Ivan hoped it always would.

…

He forgot himself for a while. Playing utter nonsense.

A low whistle came behind him, and Ivan abruptly stopped playing, turning to the door.

Till was there, observing him with his arm’s crossed. Besides the bandages on his face, he looked the same as usual. Well rested, even.

It seemed he’d been standing there for a while.

“Hey, that sounded really good.”

Crossing the room, Till stood beside the piano bench and glanced at the clock on the wall.

Ivan followed his gaze, asking, “What brings you here so early? Miss me?”

“Tsk, I was going to ask you that."

Taking time to gather of his emotions, Ivan proceeded to carefully tuck them all away.

He replied with a slightly coquettish tone, “I was thinking about you, of course.”

That earned him a sound that was closer to a snarl than anything else. Till reached towards the keys, one-handedly playing a little melody. Ivan recognized it from one of UNKNOWN’s songs they’d been practicing recently.

"It’s rare to hear you get into the zone when playing like that, what were you thinking about so seriously?”

Till drew back his fingers, but paused to push the spot between Ivan’s eyebrows that had been unconsciously drawn tight.

All things considered, Ivan was relieved that he appeared to be in a good mood. Leaving him with Hyuna was the right choice.

“See, it’s so obvious you love the piano…”

Ivan didn’t quite get what Till meant by that, tilting his head to one side.

“Hm? Sorry?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” Till stepped back from the bench and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

“I was allowed to leave after submitting my song revisions, so I was going to set my guitar down in here and then stop by the infirmary. This cheap thing keeps peeling and it’s pissing me off. Wanna go with me?”

Rubbing the bandage on his temple, Till let out an annoyed groan. Grinning, Ivan grabbed his wrist so he'd stop fidgeting with it.

“I’ll go, I’ll bring my bag so we can lock the door.”

“Cool. So, what about you? Why are you here?”

Gathering his things and casting a final glance at the piano, he replied, “My situation’s similar. Literature is essentially just another self-study for the rest of the semester, so I just left.”

“Damn, lucky. My songwriting teacher is nuts, she said we have still have to submit three more revisions before we even move onto exam prep.”

Without any sincerity, Ivan smiled and said, “My condolences.”

“I hate you. I’m leaving.” Till spun away and stormed out. “Don’t follow me.”

Unaffected, Ivan didn’t take Till’s admonishment seriously at all and exited the room right after him, stopping only long enough to lock the door.

At the end of the hall, one arm raised above his head in a stretch, Till was waiting for him. Ivan’s smile softened and he fell into step beside him. Careful not to touch Till’s left side, Ivan playfully rested his chin on his uninjured shoulder.

“Hmm, what if the nurse auntie is busy?”

Till shrugged him off.

“What busy, I just need a bandage. I can do it myself if she’s not free.”

“I can do it,” Ivan offered only to be ruthlessly rejected.

“My hands work fine, stay away from me.”

They bantered the rest of the way, conversation light and comfortable.

Ivan hadn’t slept at all last night, and Till slept under less than ideal conditions, but when they spent time together without anyone to disturb them, it felt that all the external pressures bearing down didn’t matter so much anymore. Till didn’t volunteer any information about his injuries, and Ivan didn’t ask. Like this, the crueler side of reality seemed far enough away that it couldn’t reach them.

It may have been a false sense of security, but it didn’t feel any less real to them.

Upon reaching the infirmary, Till was guided by the plump, smiling ajumma to sit on the patient bed while she fetched a medical kit. She said it was best to disinfect the wound since the bandage had been compromised earlier in the day, to which Till muttered in discontent but ultimately didn’t oppose.

Sitting off to one side, Ivan quite enjoyed watching him blush in shame when the nurse complimented his “teddy-bear band-aid.”

"It's Rilakkuma, ajumma."

"Aww, is that the name you gave it?"

"..."

Ivan had to physically restrain his mouth with a hand to keep from laughing.

Angry, Till waved at him from his periphery. “Stop looking at me, do something else.”

Relenting with a hum, Ivan rummaged through his bookbag for something to occupy himself and satisfy Till’s demands.

The books he’d brought from literature were right on top, so Ivan pulled one out and opened to a random page, not really reading the contents as he continued to watch Till grumble about how the nurse auntie misunderstood him and was treating him like a child.

Killing time while waiting for the nurse to come back, Till glanced in Ivan's direction and asked, “What is that?”

“... Book.”

He rolled his eyes.

“No shit, I meant, what book is it?”

Till tilted his head around to read the title, his face showing how little he trusted Ivan to give a proper response.

“Selected Works of.. of…—?”

He squinted, the source of his struggle obvious.

“Franz Kafka.”

Ivan enunciated it slowly for Till’s sake.

“... What a bullshit name, this is why I hate English.”

“German, not English.”

Incredulous, Till asked, “You can read German? But I thought you were Russian?”

Ivan smiled a little helplessly.

“I’m half-Russian, I don’t speak German, and this is translation is in English.”

“Oh, that makes more sense.”

Till shook his head, and Ivan, too tempted to let the opportunity pass him by, lied without batting an eye.

“Did I ever tell you that I was almost named Kafka?”

“Really?”

“No.”

So gullible.

“Fuck you. Why even bother taking a useless class like lit, anyway? Most people who take it are seniors, right?”

“Well, I like to read.”

“That’s so boring.”

“Hmm, does that mean you think I’m boring?”

“You could afford to be a little more boring and I wouldn't mind at all.”

Of course, Till meant this as a sort of drag against him, but Ivan found himself a little pleased. So Till didn’t think he was boring?

As to why Ivan really took literature when it wasn’t part of his required classes, there were a few reasons.

The short answer was, he needed another elective, and it didn’t sound difficult.

The other reason, and the more honest one, was that he liked reading the so-called “classics.” What made them stand against the tides of time, what was the indeterminable x factor that set them apart from the billions of stories that existed in the world?

Language, poetry, classic literature—Ivan enjoyed subjects like these, more akin to a puzzle, one that he was curious to rearrange and reexamine. He was not particularly eager to solve it, rather just enjoying the act of inquiry itself.

Till may think it was boring, but to Ivan, there were much worse alternatives. Things with definitive answers—those were truly boring. If he wanted to seek solutions, he would take extra arithmetic courses like his sister.

Rather, the limits of language can only be tested when words are construed to a point of entirely unprecedented lengths. Things that didn’t make sense, things that contradicted themselves, things that defied their original intention or even turned the original meaning on its head—such instances were interesting. Deriving sorrow from the sun or to form shapes from only the shadows of one’s mind; to undermine that which is sensible; to substitute that which is meaningful and meaningless, to change meaning, to evoke meaning.

If music was a universal medium of emotions, emptying the shallow basin of an individual’s heart into the vast river that connects consciousness, then words were more like a poison that eroded away the rubble at the bottom of the abyss, carving out the tectonic lines that divided the Earth.

Ivan mused to himself while watching the nurse clean Till’s forehead with rubbing alcohol. His eyes were closed, brow furrowed at the sting.

When Till’s lashes fluttered, before he could be caught, Ivan’s gaze moved to a random passage in front of him.

It was one of Kafka’s letters to Milena Jesenská.

The first time Ivan read the transcription of this letter, he didn’t quite understand it.

Now, reading it again, when Kafka said, ‘I am a cage, in search of a bird,’ Ivan’s first thought was to ask why encage a bird, something so delicate, when any other monster could sing between the bars just as well?

A bird seemed so… dull. So fragile.

So full of blind hope.

He thought, if he was a cage wrought from iron, then he must have been built with gaping holes. Something a little bird could slip right through.

His cage sought something far more vicious than a bird, something that would rip at the floor with its claws, tear at the stockade until it was bleeding and bruised. His cage was built for a feral mixture of fur and fangs that would always—always—threaten to break free at the first opportunity, that would struggle and test the tensility of the iron at every given chance. Something that had would rather destroy itself and the cage entirely than live in blissful, hopeful ignorance, willingly closed up in someone else’s world.

Something in which the flight of freedom was, at the same time, displayed at every angle in its own savagery.

… Was it really okay to feel this way?

It seemed, poetry and novels always emphasize the feelings of warmth and fondness, of intimacy and endearment, when it came to matters of the heart.

It wasn’t the first time he had second-guessed himself. Ivan wasn’t convinced he knew what love really was, or what it meant, or how to measure it at all.

Purely by accident, Ivan’s gaze flicked up at the exact moment Till tried to shield himself behind his arms, the nurse having pinched an uninjured part of his face with a gentle scolding. She compared him to her neighbor’s feisty little cat, which, apparently, never knew when to back down against the other, bigger cats. Such an apt description, Ivan almost laughed out loud.

Sighing good-naturedly, the nurse turned around to put away the first aid kit, telling him to be careful from now on—that his face was too cute to be damaged permanently at such an age.

(Needless to say, Ivan felt some kinship with this ajumma.)

He observed Till react to such words. The way he secretly touched the place he’d been pinched, the way his expression lit up with a embarrassed smile at receiving blatant affection from someone that wasn't expecting anything in return.

The unmasked, momentary joy that was palpable in every detail of Till's being... Being able to witness such a fleeting thing rendered Ivan’s mind completely blank for a moment.

I love him.

Right. That’s right.

I just… love him.

Maybe the key difference was that Kafka’s search was unending. A man that failed to capture the bird that belonged to him.

Ivan had long since found the beast he yearned to keep.

And yet, even if he was truly a cage, then the thing he wanted most of all, Ivan couldn’t bear to constrain or coerce it.

The thing he wanted, it was meant to be just like this—wild, untamed, free.

Notes:

ivan down bad. down horrendous
also apologies if the original summary of this fic made this chapter confusing at all--I originally intended Till and Sua to have a similar scene but it didn't map out the way I planned, so it was Hyuna who ended up pointing out to Till that he's dumb as shit and has nothing in his brain but Mizi and music. I've changed the fic description to now match this version of events, but in case you noticed that discrepancy--sorry about that!

Chapter 5: Love language

Summary:

Affinity as a love language.

Chapter Text

Till and Mizi arrived together for the opening night of Sua’s performance.

Having gone through trials and tribulations of his debut performance at DRAMA, Till was a little less resistant when she suggested applying some make-up for the evening. Nothing excessive, just some of that skin-toned liquid that made the bruises on his face less obvious. It was enough if he looked normal, not like he was next in line to go up on the stage decked out in motley.

Mizi, sporting a simple black dress with some cut-out, mesh sections on the shoulders and arms, stockings and matching black boots—Till always felt that she was beautiful, but tonight, she looked exceedingly pretty. She ditched her glasses for the occasion, opting for the contacts she usually complained hurt her eyes. Combined with the bubblegum brightness of her hair already made her easy to pick out of a crowd, the brilliant bouquet that matched her hair color exactly tightly held in her hands made her stand out even more.

Compared to her, Till’s efforts were quite simple. There were only a handful of outfits in his closet to begin with. He had exactly one suit to his name: a dark gray ensemble his dad bought when he tried to drag him to some rich person’s event half a year ago. It fit him alright, not perfectly tailored like those outfits Sua and Ivan wore. He didn't bother with a tie and all that, but he wore a decent button-up shirt in a dark red, almost maroon shade—a slight consolation from the otherwise boring suit.

Standing together in line for admissions, those who didn’t know better would undoubtedly think they were a young couple who had come to the show on a date.

… Such a thought made Till was extremely nervous. No part of Mizi’s attitude tonight had suggested she was thinking of their situation with any other meaning, so he wasn’t going to force his own assumptions onto her. Spending time together made him happy enough that he was satisfied just like this.

But when a fellow classmate from the school photography studio spotted them and asked to take a photo under the exact pretense of a couple’s shot, Till thought his heart might spill directly out of his mouth.

“O, Oh, we’re not… I mean, we can take a photo, but, it’s not like that. So, um…”

Mizi hooked her arm in Till’s and shook him around playfully, as if trying to literally loosen up his stiff muscles.

“Come on, don’t be weird about it, it’s not everyday someone offers to take a picture for us. Come on, smile, Till! Kimchi!”

Well, Till couldn’t deny Mizi. He did as instructed, silently hoping the redness in his cheeks wasn’t too obvious, and looked together with her at the camera.

As soon as the photo was taken, Mizi took a slight step back, rising onto her tip-toes to look past the crowd. Till followed her sweeping gaze, but he didn’t see anything.

“Hm? What’s up?”

“I thought I saw Ivan just now, but…”

“No way, he would have come over. He’d never miss the opportunity to jump into a photo. Apparently, his dad wanted them to come together, so they might even be inside already, or maybe they got delayed. Either way, when I talked to him earlier, he said we shouldn’t wait up.”

“... Hmm, is that so? Well, okay.”

Frowning, Mizi took one final look around but was unable to find even a trace of that familiar shadow. She could only give up and followed after Till to the admissions booth.

In the school’s auditorium, Till vaguely wondered if this was what DRAMA had once looked like on the inside. The dark red aisles were velvet-lined and immaculate, their occupants all dressed neatly with pressed suits or elegant dresses. Above, the box seats remained as, well, seats—different than the way they had been converted into balcony space for the convenience of watching a band rather than for resting on one’s laurels to look down onto an enlightened, highbrow stage.

Following a student volunteering as an usher to their seats, Till determined that while he might not outright reject this kind of setting, he really didn’t feel any affinity for it either.

Like stepping into a parallel world to DRAMA, this sort of drama... It really wasn’t for him.

Everyone looked like they’d strutted out of a magazine—no surprise there, really. The median income for the student body was a figure with enough zeros behind it to be unnerving.

As far as enrollment went, Till and Mizi were middle-class outliers. It wasn’t easy getting an admissions letter to this place without a shitload of hard work or a stupid amount of money. Sua and Ivan were rare in a similar sense—they secured their spots with the former despite having the latter.

This wasn’t the first show of Sua’s he’d attended, not by a long shot, but the significance of each performance was often reflected in the grandeur of the set-up. Their school, despite being amassed in all sorts of alumni donations, had a finite amount of space to building performance halls. For juniors and freshman, or smaller, mid-season senior stages, shows typically could not be hosted in the main auditorium. This was the first time Till had seen the main stage on the opening night of a performance, filled with people and an indescribable atmosphere that was both ceremonial and somewhat oppressive.

“Thank you!”

Mizi nodded with a whisper-quick bow to their guide as they were shown to their spots in the…

Oh, man.

Front row?

Till made a face.

Sua really… shouldn’t have.

Till mumbled similar words of gratitude and followed the usher’s directions to the middle of the front row, feeling somewhere between flustered and flattered.

It hadn’t occurred to him until just now, but Till had never sat in the front before. As Sua’s guest of honor, a front row seat was always reserved for Mizi, so she seemed quite unsurprised. In fact, it probably would have been more abnormal to her if she had to sit somewhere else. As for Till, he never really cared about his seat, and Ivan, well… Sua, presumably out of spite, never reserved a seat for him in advance, so Ivan typically bought both their tickets and they would just end up sitting whenever.

Either way, he at least tried not to appear ungrateful for the high-profile arrangement as he sat down beside Mizi.

Unintentionally, during some of these performances, Till had been known to, erm… doze off, every once in awhile…

Not always.

Just, well, he didn’t sleep well to begin with, and the situation at home used to be a whole lot worse, so his more nocturnal habits just sort of developed naturally. He really couldn’t help it. Being in a quiet, dark, air conditioned room—it was just so comfortable, could he really be blamed?

His dignity would never recover if he ended up falling asleep next to Mizi, but thankfully, at least for this performance, Till didn’t think he would fall victim to his own fatigue. Sitting next to the girl of his dreams had his nerves pulled taut like a wire, every second making him waver back and forth between overwhelmingly tense to cautiously optimistic.

This was definitely progress for them, right? They rarely spent time alone, and if other people could mistake them being a couple, that was one step closer to the real thing.

Love couldn’t be sustained on the basis of admiration alone; it was colored by hues of care, saturated with degrees of concern, and luminated by consideration towards the other person. Thinking of it this way, Till felt he’d been passive for too long.

Mizi was graduating in a few months, so he needed to grasp every opportunity as they appeared before that time. It wasn’t as if they would never see each other again (in fact, Till very much hoped that they could see more of each other when Mizi was no longer so preoccupied with studying) but, for better or for worse, the road ahead was long and hard to predict, the only certainty was that things couldn’t remain the way they are now indefinitely.

If he wanted to make tangible progress in bringing them closer, Till couldn't remain idle anymore.

Anxious heart be damned, he was prepared to put forth every effort if it meant he had a chance of bridging the gap between them. It wasn’t like the world would wait for him to keep up. Maybe one day, it would be so natural and easy to sit with Mizi like this, to reach out and to hold her hand, to rely on her, and for him to be a source of support for her in turn. They could talk about anything, but maybe they wouldn’t even need to—understanding each other without needing the words to explain, wasn’t that love?

Complacency was the bane of Till’s existence (Ivan was a close second), and if he kept doing nothing to better his chances, he can only reap what he sowed. If there was no spring planting, there could be no autumn harvest; some crops may fail, but such was the way of nature. If he never tried, he would never know.

Clearing his throat, Till leaned towards Mizi, keeping a low tone to match the volume of the venue.

“Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure I’ve always sat up in the balcony or box seats when I’ve been in smaller theaters before. I’m used to looking down at the stage. It feels a little weird to be up this close. But you must be used to it, right?”

With an anticipatory gleam hidden behind her gilded eyes, the gold of her gaze was exceptionally bright tonight.

“Yes! I love being able to see the stage this way. You can really see the faces the actors and appreciate so many details, the costumes, the make-up—all of that really jumps to life when you’re right in the front like this.”

Raising her head to appraise the balcony seating, Mizi added after some thought, “Although, I bet it’s interesting from up high, too, right? You probably can take in the whole scene a lot better. There’s no wrong way to watch the show.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it. It’s definitely a bit, uh, quieter, when you’re farther away from the main seating.”

The privacy of the upper floor seating was something he hadn’t appreciated before. Sitting in the front with rows of people facing his back, Till felt like the coast during a high tide, whispering waves rising and pressing up against his back. It wasn’t loud, especially when he compared it to the volume he listened to music, but it was certainly different than the padded privacy of a box seat.

“Don’t worry, once the lights go down, it’ll be so quiet you can hear a pin drop.”

“That’s good.”

“I wonder if the—oh, I see Ivan! He’s there, look!”

Both of them had to lean far forward to be able to see past the bent knees and bodies of other people in their lateral view, but Mizi’s prescription contacts did her right. Ivan was certainly there, visible only because he standing, wearing black from head-to-toe with his hair styled somewhat. His arms were crossed while talking amicably to some guy standing next to him. Till didn’t recognize them.

Whoever he was, they didn’t seem too old, but he probably still had some years on Hyuna. Maybe in his 30’s?

“Who is that?”

“I’m not sure…”

Frowning, Mizi ventured a guess.

“I see Mr. Unsha nearby, so it’s probably someone who works for him. Sua did mention that some of the employees that are close to their dad were invited.”

Till tried to imagine inviting people his own dad knew to a performance and was so disturbed by the thought, his body broke out in chills.

“... Yeesh. I guess Sua and Ivan must be pretty close with the people who work under their dad if she’d reserve so many seats.”

Nodding, Mizi shared what she knew.

“At least, that’s the impression I have. Since the assistants are always handling things for Mr. Unsha, they handle a lot of his communication and his calendar, things like that. Sua told me that sometimes, she won’t hear from their dad weeks at a time, only communicating with him through the secretaries.”

“Tsk, in that case, maybe they can loan a few people to my dad. I’d be glad not to have to talk to him ever again.”

Mizi stuck her tongue out at him, half-teasing, half-disapproving.

“From what you’ve told me, he doesn’t sound so bad when he isn’t, ah… angry?” she said, euphemistically.

Rubbing the nape of his neck, Till sighed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

In fact, Till hated that bastard seven days a week, fifty-two weeks out a year, but Mizi didn’t need to know the details of that fucked up relationship. His dad and her parents were acquainted, and his dad’s alcohol abuse was a poorly kept secret, so Mizi learned that he had a drinking problem a long time ago. She knew that the two of them fought often, but that was about it. The truth was ugly, had rotted away certain parts of his own personality, and those parts—Till didn’t want Mizi to see. Like an arcadic garden in an apocalypse, miraculously untouched, green and lush and full of life, Mizi was akin to Till’s Eden. An oasis in this hell, she was a reprieve from the home he didn’t want, an escape from the things about himself he despised.

She would accept anything he shared with her, Till knew that. Loved that about her. It was simply Till’s desire not to let that darkness invade upon the the small corner of light he had left for himself.

At the end of the day, all of the shit he dealt with, it was all temporary. After a few more years, he’d be an adult and would never have to worry about the so-called family ties that bound him anymore. Till could hold out for a few more years, and then, he could completely let that part of his life go.

While Till was lost in thought, Mizi had been watching Ivan continue to chat away.

“Should I try to get his attention? I can try to wave? Maybe he doesn’t know we’re already here.”

She looked back at Till, uncertain, seeking a second opinion.

Till glanced at the empty seat on his left. Should be Ivan’s. They had been given tickets by Sua over a month ago for this show, since it was so important to her.

“Just let him be, he’ll find us when he’s done.”

Considering he had been dragged along by their dad into arriving together, Till assumed Ivan probably had to play along as a ‘young master’ and shouldn’t be bothered.

Knowing Ivan, he’d slip away soon and come sit with them. He was probably just waiting for a good opportunity.

... Growing a little bored, every few minutes, Till leaned forward.

…

Really, they just kept chatting away.

Blah, blah, blah.

What could be so damn interesting?

Mizi flipped through the program and shared some secondhand gossip about the cast she’d learned from Sua, passing the time. When there was only a minute or so left before the show started. Till finally noticed movement in his periphery from the aisle, ready to ask Ivan what kind of riveting conversation took so fucking long.

“… Ah?”

Wasn’t this the guy Ivan was just talking to? No, why was he sitting down next to Till?

Mizi and Till made eye contact, both confused by this person’s identity. How could he take Ivan’s seat?

With a polite, inquiring smile, Mizi leaned across Till and asked in a roundabout way so as to not seem rude.

“Um, excuse me sir, do you by chance know the Unsha family? We saw you talking with our friend Ivan just now and were waiting for him… ”

“Oh, pardon me. You must be Mizi-ssi and Till-ssi, I presume? My name is Lee Wooyoung, I’m a special assistant to Secretary Jang, who directly serves President Unsha. Young lady Sua got several of us in the President’s office tickets for her show, myself amongst them. I, erm, understand this was previously young master Ivan’s seat. Forgive me, I was instructed I needed to exchange with him.”

Till raised a brow, not bothering with honorifics, and directly asked, “Why did Ivan have to switch with you?”

Lee Wooyoung gave an awkward smile.

“This… I’m afraid I don’t know the reason, I was just told by Secretary Jang to sit here.”

“Is that so?” Mizi’s response was a little more polite, though she was obviously disappointed “Well, then, excuse us. Thank you for your hard work.”

Hard work? Till almost rolled his eyes. What hard work, this guy was given tickets to see some high schoolers perform Shakespeare. Working for a rich person like Ivan and Sua’s dad sounded pretty cozy.

Till involuntarily turned his head in Ivan’s direction, but he must have already sat down. Mr. Unsha was a giant guy, even bigger than his own dad, so it would be impossible to catch a glimpse of him behind that towering figure now.

… Whatever. Why was he bothering about it? This was probably better, right? If Ivan was here, it wouldn’t feel like a date with Mizi anymore. Till would just pretend Wooyoung was some random stranger who had the seat next to him. It’s not like they were obligated to talk to him, and this was a show, not social hour at an after-school club.

The lights went down, and Mizi bolted upright in her seat like she’d been shocked with electricity, eyes pointed forward.

“So dedicated,” Till remarked, a mix of surprise and appreciation, but Mizi ignored him, all her focus on the stage.

The theater indeed quieted down as she said, silent as the dawn before the end of a long night. Then, as the curtain parted, four people walked onto the scene together. Of them, Sua's posture was the most upright, her chin held high and proud with a subtle amount of arrogance. Adorned in an intricate costume steeped in aristocratic pomp, Till couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for her. All those excessive frills and layers of fabric looked heavy as hell, and underneath the burning stage lights, it must have been sweltering.

She’ll probably end up melting before long.

He understood that feeling well all too well. By the time they’d played their set list at DRAMA, Till’s clothes looked like he had been fished out of a swimming pool.

He was familiar with the opening scene, one of the dozen he had helped Sua rehearse at length, so Till’s attention involuntarily began to wander. The second act of the show was the part he didn’t know much about, making the introduction, while novel to see in costume, a little repetitive. Till was inclined to comment on how unbearably stuffy Sua’s dress must be, but, just as he opened his mouth and leaned forward, he realized how enraptured Mizi was with the stage. She was so single-mindedly absorbed in the performance that he actually felt a little guilty for almost bothering her.

Right, he wasn’t here to mess around, this was a sort of classy occasion. Besides, Sua came to UNKNOWN’s show; Till should show her the same amount of respect and be attentive.

Swallowing down the words he intended to say, Till sat up in his seat and tried to appear serious.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Mizi (and Lee Wooyoung, and probably, like, fifteen other people) all looked at Till when his phone loudly vibrated in his pocket.

He cursed under his breath, apologetically hunched his shoulders, and hurriedly scrambled to turn the phone to airplane mode. When he unlocked the screen, Till noticed the text that caused the disturbance in the first place.

[Ivan 18:03]
I bet 50000 won that noona will sweat through her costume before the end of Act 2

Till almost laughed out loud. Okay, at least he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t help but notice. Seriously, the wardrobe was so excessive, it even seemed difficult to move around in. Was this how people dressed hundreds of years ago? Why not just die?

Tempted to reply, Till bit his lip and his fingers hovered above the screen. Ultimately, he decided against it for fear of making the entire surrounding audience into his enemy, decisively turning off all sound and vibration, and adjusting the screen brightness to the lowest possible setting.

He tucked the phone between his shirt and his suit jacket, reluctant to put it away completely. All he needed to do was glance down at his lap and he could see the KakaoTalk interface.

[Ivan 18:04]
She sweats like a pig
Do not tell her I told you. I might not have an intact corpse tomorrow

[Ivan 18:05]
Pigs don’t sweat actually, it’s a misnomer. But you know what I mean

Yeah. He knew what Ivan meant.

[Ivan 18:10]
I got lectured by my dad and had to sit with him today. But I saw you and Mizi earlier, you seemed busy or I would have said hi

[Ivan 18:12]
Ivan withdrew a message
You both looked really good~

[Ivan 18:13]
Till_Expression6_Headbang.jpg
Although I’m not sure you’ll ever look this good again

If Ivan was next to him, Till definitely would have confiscated his phone and deleted every single one of those damn stickers he made. Also, he would have wagered double-or-nothing that Sua wouldn’t even make it till the end of the first Act before her dress showed signs of sweat stains.

(Till would never have the guts to type a conversation like that and risk leaving evidence behind. If Sua ever found out, forget sweating like a pig, she’d gut them like pigs and probably feed their bodies to the dogs for good measure.)

Till’s mood was a little complicated. He couldn’t settle on whether he was irritated or exasperated. When it came to Ivan, both were common.

… He felt a little relieved and amused, too. Probably just because he’d been so tense trying to make conversation with Mizi earlier, by contrast, interacting with something familiar felt…

…

Anyway, the show was pretty good.

Till got more into it as they proceeded into the second act, and Ivan stopped texting as frequently which made it easier to pay attention. Intermittently, his phone would show that Ivan made some comment about the actors here or there, often targeting his sister specifically, especially when all the ridiculous scheming surrounding Sua’s character, Beatrice, began to unfold.

Beatrice and her counterpart Benedick were the most fun to watch. Till knew he was biased since Sua was his friend, he could honestly admit he simply didn’t find the other roles all that interesting. Hero was a bit boring, and her father was only funny to the extent that he went around plotting with a bunch of kids half his age. The prince character was really not qualified to be a prince and Till felt disdain every time he opened his mouth. Oh, the guy’s lines were delivered well, but his acting was a little exaggerated. He failed to capture the right amount of vanity and self-assurance a prince should have. As far as the cast went, besides a few other side characters here or there, that really only left the second pairing, Beatrice and Benedick. Their snarky back and forth was definitely the highlight of the play.

Till knew how it ended thanks to helping with Sua’s lines, but seeing the farce acted out still left him somewhere between disbelieving and bewildered.

… Seriously, that was it?

Both couples just… got married? Happily ever after?

So easy? Ridiculous. It was more hackneyed than a Disney film.

(Later, Till learned that this was Shakespeare’s signature move, so to speak. An upper-cut-finality-finishing-combo in which either everyone died or everyone got married. What exactly kind of life were people living in England? What was this fairytale bullshit?)

(... Even later, Ivan broke the news to Till that less than half of Shakespeare’s plays were actually set in England, preferring settings for like Greece, Italy, and France. Till was inexplicably but irrefutably pissed off by this knowledge.)

While Till clapped alongside Mizi and the rest of the audience, he shook his head at the entire contrived plot, thinking that maybe he was just overly critical. Everyone else seemed to enjoy it, right? Shakespeare, being a pretty famous dude, must have known what he was doing… Even if it all felt a little too hard to believe.

When the cast vacated the stage, the lights stayed on and the curtains did not close. Rather, as was typical for theatrical performances, the actors were to come out and bow in some designated order—Till wasn’t sure if it was by appearance, by the number of lines, seniority, or what. Sua was one of the first to come out though, right after Hero and Claudio.

She bowed with Benedick to an especially thunderous applause. Apparently, Till wasn’t the only one who appreciated their on-stage battle of wits.

At the moment the pair stood up after giving an elegant curtsey, Mizi shot up from her seat like a rocket, launching herself towards the stage. Since they were in the very front, she needn’t run far before she was standing right at the edge, arms stretched out toward the stage, flowers thrust eagerly above her head.

Loudly, loud enough to be heard over the applause, Mizi shouted.

“Sua!”

Till was a bit shocked. He knew the flowers were for Sua, but hadn’t expected Mizi to do something so bold. He thought she’d delivered them after the show ended like usual.

Beneath the light of the center stage, Sua’s every facial expression were extremely pronounced. Surprise, confusion, happiness, overflowing happiness—such joy, Till had never seen from her before. It was like watching an encore performance he had never expected. That her eyes could even show such emotion was bewildering.

These reactions flitted by in an instant, finally settling on a slightly more restrained but no less graceful smile. She dashed towards the edge of the stage, bending to accept the bouquet.

Seeing her even closer than before, Till really couldn’t imagine how she could run in that dress. The costume seemed really heavy.

Oh, he was right.

She tripped.

Oh.

She fell.

Mizi’s flowers went flying back into the audience like a bride casting off her marriage bouquet, but rather than embracing with her husband, Sua’s body flew forward, diving directly into Mizi’s arms and they both nearly crashed to the ground.

Several people gasped and stood up, rushing forward to help.

Till, instinctively, was prepared to do the same. He leapt to his feet, but it was obvious after only a brief pause, staring at each other in mutual shock, Mizi and Sua were both fine.

Their dresses contrasted such that it only highlighted the absurdity of the situation, one puffy and doll-like and another fun and youthful. Sua’s face was frozen, stuck between the fear of falling and the bewilderment of being caught. Mizi, meanwhile, looked like the wind had been thoroughly knocked out of her, but, once she recovered enough to realize what had happened, she started laughing.

Mizi had always been deceptively strong, after all, ballet was no walk in the park. She worked out every single day, and lifting Sua up even in full costume was no problem for her at all. She wrapped her arms more tightly around the shorter girls waist and spun them both around a few times, both of them laughing to the point of breathlessness.

The audience was… well, flabbergasted.

Some laughed, most just clapped along in confusion, but the world simply watched on, unable to intrude upon their moment.

...

Mizi couldn’t care less about the audience, didn’t hear any of their confusion or care about the gazes of others. To her, they weren’t even there—she was already holding the entire world in her arms.

Sua, laughing until she couldn’t even feel the embarrassment of falling from the stage, had never been so happy to have saved Mizi a seat in the front row for all these years. She loved the stage, but this—this is where she was meant to be.

Despite the night belonging to the entire cast and crew, that moment, at least, belonged to the two of them.

...

Relieved, and no longer fearing for their safety, Till involuntarily looked down the front row to see if Ivan had reacted similarly. He half-suspected Ivan took out his phone to record his sister’s embarrassing moment to memorialize for all of time.

It appeared that Ivan was also on his feet, but he wasn’t quite… standing up. Rather, he was bent over in laughter.

In a mere matter of seconds, Till had seen something unbelievable between these two siblings. Previously, he wasn’t even sure that Sua and Ivan could show such rich emotions anymore, having long grown used to their somewhat muted responses to the world around them.

First, Sua lit up with the brilliance of the moon in the deep night.

And then Ivan was…

Till might have only seen him like this once in his memory. It was after they had fought, Ivan had sat back on his knees, laughing until he was short of breath, collapsing back onto the grass and clutching his stomach, utterly unable to abate his amusement. At the time, Till thought he was crazy, how could they go from rolling around in the dirt, getting bloody and throwing punches at each other, to being so happy like this? What exactly about the moment was joyful? Till could no longer recall the reason behind their fight that day, probably just some dumb kid stuff, but the Ivan he saw standing in the auditorium overlapped with the one that lived in his memory.

Till remembered the unmistakable flush to Ivan’s cheeks, the stars in his eyes, peeking out from behind a dark curtain. At that moment, Till had been so shocked he stopped being angry altogether.

It left a deep impression on him back then. How had he never realized before the color black could hold so much light?

Since then, this may very well be the first time Ivan showed so much emotion. It was certainly the first time Till had seen it since.

Unknowingly, it gave rise to a somewhat bittersweet emotion, like a hand slowly exerting pressure on his chest.

Ivan was too far away for him to see if those little shining stars appeared in his eyes again. Till couldn’t explain why, but for some reason… he hoped they stayed hidden.

What’s wrong with me?

Till rubbed his face uneasily, unsettled by his own reaction. Even if he and Ivan didn’t always get along, it’s not like Till wanted him to be unhappy. He just felt like… it wasn’t right for Ivan to have that same response right now.

…

“Till-ssi? Are you alright?”

Lee Wooyoung waved a hand in front of him, startling Till into almost falling back into his seat.

“You were staring in this direction for a long time, are you unwell…?”

“N, no, I just got, uh, distracted.”

Till’s attention darted back towards the stage, where, not only had Sua returned, but she had somehow dragged Mizi up with her, urging her to bow and receive the audience’s appraisal. The crowd laughed and cheered, giving some encouraging whistles and jeers. Poor Mizi was completely red-faced, likely mortified, but she was a good sport about it. Covering her face with both hands, she bowed to the audience, going along as it was clearly well-meaning… Even if she was probably embarrassed beyond her wildest imagination.

Till just shook his head with a smile and continued to clap throughout the curtain call.

Whisked back stage with the cast after her moment of public shame, Mizi didn’t return to Till’s side that evening. He was inevitably a bit disappointed, but the time spent for the first half of the day (date?) felt like a step forward.

… The problem was, Mizi was his ride.

Maybe she’d re-emerge once the cast was finished with their wind-down? Till decided he would wait around little longer. Tomorrow was UNKNOWN’s next show; all Till had planned for the evening was to go home and get some sleep. Another thirty minutes waiting around wouldn’t do him any harm.

The auditorium gradually emptied, and some of the volunteers and the stage crew started to clean up. They cast Till curious glances, as he was the only person still in the front row. Anyone else that lingered near the stage were engaged in conversations with others, much like Ivan had been earlier.

Where did Ivan go, anyway?

Till hadn’t noticed when he left, but then again, gauging from the text he’d gotten earlier, it seemed like he was on his dad’s leash today and didn’t have much of a choice.

Lowering his gaze, Till pulled out his phone and scrolled through the more than dozen messages Ivan sent over the course of the show, laughing at some of the contents, rolling his eyes at others.

[Till 20:02]
delete those fucking stickers

He returned his phone settings to normal and leaned his head back, gazing at the ceiling for a moment, thinking about preparations for tomorrow.

Isaac’s mom had one of those pseudo-SUVs, so Till was bringing most of his equipment and driving over early; Ivan had already struck a deal with Hyuna to hitch a ride. Dewey and Acorn said they’d figure out their own arrangements, probably rely on transit, as long as Isaac could bring their instruments. The manager’s name was Cho Jin-Kyong, she knew Hyuna from god-knows-where and it was through her that they booked this place. Titled ‘The Basement’, it was, unsurprisingly, an underground live house. The imaginative naming sense of these venue owners could be seen.

Till had been there for a show himself once to see group, and it was standing room only with a maximum occupancy of, maybe, sixty people? That might be generous, even. Maybe forty…?

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Blinking a few times to clear his head, Till checked his phone.

[Ivan 20:04]
Did you leave yet?

[Till 20:04]
no I was gonna see if Mizi comes out
where are you

[Ivan 20:05]
Practice room

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

Till grumbled, finally getting up from his seat and taking a final look around the auditorium. No longer filled with so many restless whispers, he was feeling significantly more comfortable than he did when he arrived.

[Till 20:06]
coming

Such a short, simple message, yet Ivan’s gaze unconsciously warmed more than it had all day.

Since the moment he woke up, his routine had been disrupted to oblige Sua’s needs for the day. Not that Ivan minded some sacrifices to make sure Sua’s day proceeded smoothly, but because many things had to be altered, needless to say there was an overarching sense of disorder that followed him throughout his day.

Sua left first thing in the morning to meet with her classmates in preparation for the show, all of whom had been excused from classes for a final dress rehearsal with the other cast members; the theater director planned to treat the seniors specially for a meal off school grounds, which meant she would need to go back and forth several times. For simplicity, their usual driver had been reassigned as her exclusive assistant for the day. Ivan had to be in frequent contact with Secretary Jang for ad hoc arrangements of his own to flexibly rearrange plans to meet his father’s expectations.

The more chaotic things became, the more Ivan displayed patience, conscientiousness, and courtesy throughout the day, leaving his father no room to criticize him.

Evidently, the man was pleased with Ivan’s accommodating behavior, and he was already in a good mood due to Sua’s thoughtful invitation of himself and his staff, so the car ride to the show was peaceful.

When he arrived, Ivan considered splitting off to see if he could find Mizi and Till.

When he saw them together, Ivan changed his mind.

It’s not like he was taken by surprise, knew they would be there together—had even mentally prepared for it—but just decided not to intrude.

Mizi seemed lovely as usual, like like she’d stepped off an idol stage and into a school hallway, yet made it look very natural. Such was her mysterious ability to always look good, Ivan mused to himself.

By comparison, all Ivan could think about Till was how the color red really suited him. The outfit was nothing special, but the maroon shirt was a refreshing change for him, made it difficult for Ivan to look away. He felt like he just couldn’t see enough, the way it brought out the blue undertones in his hair, highlighted the faint transparency of his complexion. Without the bandages on his face, a slight nick was still visible on his cheek, a start contrast against pale skin. Ivan wanted to touch that spot, feel the uneven drag of the healing skin beneath his fingertips.

If Till looked at him—just once, if Till could just look at him once—he’d ignore his father’s arrangements entirely. Maybe he’d ignore everything entirely and just walk directly across this hallway and kiss him.

After several minutes, Ivan walked away.

He hated how good Till looked in red.

Once the show began, Ivan recalled how restless Till would become during a performance. Maybe he had an attention disorder, or maybe he just didn’t like places that were too quiet and too dark. Maybe it was Till’s own burning desire to be on a stage, manifesting into an agitated, impatient state of being. His leg would bounce in place, like a nervous habit, only stilling when he could say whatever was on his mind. Ivan wasn’t sure why, had never pointed it out or asked Till to clarify, simply listening as he repeatedly criticized or evaluated the things going on in front of him.

The most abnormal part was that Till is not someone Ivan would describe as talkative, but he also wasn’t the type to moderate his speech if he had something to say. If Ivan had to venture a guess, he suspected Till simply couldn’t stand not being allowed to talk in a theater, subconsciously stifled by the atmosphere and frustrated by the social pressure to behave a certain way.

After attending enough of Sua’s shows and Mizi’s recitals, Ivan began to initiate the quiet conversations himself, usually not needing more than the first few scenes before Till’s focus shifted. At that point, he would rather become too tired and ended up falling asleep briefly, or ended up engaging with the story enough that he became invested in the plot, calmly observing through until the show ended.

He decided to text Till, though he never responded. Worst case, Till would see them all after the show was over and maybe give him a hard time.

Either way, Ivan saw it as a win-win.

After it ended, Ivan completely lost his composure after Mizi and Sua’s abrupt ‘second act’. His father’s face changed from white to an ugly shade of purple, which was just the final straw that made him crack. He laughed so hard his ribs hurt and he had to leave the auditorium to buy a bottle of water before he could calm down. Sending a text to Secretary Jang, Ivan learned that they would likely be staying for some time as their father felt he needed to ‘speak urgently with young lady Sua about some matters.’ If he wanted, Secretary Jang volunteered to drive him home first.

Ivan didn’t text him back, slipping his phone back into his pocket, envisioning the lecture coming his older sister’s way. He could only say he was sorry for her bad luck.

In the end, he found himself in a familiar practice room, in front of a familiar piano. He had nothing better to do, and even entertained the possibility that if he was very lucky, a certain temperamental, prickly individual might wander past.

(No one else would bother to sleuth around the music wing at this hour besides Till.)

Discarding any of his remaining shame, Ivan even cracked the door so the music could be heard from further away. If it increased his likelihood of attracting Till’s attention, even if it was just a small chance, why not?

To his surprise, he needn’t use such a trick at all. Till seemed to be looking for him? It was hard to tell, so Ivan truthfully reported his location, not daring to be hopeful. Ivan wasn't wholly convinced Till wasn't simply making conversation after reading up on their KakaoTalk log.

Then, the text that said “coming” was received, a pleasant, soft sensation spread all the way to his fingertips, Ivan's hands to move on their own over the keys. In short order, Chopin’s Prelude in E minor filled the room, well-played and well-practiced, something Ivan could pull from his memory it without paying much attention. He tried to think of something else to play, maybe something a little more challenging.

Since they had reserved this practice room for the whole year, he brought sheet music and kept it in a bin beside the piano bench. He looked through it for a moment, pulling out Debussy’s Arabesque. It had more transitions and was something he hadn’t played it very many times—not enough to have memorized it in its entirety.

After about five minutes, a set of footsteps could be heard approaching, and then entering, the practice room.

Ivan was planning to play until he reached the end of the page, but when Till walked past his line of sight he ended up playing a wrong note so obnoxiously wrong, it would have been insulting to try to continue the piece.

In his defense, Till had taken off his suit jacket and thrown it over the back of a random chair with his sleeves partially rolled up, top button of his shirt opened.

It was actually quite impressive that Ivan only played a wrong note. Rather, he was grateful that his nose didn’t start bleeding.

“Sounds good. What was that?”

Till had his hands in his pockets, strolling around the room, looking at nothing in particular.

“Debussy.”

“No wonder.” A bit randomly, he said, “I met that Wooyoung guy.”

Tying to calm down, Ivan forced himself not to stare by closing his eyes, carefully searching his memory. Still, he failed to come up with anyone by that name.

“Who did you meet?”

“The one who sat in your original seat? He works for your dad… ?”

“Oh, him. I don’t remember all my dad’s employees.”

Doubtful, Till raised a brow. “You guys were talking for like, at least ten minutes. You didn’t even know his name?”

In fact, Ivan couldn’t even accurately name all his own classmates. Unless they were someone important to him, he really couldn’t be bothered.

Ivan, however, latched onto a different piece of information. He sat up in place, like a child who’d been praised by the teacher.

“Hmm? You saw me?”

With his arms crossed, Till paused and looked away, a clear sign of his irritation.

“... Mizi did. I just look where she pointed.”

“Oh, I see. Well, the conversation wasn’t anything meaningful. He asked me about school, I think he said he played some kind of instrument? I wasn’t really listening.”

“Seriously? How can you just tune people out like that?”

“That’s the easy part. The hard part is responding when you weren’t listening in the first place.”

Till rolled his eyes, but there was a trace of a laugh when he replied.

“Whatever.”

Spinning on his heel, Till approached the bench and looked down at the keys. Ivan thought he seemed oddly absentminded tonight.

“You like playing the piano, right?”

“That’s a strange thing to ask.”

“... Hyuna made a comment the other day and… No, it’s nothing. She was just messing with my head.”

“Ah, well, noona does like to give her juniors grief when she can. As for the answer to your question, I’m not sure.”

Till was about to place his hands on the keys, Ivan watching as his fingers froze.

“Not sure? What do you mean?”

Tilting his head to one side, Ivan thought about how to answer. Despite seeming like such a simple question, it begged quite a complex answer.

“Well… It’s hard to say if I like it or not. The act of playing something successfully is satisfying, and I enjoy the feeling of practicing. But if you ask if I like it… It’s not the same as I felt when we performed at DRAMA, and I am certain that experience was something I ‘liked.’ The piano, by comparison… Well, it’s harder to say.”

Frowning, Till took his hands back and moved them to his pockets, walking over to the jacket on the chair. Having his curiosity sated, Ivan expected Till wouldn’t bring it up anymore, but to his surprise, after Till checked his phone, he replied with a grimace.

“I get that. When, where, and with whom you play can really change the way it feels. I don’t like singing when I’m alone, but I can do it when there are other people around. It’s weird.”

Eyes curving, Ivan teased, “A little weird.”

“Shut up.”

Rather than stop talking, Ivan just changed the subject directly. He realized Till wouldn’t normally hang around in the practice room when his own instruments weren’t available. If he was here to kill time, then…

“Is Mizi still with Sua?”

Till peeked at his phone, shoulders slumping.

“I guess so. She hasn’t texted me.”

“Do you want a ride home? My father’s group came with more cars than we need, so we can leave at anytime.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“No real reason.”

Ivan was trying to please his father, so rather than ride separately, he had the thought to wait around. That was why he didn’t bother replying to Secretary Jang earlier. If Till wanted to go now, however, that changed things.

“And you said I was weird. Mmm… Yeah, okay, if you’re ready we can leave whenever. I just want to get out of this outfit.”

Being more honest than he had ever been in his life, Ivan solemnly swore, “It looks good on you.”

“Tsk, yeah, right. Besides, it’s not comfortable.”

“That’s a shame. You can take it off now if you’re that uncomfortable…”

Till grabbed a random capo from a bench and threw it squarely at Ivan’s forehead, who dodged it while laughing openly.

“Asshole, let’s go before I change my mind.”

“Okay, okay.”

Ivan stood up and Till grabbed his jacket. Leaving the practice room together was a habit by now, Ivan paused to lock the door and they walked very naturally towards the parking lot, discussing Sua’s performance briefly while Ivan texted Secretary Jang, saying that he was ready to leave.

After confirming that they would meet by the car, Till tried to stretch out his shoulder. Ivan wondered how the injury was healing, but he didn’t ask.

Instead, Till asked him a question.

“So why did you keep playing the piano if you’re not even sure you like it…?”

Ivan’s gaze narrowed slightly. If he wasn’t looking into the distance, one would think he was glaring at someone.

In a sense, he was doing just that—glaring at an imaginary version of Hyuna in front of him.

“I guess I just didn’t see a good reason to stop? I thought, if I kept playing, maybe I would like it more as time went on. I think I did, it’s just hard to quantify something like that.”

“... Hmm, that makes sense. I guess…”

After another minute, Secretary Jang hurried over, clearly surprised to see Ivan with Till but tactful enough not to say anything.

“Hello, Till-ssi. We’ve met a few times.”

“Secretary Jang.”

Nodding, he turned to address Ivan. “Young master, will we be going directly home…?”

“I texted you the address for the GPS.”

Till squinted at him. “My place, not somewhere weird, right?”

“Heh. Who knows? Are you going to get in, or are you afraid I might sell you?”

“Whose selling who? I’d sell you first.”

“I would be honored. What price do you think I’d fetch?”

“Oh my god, just fuck off already.”

Shoving him out of the way, Till climbed into the back seat with a scowl on his face. Ivan laughed and followed after him very naturally.

Secretary Jang, an invisible person, felt extremely awkward and could only get in the driver seat.

Till yawned and scrolled through his phone during the ride, texting their group chat to congratulate Sua and to tell Mizi he left in case she looked for him. Neither of them texted back all night.

Gazing out the window, Ivan didn’t see the scenery, was using the reflective glass to observe Till tapping away at his phone.

Did he like playing the piano?

It was unlike Till to bring up something like that, and even more usual was that he brought it up more than once.

What exactly did Hyuna say to him?

Since they would be driving together for the show, Ivan was certainly not going to let her off the hook.

As for his reason for playing…

“You little bastard!”

The curse was spoken simultaneously with the sharp reverberation of skin-on-skin—

Smack.

So followed the clumsy collapse of a seven-year old against the ground, sent sprawling from the impact. The staccato sound of polished shoes over marble floors, and the subsequently muffled impact of fine Italian leather colliding against refined, imported cotton-padded flesh.

Such was the mundane, everyday symphony of misery.

Today, the man’s kick was aimed at the child’s ribs, making the pain momentary but intense beyond imagination.

Ivan didn’t know what it felt like to die, but it probably felt like this.

At least this kind of kick wouldn’t come with severe after effects. A blow to the head often brings a headache; a precise jab in the gut can make him vomit. All things considered, this wasn’t so bad.

“You let some random brat into this house and let them touch whatever they please? Have you lost your damn mind, boy?”

The sneer in the old man’s voice was undisguised.

“That piano is worth more than your miserable life. Can you be responsible if it’s damaged?”

“Father, please. Stop it.”

The voice, soft and with an airiness unique to children, came from the doorway.

(A safe distance, given the situation.)

Tone gentle, but firm. There was no trembling, no harsh edges, befitting the eldest daughter of the household, the ever-responsible big sister; a steadfast, pacifying pillar in a nasty domestic tempest. She was the epitome of high-quality education and superior breeding, not unlike a a doll whose exterior had been polished to perfection.

“Go back, Sua.” After dealing with his unruly son, the man’s voice couldn’t immediately become kind, but it was notably restrained. “I don’t want you getting involved in his mess. He’s been undisciplined for far too long.”

Sua shook her head, standing her ground.

“Father, they were my guests, not brother’s.”

That’s true.

During this exchange, Ivan was busy staring at the ceiling, a lifeless expression on his face.

“If you’re going to punish someone, it should be me.”

But that would never happen. Sua was the apple of their old man’s eye, raised in the palm of his hand and cherished beyond measure.

“You’re defense of him is admirable, Sua-ya, but it was your brother who let those kids into the music hall and gave them free reign to play as they liked. Or am I wrong?”

That’s also true.

Half-listening to his father and sister’s attempts to coax each other, Ivan couldn’t be bothered to pay them much attention. It felt like watching a scripted soap opera. Even if he hadn’t seen this exact episode, he more or less knew what was being said and what would happen next.

Why bother listening?

Rather, he was busy thinking back to earlier that day.

…

A few hours ago, at the entryway to the Unsha estate.

The doorbell rang.

This was an unusually expectant noise. A mansion of such size was never truly quiet, what with the constant, though muted, bustle of servants and the occasional movement of the masters within. Yet, all the regular activity in this house lacked spirit behind it, as if all the house’s earnestness was shrouded in layers, obscured behind in a thick veil.

Well, that was usually the case.

Not right now, though.

Ta-ta-ta-ta, the hurried steps of Sua’s slippers could be heard as she ran towards the front door from the sitting room. In no time at all, childlike voices could be heard chirping like springtime, early morning sparrows, shining a ray of sunlight into the dull hallways of the mansion. This was unexpected and a bit out of place; something cheerful and warm, something that clearly did not belong to the Unsha family.

Hearing the commotion, Ivan came down the stairs at the same time that a servant finished closing the door.

Sua glanced at him and then gestured to the guests.

“Brother, you remember Mizi. She’s my classmate.”

“Yes, we’ve met. Hello, Mizi-ssi.”

“Oh, just Mizi is fine, hah, really only a few months older than you…” A little embarrassed, Mizi waved her arms to dissuade Ivan from being so formal. “But yes, it’s nice to see you again.”

At the same time, the girl half-turned away, revealing a shorter child that had been blocked behind her. With a brilliant grin, Mizi ruffled the little head of silver-gray hair and pulled the boy forward.

“Sua, Ivan, this is my friend, Till. He’s staying at my house for a week while his parents are out of town. I hope you don’t mind I brought him, too? I forgot to ask ahead of time… He’s younger than Sua and I, but you should be the same age as Ivan. Till, go ahead and greet them.”

Sua and Ivan both looked over at the reddened ear tips of a boy just barely at height with Mizi’s shoulder. Neither of them were bothered by an unexpected visitor tagging along, and Sua welcomed him just as naturally as she would any other guest, like the model heiress and daughter she had been trained to be.

Ivan, however, was looking at Till’s feet.

“Are you not wearing shoes?”

“That’s…! It’s none of your business!”

Youthful but alert, the clipped response sounded almost like an accusation being thrown back in Ivan’s face. As if to ask, how dare you be so nosy?

When Ivan looked up, his eyes collided with a fierce stare aimed at him. Those eyes were an emerald-tinted sea of rage, far too deep to belong to a child. A bit dazzling, like jade-carved daggers gleaming under a chandelier.

This child—his name was Till, Mizi said?—his face was still flushed, but his expression had lost the earlier traces of shyness. Instead, he seemed ignited with fury, glaring at Ivan as if daring him to say something else.

Perhaps… He was sensitive about his this subject? Why?

A bit interesting.

Originally, Ivan would not have cared.

After all, he was his father’s son.

His personality may not have sculpted with the same precision as his sister’s, but they were still taught etiquette from the same teacher, their upbringing carved from the same mold. Of course he knew how to treat a guest, how to address someone in his peer group, to express an appropriate degree of concern towards someone the same age as him. All of these lessons on propriety were well ingrained in him.

But now…

As a nearby servant brought over house slippers in children’s sizes for the guests, Ivan stopped them.

“Just a moment.”

His fingers itched, a strange feeling rising in his chest. He hadn’t felt this before. It was like, having fun, playing a game, mixed with a bit of the thrill of doing something bad.

(Later on, Ivan would learn that what he felt that day was much the same he always felt around Till: anticipation mixed with a playful desire for mischief. At his age, he lacked the vocabulary to properly identify what he felt, only that he didn’t want to relinquish this newfound emotion just yet).

With a wicked little smirk, Ivan held Till’s ruthless stare, unperturbed, without blinking.

Then, he said, provocatively, “I bet the bottom of your feet are completely black, right? You might as well bring a towel first, or the slippers will be ruined.”

Sua pinched her brother’s arm, a silent warning, but it was ineffective against Ivan who was waiting for Till’s response.

And he did not disappoint.

Like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, Till practically hissed. He appeared to be seconds away from aiming his fist at Ivan. Mizi hurriedly apologized and tried to smooth over the situation—something about Till packing in a hurry, the nice weather making a good excuse to go barefoot, something to that effect.

Ivan didn’t care about her explanation at all.

Rather, he was speculating, if he had been standing even a few steps closer, he thought Till might have even tried to bite him. Instead, he was forced to stand there and have a servant wipe his feet. Such a gratifying yet ingratiating response. Who did he think he was, walking into a stranger’s house barefoot, and then having the audacity to be mad at the host for questioning them on it?

It’s absolutely nothing like the response he would get from his sister. It’s nothing like the servants, their father’s subordinates, or even Ivan’s classmates.

Very interesting.

…

After the initial tension cooled down, their afternoon proceeded with the discordant brand of harmony unique to children, unbothered by any of the awkwardness that adults carried in social situations. Expectations (self-imposed or otherwise) were easily forgotten between giggles and play. Competitive, teasing, youthful bickering and bantering livened up the Unsha estate for the first time. Their collective attention spans never stayed on any one thing for too long, migrating between snacks and games, story-telling and tag, touring the house and running around the garden. They jumped between whichever activity could capture them for the longest, always caught up in whatever the next thing was that managed to sound fun.

For children their age, the urge to share good things with others felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Not to mention, these specific guests made easing into any new social setting much easier.

From the get-go, Ivan could understand why Sua would have been drawn to someone like Mizi; simple but kind, endearing without being annoying. She carried a natural gentleness that was well-matched, yet somehow entirely different, from his sister’s. He wasn’t quite adept enough to pinpoint the exact nature of this difference, only that, to him, it felt like Sua’s hard edges seemed to fit well with Mizi’s soft ones.

Till was similarly simple, his emotions plainly visible in every twitch of his mouth, every word fit to burst with whatever emotion fueled him at the time. If he was angry, he raged and screamed; if he was happy, he beamed and flushed.

Ivan had never met anyone with such vibrancy.

Since the premise of this visit relied on Sua and Mizi’s friendship, it mainly consisted of the two girls speaking animatedly with each other about whatever came to mind, with Till chiming in on occasion as he followed Mizi around like a little tail. Ivan accompanied them, but he found the random flow of conversation less and less interesting as time went on and paid more attention to Till than anything.

When Mizi was showing off the fruition of her recent ballet recital, it came to light that Till was very interested in music.

It was Ivan’s idea to bring them inside the music hall. His motivation was a little unclear, even to himself. Maybe he wanted to show-off, or perhaps he simply wanted to see Till’s lively reactions play out before him. Would he call out with wonder? Be speechless in awe? Would he pick an instrument and start to play it?

Every one of his behaviors was interesting to Ivan, and he found himself reveling in whatever Till said or did.

…

That all transpired a few hours ago.

… Now, what was the situation again?

Ivan watched the fading afternoon light refract a splay of indistinct color through the crystal glass ornaments near the window. Right. Father and Sua were still at it. They might talk themselves into the evening at this rate over his mistakes without making any headway.

“Father.”

Lifting his upper body from the floor, Ivan swiped the back of his hand against the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“I wish to learn to play the piano.”

“...”

Two pairs of eyes locked onto Ivan, staring at him as if to burn a hole through his forehead. His father’s expression was inscrutable, while Sua seemed exasperated. Ivan could practically hear the scolding lurking behind her incredulous pretense.

A gaze that said, ‘Are you stubborn, or just an idiot?’

Well.

According to their father, this piano was worth more than Ivan’s miserable life, wasn’t it?

…

“Do you like the piano?”

“This… This isn’t just some piano! Crap, this is a grand piano…! Like, not even the normal kind, this is the really fancy kind, the kind you only see in concert halls.”

“Does that mean it’s really good?”

“Yeah? Duh? I’ve never even seen one up close before. I can’t believe you have one in your house…”

“You can play it, if you want.”

Fearlessly, Ivan reached out and took Till’s hand, pressing it on one of the keys at random. A soft, melodious note echoed in the silent hall, short, dulcet and fleeting. A glimmer of starlight danced in Till’s eyes, amazed by just that single sound, before he shook his head and yanked back his hand.

That emotion—Ivan had never seen anything quite like it before.

“No, no. Are you crazy? This thing is like, a ba-jillion won, right? What if I break it? It’s fine, I don’t need to play. I can always listen.”

At the time, Ivan didn’t insist.

Instead, a new idea was born deep in the recesses of his heart. He wondered if he had the capacity to play the piano.

If he could learn to play the piano… Maybe, Till would make that expression again. Joyful, captivated, and full of life.

Maybe his own so-called miserable life would be worth something.

Till said it himself—it wasn’t something he felt he needed to play. If it was enough for him to listen, then Ivan would play it for him until he no longer wanted to hear it.

Chapter 6: Crossover

Summary:

this theme was by FAR the hardest to incorporate into this fic, I struggled with it for a long time. so to compromise, i made it multimedia... it has a playlist, a "gig" poster, and the fic itself. also... it incorporates lyrics from an actual song that directly inspired some of the fic too, so... does that altogether meet the minimum requirement?? pretty please?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The day of UNKNOWN’s second performance had finally arrived, and when Till woke up without a fever and cough, he let out a quiet sigh of relief. Consider him paranoid, but after the shitshow of a day he had at DRAMA, he had been counting down for this moment like a bomb defuser in a movie. Worried he might have been cursed or something. Entering a high-stress environment like a live performance was hard enough when he didn’t feel like his body was hurtling towards a cozy hole in the ground, six feet deep, with every passing minute.

Without the suffocating feeling of illness bearing down on him, Till’s day was already a million times better than it was when he woke up for his last show. At the same time, there was a thick, somewhat nauseating aroma that mixed the earthy notes of coffee, burning scent of tobacco, and some unidentifiable kind of fatty-meat—pork, maybe?—coming from the kitchen. All obvious indicators that his dad was awake and had claimed the kitchen for himself.

Needless to say, Till was absolutely in no rush to join him and would rather wait until he left or went to do something else before emerging from the haven of his bedroom. Having nothing else to do but meet Isaac in a couple of hours to load up his Mom’s SUV and then drive forty-minutes to the next town, he decided to relax, rolling out of bed and crossing the room to open window. Inhale the scent of sunshine and grass, exhale all of the choking breakfast and cigarettes.

Today, Till felt, would be a good day.

There were children playing in the courtyard behind the building, running around with a string of laughter coloring the weekend morning with a sense of silver-lined joy. It was hard to imagine he’d ever been a kid like that, did he ever laugh that much when he was younger? Randomly scouring his memories, it seemed he was mad a lot of the time. Mizi laughed a lot more than he did; Sua was always composed, her own laughter hidden with the elegance of a princess behind her hand. Did Ivan ever laugh…?

Inexplicably, Till thought of the scene yesterday, remembering how unreserved Ivan had seemed as he let go of his composure to laugh at Mizi and Sua after their big, embarrassing scene.

Right, Ivan had laughed really hard that one time when they were kids. When he looked like that, unrestrained…

A sigh, more fond than Till realized, passed through him as he walked back to his bed and laid down again. Having not heard from Mizi at all before he passed out last night, Till had to admit, he had been worried. She was probably fine, but not knowing made him feel a bit…

Well, Till could admit, he had been a bit disappointed with the way the night ended since Mizi had more or less ditched him, but he didn’t want to make a big deal of it. If his feelings were a little hurt—so what? He’s not a child who needs to be coddled, he was perfectly capable of getting over it. He knew Mizi well, had already guessed she probably ended up sleeping over at Sua’s. It’s not like he’s never been guilty of forgetting to text people back before when caught up in something.

Till opened KakaoTalk and saw a mixed bag of missed messages, starting, unexpectedly, with Sua.

[Sua 00:16]
AHHHHHH i am so SORRY!! i got distracted backstage and then some stuff happened with mr. unsha and anyway i didn’t have my phone. it died and i didnt even realize
btw this is mizi
T_T im so sorry

[Sua 00:21]
It’s a long story. We were hiding from my dad. It was my fault Mizi misplaced her phone, then we had to go backtrack to try to find it. If you’re mad, it should be at me
(It’s Sua now)

[Sua 00:23]
We did find it, it’s just dead. Lee Wooyoung-ssi relayed that Secretary Jang dropped you off at home Ivan’s request, so we are relieved you got home safely. Thank you again for coming to the show.

[Sua 00:45]
Mizi is worried you’re ignoring her. Her phone is charging so she’ll text you herself, I’m guessing.
(I told her you’re probably already asleep, but she’s feeling very guilty.)
So if you’re awake please go ahead and text me back so she calms down.

Scrolling through the chat, his KakaoTalk with Sua had never seemed so lively before. Till was amused and went back to check his other conversations.

[Mizi 01:01]
TILL IM SORRRRRRRRRRRRRYYYYY
my phone has finally returned from the shadow realm!!

[Mizi 01:02]
i know you’re probably asleep so just get a good night’s rest! but i couldn’t fall asleep without at least apologizing ;_;

Lastly, their group chat had quite a few missed messages—although, for some reason, the name had changed.

Cryptid gang

Seeing the new, unnerving name of the chat, Till really had no idea what attitude to have for what was to come next.

[Ivan 2:20]
Imagine me, quietly asleep in my own bed. Minding my own business
But for some reason
There are giggles in the hallway. Not right outside the door. I dont believe in ghosts but I do believe in people with bad intentions.

[Ivan 2:21]
So I get up to check
Only to open my door and find—

[Ivan 2:22]
A creature of the night. Pink and crouched in the dark with only the refrigerator light to reveal the disturbing figure
In my house
In my kitchen
Eating MY snacks
Cackling to itself. At the very thought that I could wake up and catch it.

[Ivan 2:24]
While my own sister watched on in the darkness next to it, encouraging it even
This must be how the first person to encounter a cryptid felt. That hunched posture. The reflective gleam of its glasses.
I will be haunted by this sight for years
Indeed, I now think encountering a ghost would have been better

[Mizi 2:29]
HAHAHAH
NOOOOO IVAN
IT WAS A MISUNDERSTANDINGGGGGGG

[Sua 2:31]

It wasn’t a misunderstanding. This was the optimal outcome.
You are far too cute to be mistaken for a cryptid or a ghost anyway. He’s just mad you ate his tteokbokki

[Ivan has changed the group name to ‘Cryptid Watchers’.]

[Mizi 2:34]
NOOOOOO

[Mizi has changed the group name to ‘gang gang’.]

[Ivan has changed the group name to ‘Cryptid gang’.]

[Mizi 2:40]
!!
an acceptable compromise, i agree to these terms good sir

[Ivan 2:41]
A pleasure doing business
Now go to sleep.
(Or else)

[Mizi 2:43]

??????????????????

Laughing to himself, Till covered his eyes with his uninjured arm, trying to imagine the scene as Ivan described it. For as beautiful as Till found Mizi, he could see understand why such a thing could be unsettling in the middle of the night. Especially if Mizi’s glasses were doing that thing that happens in animes, where they reflect the light and block out the person’s eyes completely…

Any lingering low feelings from the previous night dissolved like fog under the morning sun upon catching up with KakaoTalk first thing. Just as he thought, Mizi didn’t forget about him, she had even been distressed and worried last night. Although now, Till was feeling a tiny, itty bitty amount of resentment that the three of them ended up goofing around last night when he wasn’t there. Still, it’s not like he took it personally.

Rather, Ivan’s vivid description of Mizi’s less-than-adorable moment in the kitchen brought Till a great amount of satisfaction. He may not have been there, but the three of them still thought to include him.

Should he have stayed over at Ivan and Sua’s last night?

… No, he wouldn’t have ever gotten to sleep. The four of them would have stayed up all night messing around and he’d feel like shit right now from not getting enough sleep for the show. To borrow Sua’s words, for Till, starting his day this way was indeed the optimal outcome.

Isaac and Till planned to show up first, and, as a consolation for running off last night, Mizi offered to ride with them and help with the set-up. Of course, Till was more than happy to agree, and the forty minute drive to the live house passed by faster than he would have hoped.

After meeting with the manager, Till was kindly asked to leave the set-up to the venue’s team. If they needed to make any adjustments for the final tuning, that was totally fine, but there were certain liabilities and for insurance reasons, they preferred to let their crew handle things.

Many people would be thrilled to be relieved of such tedious jobs, and Isaac was so happy he went to the take-out place next door and ordered himself dinner, eventually coming back to eat it in the lounge space backstage.

Meanwhile, seated at the bar, Till watched each of the staff member’s movements with an unsettling amount of vigilance. Several of the crew members exchanged looks, this sword-of-Damocles sensation not uncommon in their industry. Plenty of the musicians held such attitudes, akin to helicopter parents watching their beloved children walk into a kindergarten for the first time—they were extremely protective of their instruments and equipment, ready to swoop in at the first sign of trouble. As people working in a live house, they were accustomed to such looks.

… But why did it feel so much more threatening coming from this sixteen year old brat? Compared to performers twice his age, his intensity was really something else.

In a truly rare feat, Till was so focused he almost didn’t notice when Mizi took a seat next to him at the tiny bar in the back of the room. The operative word being almost, of course, he still noticed her—only glancing at her briefly and straightening his posture while continuing to watch the stage.

“If you’d paid half as much attention to Sua’s performance yesterday as you did when someone sets up your stuff, I think you’d have a chance as a Shakespeare fan.”

Till choked, coughing.

“W, What do you mean?”

Mizi rolled her eyes and nudged him good-naturedly.

“Come on, I’m not totally clueless, Till. I saw you on your phone for half the show!”

When Till registered Mizi’s words, he was so chagrined he couldn’t help but sharply turn his head away from the crew setting up to gauge meet Mizi’s expression, looking for hidden traces of anger or disappointment.

(The live house’s crew said a prayer of gratitude for this angel that came over and disrupted Till’s oppressive staring. If they were subjected to any more of a teenaged tyrant’s scrutiny, they were likely to break out into a cold sweat any minute, which would have been unbearably embarrassing for them as grown adults.)

Seeing his face turn from white to pink to scarlet at an alarming rate, Mizi laughed.

“Don’t worry, I really don’t mind! I know theater isn’t for everyone. In fact, I find performances entirely in English to be a little hard to follow. I was just really happy that Sua got to play a lead.”

“That, erm, well… It was Ivan’s fault anyway. He kept sending me messages throughout the show.”

“Oh, it was just Ivan?” Mizi deflated like a balloon, half laying on the bar. “The way you were smiling at your phone, I thought you were texting a cute girl or something.”

“N, N, No! I don’t text anyone besides, beside you, and the band, and Ivan and Sua… I guess, Hyuna noona too, sometimes…”

Eyes turned up into golden half-crescents, Mizi sat back and shook her head.

“Pfft, I’m just teasing you! I came over just because of this—you seem so tense! You need to relax if you’re going to put on a good show, right? Come on, come on. Loosen up!”

Mizi grabbed Till’s shoulders with each hand and rattled him around until his head was spinning. He grimaced when his left shoulder started to throb, but knowing she meant well, he just sighed and played it off.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I can’t help it, I’m just always like this before a show. Well, maybe not last time since I think I had taken enough cold medicine to knock out someone twice my size.”

Checking him over, squinting carefully, Mizi said with clear suspicion. “Hey, you’re not feeling sick today, right?”

“No, nothing like that. I feel good. Just… a little tense.”

“Here, why don’t you drink something? That might help.”

“Anything cold could affect my voic…” Till had the refusal halfway out his mouth before realizing the problem. “Oh, I’m not really singing. I guess it’s okay, then?”

“That’s the spirit! Come on, let’s try something on the signature menu.” With exaggerated interest, Mizi’s eyebrows bounced, and Till found himself chuckling to himself over her antics, flitting between nervous at the show and nervous over her casual attitude.

Right, just like yesterday—they were definitely growing closer. If they kept hanging out alone like this, it would only be a matter of time before Till felt totally comfortable around her. When that happened, when he could hold a conversation with Mizi without stuttering even once—he would confess.

After briefly talking to the Cho Jin-Kyong, who Till then learned was also the licensed bartender for the establishment, Mizi ordered them both alcohol-free versions of drinks that were far more adventurous, and embarrassingly named, than Till would have ever chosen. She got something called the Peachy Planet for herself and picked a drink called Starlight for him.

It didn’t occur to him until just then that the drinks seemed to be space themed? It was weird, considering nothing else about the establishment shared that motif, but whatever.

Since Till was performing, he was entitled to free drinks, and the bartender seemed to have a good impression of Mizi and said her first one was free. Was this so rumored ability of pretty girls getting things for free? Till couldn’t decide if he should applaud Mizi or feel distressed that other people were so openly appreciative of her. Either way, since the owner was also a girl, Till didn’t feel too threatened over it. If it was some creepy dude, that would have been another story…

(Till didn’t know that the free drink had much less to do with Mizi’s appearance and more to do with Cho Jin-Kyong being grateful that this girl had come over to field some of Till’s attention and let her staff work in peace.)

Sipping her drink, and letting out a subsequently excited squeak at the taste, Mizi gazed around at the live house decoration and swayed back and forth in her seat.

“I’m not planning on recording this time, well, maybe a little for social media, but this time I’m determined to pay attention!”

Till eyed the drink Cho Jin-Kyong slid in front of him at the same time, and he had to admit, the appearance was impressive. It was somewhat murky shade of dark blue with sparkles floating in the glass—no idea how she did that—reminiscent of a sky pockmarked with tiny stars. The taste was above average, lemon-lime and a little sweet for his liking. Sort of like a special-blended soda, he at least appreciated the novelty.

“You can do whatever you want,” he replied after trying the drink. “Hyuna noona is coming tonight, so even though Sua won’t be here, you should be able to find her to hang out.”

“Oh yeah! Ivan told me she was giving him a ride. I hope he’s careful…”

Till cast her a questioning look. “I mean, sure, but it’s not like Hyuna’s driving is that bad?”

“No, I meant, sneaking out… Oh.”

Stupefied, Mizi blinked a few times before smacking a hand over her mouth with eyes wide, staring worriedly at Till.

“What do you mean?”

“I, I wasn’t… I forgot Sua said it was a secret. Ahah… Oops.”

Mizi propped her forehead against the palm of her hand, and if Till wasn’t so keen on hearing the origin of this so-called secret, his blatant sympathy for her guilty face would have made him let it go.

Still, he couldn’t help pressing her for more information.

“Mizi, what’s going on?”

“Uhhh… Let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything?”

“Mizi.”

“...”

Taking a long sip from her drink, Mizi seemed to be thinking hard to herself for a moment. Then, releasing the straw from her mouth and letting out a loud “aah!” she turned to face him.

“I just learned about it last night when I went home with Sua, so this is pretty much news to me too. I asked about that Lee Wooyoung person who sat with us yesterday, and Sua told me a little bit about it. Apparently, Ivan and his dad got into a big fight a few days ago. I guess Mr. Unsha brought Ivan to a party and they fought at some point, but Sua didn’t go with them so even she doesn’t know the full story. All she really knows is that Ivan is basically grounded, under house arrest. He’s only allowed to leave if his dad says so, which is why he couldn’t sit with us yesterday. I guess his dad wants to keep an eye on him?”

Hearing Mizi’s review of the situation, Till didn’t know how to feel by the end of it. He was surprised—found it even a little hard to believe. If it wasn’t Mizi telling him this, Till would have assumed someone (Ivan) was trying to prank him.

How did this make sense?

Till saw Ivan every single day, yet he never mentioned anything about it? What gives? Especially if he wasn’t allowed to come out tonight, that affected a lot more people than just Ivan.

The longer Till thought about it, the more pissed off he became.

What if Ivan was caught sneaking out? Would his dad forcefully keep him at home? Thinking about those big, hulking body guards that Till sometimes saw at the Unsha’s estate, it wasn’t impossible.

If Ivan had just told him, then at least Till could…

…

What can I even do?

He wasn’t in a position to do anything.

In fact, he probably would have ended up making the same suggestion to Ivan at the end of the day. Assuming there was no way to change his dad’s mind, what choice did Ivan have but to sneak out? Was he supposed to just, not go? After they’ve spent so much time practicing?

Still, Ivan should have at least told him. Till could have prepared for a worst-case scenario. Hearing that Ivan didn’t even talk to Sua about it and that her conclusions were based off observing the situation, he wasn’t even relieved. It wasn’t just that Ivan hadn’t told him—he hadn’t told anybody.

Was that better…? Or even worse?

Till muttered under his breath, “Fuck.”

If Ivan didn’t end up showing later, the band could still perform without him, but the whole situation would be just as fucked up as it was last time. Till could obviously sing, but they’d been practicing with Ivan all the time lately, except the one instance he left before practice started, so his absence would definitely hurt the quality of the performance.

“Till? Don’t be mad, okay?”

“I… don’t know if I’m mad, exactly.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It just sucks that he didn’t tell us.”

“Maybe Ivan didn’t think it was a big deal and didn’t want us to worry? If he made separate plans with Hyuna, he must be pretty confident that he won’t be caught.”

Turning the glass in his hands, Till frowned at the way the liquid sloshed around the sides, the surface of the drink becoming turbulent and uneasy like a stormy sea.

“I guess so. I’ll just rip him a new one when he shows up. Tch, see if he keeps secrets from me again.”

Mizi laughed, the sound a little dry, a little forced. She must want to change the subject, right?

Till gazed at nothing in particular and said, “Are you excited that you’re almost done with school?”

“Oh! Yes, definitely. My recital is in two weeks. You, Sua, and Ivan all have to come. Understand? … Well, hopefully, Ivan won’t be grounded by then. Cough.”

With a slight smile, Till raised his glass in a gesture of toast. “I’ll definitely be there.”

Clink!

Mizi touched glasses with him and replied with a grin of her own.

“It’s too early to know for sure if I’ve been accepted, but pretty soon I should hear back from some of the dance programs I’ve applied to. If I get in anywhere special, you have to come visit me often, okay? I mean, focus on your senior year too, but during breaks!”

The corner of Till’s lip stiffened, but he tried not to make the sudden onset of panic in his mind too obvious.

That’s right, he’d forgotten—maybe selectively overlooked—that after Mizi graduated, there was a non-zero chance she might leave the country. At the very least, she probably would move out of her parents house.

… Shit, and he just finally mapped out a plan to confess. Was there really no hope? What was he supposed to do now?

“Till? Hello?”

A wave in his face brought him back to reality, and he quickly shook his head, an uncomfortable, bashful chuckle falling out of him.

“Oh, hah, sorry, uhh. I just realized how real it is you’ll be graduating soon. I guess it didn’t hit me until just now.”

“It’s okay, I get it.” Mizi brushed over his zoning out gracefully. “But what about you, Till? Are you going to go abroad when you graduate next year? Have you thought about it?”

“Go abroad?” Till snorted slightly and finished off the drink in his glass, the sourness concentrated at the bottom made his expression twist. “Why would I do that?”

“Aww, but when we were little, you always used to talk about it! You used to want to go to America so badly, since the days we lived at the orphanage, even!”

Face heating up, Till lowered his head and pretended to be dumb. “Really? I don’t remember.”

“That’s so funny, I can’t believe you forgot. All you would do is sing and pluck at your guitar and talk about touring the world someday. You always said America this, America that. I guess we really have grown up, huh?”

“...”

Till pursed his lips and said nothing.

How could he ever forget?

… He had given up that dream a long time ago, right as it was within reach, too.

After all, Mizi never took it seriously. She was probably too young to feasibly imagine running away, but Till had never joked about it. He had already been adopted by his dad then and hated living under that roof, would look for every excuse not to be at home. Their friendship with Sua and Ivan grew even closer as Till never wanted to be at home, and Mizi’s parents loved the Unsha family, so they would go over to their house all the time.

Hiding from their nanny, climbing trees, finding an injured bird that crashed into one of the giant windows…

Around the age of ten, Till discovered that Ivan and Sua were only half-siblings. He learned that Sua’s mother had been a famous concert pianist, and the grand piano in the music hall in their house had belonged to her, was her pride and joy until Sua was born. The pregnancy was extremely hard on her body and the doctor said she wouldn’t be able to bear children again, at which point, their father looked for other means. He was determined to have a son.

Till didn’t know the details, only that after giving birth, Ivan’s mother moved to America and was never seen again. Till had never met or seen Sua’s mother, either, so he had no idea what happened to her.

It was always just the two siblings, only a year apart, and their father.

Back then, Till wanted to go to somewhere free, a place like America where people seemed like they could do whatever they wanted. Ivan said they could leave if Till wanted to, and they could live with his mother. That he would talk to her and convince her to take them in.

Young and unafraid of consequences, Till had found the idea thrilling, even encouraging Ivan to contact her.

At the time, he’d only been thinking of finding a way out. It was never something he thought would happen.

But then, one day, Ivan gave him a passport.

Only when he held the evidence in his hands did Till realize the reality of running away could feel so scary. The world was huge, and he wasn’t like Ivan who had already learned English. Sure, Ivan was a good friend, but how could Till leave with him when Mizi was still here? And Mizi loved her family, had no reason to escape like he did.

…

That day, Till learned that running towards one thing meant running away from another. It turned out he wasn’t as decisive as he thought.

“Unni! It’s been so long!”

Mizi leapt out of her chair and launched herself across the room, pouncing on a figure as soon as the door opened.

Belatedly, Till raised his head, catching sight of a familiar figure walking through the door.

“Hey, hey, there’s my favorite junior. Little Mizi, how have you been?”

Pouting, hanging off Hyuna, and whining, Mizi shamelessly said, “Unnnnni, I’ve never studied so much in my life. I want to quit school.”

“When you’re this close to the end? Over my dead body, you’ll quit!”

Till stood up and walked over.

“Where’s Ivan?”

“Nice to see you too, I’m doing great, thanks for asking.”

“... Hi noona, where’s Ivan?”

“Tch. Your boyfriend is out back, he said he’ll come in in a minute.”

Louder than intended, Till fumed, “For fuck’s sake, I told you, I’m not gay.”

On the stage, several crew members exchanged looks but didn’t say anything.

Hyuna, raising a brow, signaled to Mizi, “Did you hear that? Till hates gay people.”

“I don’t hate gay people, either! Why are you putting words into my mouth?!”

Before the words even fully left Till’s mouth, Hyuna burst out laughing. Feeling an odd premotion, when Till turned around, he realized Isaac had come out of the back room and walked up to them, having finished with his dinner.

Hearing Till’s words in combination of the unusual, yet oddly harmonious, sight of Mizi hanging off Hyuna like that, Isaac imagined this was what it felt like to step on a landmine when serving in the military.

He looked like he had seen a ghost.

“Am, Am I interrupting something…?”

“Pffft, hahahah—!”

If Till wasn’t convinced that Hyuna could and would beat him up, he would have told her to shut up. Even Mizi was laughing at him now.

Furious, Till clenched his fist and had no way to vent his emotions at all.

“Something funny?”

A calm and cool voice came from behind, tall enough to be seen even over Hyuna who wasn’t particularly short.

“Ivan!”

Mizi waved and circled around him, buzzing like a bumblebee stumbling upon a flower.

“You look great! Wow, this is like, emo Ivan era?”

Covering half his face with a hand, Ivan sighed.

He was wearing black from head to toe, but unlike the suit and simple button-up shirt yesterday, this outfit had a lot more going on.

“You would like it, seeing as noona picked it out. Sigh, she’s doing me a favor, so she got to dress me in exchange. I guess it could have been worse. At least the color isn’t obnoxious.”

Isaac gave him a simple thumbs-up. “Can’t go wrong with black.”

With the eye that wasn’t blocked by his hand, Till noticed Ivan look towards him. A bit errant-minded, Till noticed that, despite his encounter with 'cryptid-Mizi' last night, Ivan appeared to be decently well-rested.

“Is it too much? If you think it’ll look weird on stage or distract from the performance, I can probably take off the jacket, and this belt on my thigh is super heavy…”

Well, Till had to admit, it was admirable for Ivan to defer to him as the band leader, putting the subject of the band before himself and letting Till make the choice. It was clear he wanted to do what was best for the whole group and trusted Till to make the right call.

However, good intentions be damned, Till found it extremely awkward to evaluate Ivan in such a… physical way.

“Erm, that…”

Till turned his head to the side, trying not to make the situation weirder than it had to be.

At the same time, Mizi opened her mouth, prepared to defend Sua’s taste until her last breath, but Hyuna covered her mouth with a hand and subtly shook her head. Not understanding, Mizi still nodded obediently and kept her words to herself. She never doubted Hyuna’s wisdom. While this unni put up a tough front, she had never, ever led Mizi wrong.

“Since you asked…”

Unlike Ivan and Sua, Till didn’t go out to socialize. And it's not like he was some teenaged girl, so why should he care about fashion? Typically, he just threw on a shirt that was less-wrinkled than the others and a random pair of pants before calling it a day.

“Ahem, l, lose the jacket and…”

Another quick glance in Ivan’s direction. Till inhaled sharply through his nose and held his breath.

"I trust Sua’s taste, but I think the jacket will feel a little showy at a venue this small. You can k... Keep the belt."

… Okay, here's the deal.

Till had only ever seen thigh belts on the Internet or magazines, never in real life before. For something that seemed so impractical, the effect was better than he could have expected.

Fuck, it’s kinda…

Being the singer, most people’s attention ended up on Ivan. Till justified his decision that keeping the thigh belt was for the sake of the audience and definitely not at all because he found it hot.

If he, ahem, felt a tiny bit affected, surely the girls in the audience would go insane, right?

(If the thigh belt was really that heavy, Till could only say he was sorry.)

“Yes!” Mizi gave an encouraging cheer and reached out with grabby-hands towards Ivan. “I want to wear the jacket, gimme gimme. It’ll make me look like Dracula.”

Barely able to fake a laugh with everyone else, Till felt his teeth clench involtunarily.

Ivan, giving his jacket to Mizi? That’s the kind of shit that couples do.

… No, what was he thinking? These are his friends, why was he getting worked up? He knew Mizi and Ivan weren’t like that. Rubbing his forehead, Till thought that maybe all the stress was getting to him.

Right, even if they were friends, it was normal to feel bad when the girl you liked wore another guy’s jacket. Even if it was Ivan. Ivan giving his jacket to Hyuna or Isaac wouldn’t have felt weird.

Till reasoned through the perplexing constriction tightening around his heart, eventually feeling a little better.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Ivan avoided her fingers with a wide step to one side, smiling despite her pout. “I happen to value my life, and if noona learned of such a thing, I’m afraid it might be cut short.”

“...?”

What about Sua? Till couldn’t quite follow. Could it be she would be very defensive over clothes she picked out?

Trying to piece together Ivan’s logic, Till failed to notice Mizi’s face turn faintly red, her eyes going wide as she nervously froze in place.

Does he know? Did Sua tell him?

Last night, they got a little carried away and might have, erm, ended up hiding in a utility closet for a few minutes, trying to steer clear of Mr. Unsha until his temper died down. (That was where Mizi dropped her phone, and where Sua had thought to go back to search for it.)

And, well, Mizi might have been feeling a little flustered and overwhelmed and maybe she kissed Sua, felt the sugar-sweet softness of her lips against her own, and—and it was possible that Sua reciprocated…

It happened so fast and the room was completely dark, so Mizi had no idea what kind of expression Sua had at the time. They never got the chance to talk properly about it—mostly because Mizi was too much of a coward and would awkwardly change the subject everytime they got anywhere remotely close to it. If Sua really did reciprocate, and maybe liked her back, that would be great, but…

Mizi wasn’t certain if Sua would accept her confession, but she didn’t hold back on the basis of being afraid of rejection. She was afraid of the cost of going down that road. Once she took that dive, there was no going back. What would happen if her parents found out? Would they be disappointed? Would they think the little girl they adopted all those years ago had been defective? Not to mention Mr. Unsha was extremely socially conservative. Plus, Mizi might be going abroad in a few months. What if they actually manage to share their hearts with each other only to be driven apart by physical distance?

Her mentality had been in a disastrous state since last night but did her absolute best to pretend nothing had happened. Since Sua didn’t acknowledge or ask about the kiss in the utility closet, Mizi had hypnotized herself into believing it was all a figment of her imagination.

No, no, Sua wouldn’t have said anything…

Ivan must just be joking around because he knows I like her, right?

Convincing herself, Mizi calmed down, covering both cheeks with her hands to make her face cool down. The conversation around her had completely moved on and she hadn’t even realized… It was definitely a good thing she had an excuse not to go to Sua’s show for the second night!

Her heart definitely would not be able to take that right now…

Ivan should have smoked another cigarette before coming inside, but he was worried the smell would linger too much and didn’t want it to be bothersome.

Compared to preparing for their last performance, Till was notably more tense. Part of it was inevitable now that he was no longer sick, his thoughts were more focused, and his expectations for everything were higher.

It was obvious to anyone that Till preferred to do his own set-up for a show. Letting go, letting the staff handle the basics, wasn’t doing anything good for his mounting anxiety.

Ivan approached the manager and introduced himself, calmly explaining his thoughts and politely asking if Till could take over the set-up for the remainder. He emphasized that it was obvious they were just kids and underqualified compared to her staff, but that it was more of a matter of managing the band’s nerves rather than really setting up.

Cho Jin-Kyong was impressed by this child’s humility. He shamelessly poked a hole through the facade of cool-and-calm that most bands tried to emulate, admitting openly that their band leader's high-strung behavior was simply a result of nerves.

“I play too, so I get it. Sometimes, it’s better to have something to do with your hands. Since you’re using our amps and drum kit, and some of you are minors, it’s impossible to leave that to people outside the live house. But how’s this—I’ll tell the crew to finish up the things that require adult sign-off, and then you guys can handle it from there. Does that work?”

“That’s already a great help. Thank you, manager noona.”

Satisfied with this title, Cho Jin-Kyong gave Ivan a meaningful smile and walked off to talk to her staff.

In a stroke of good fortune, shortly thereafter, Dewey and Acorn showed up one after another, and Cho Jin-Kyong showed the group to the backstage area. It was just about an hour out from doors opening. The time it took to greet each other, chat and exchange some last minute thoughts was enough time for the crew to put their finishing touches on the stage, and once the manager gave them free reign to make their own adjustments, Till immediately became serious, giving instructions and methodically checking everything twice.

Hyuna, Dewey, and Mizi worked together to set up the merch stand, and Mizi bravely volunteered to sell shirts for them… On the condition that she could get one for free.

Quite enterprising, that one.

For the sake of everyone involved, Ivan volunteered to work with the sound engineer to adjust their monitors; Till was so particular that he would surely anger the sound guy after a bit of back and forth. At house shows or other similar venues in the past—which, granted, were much less professional than a place like this—Till had a habit of getting on the sound guy’s bad side, which never ended well for the people performing. When on stage, your life and death is in the hands of whoever is sitting in front of the sound board.

Last time, Ivan managed to wrest this job from Till since he had been too sick to put up a convincing argument otherwise. After the show ended, Till was satisfied with the overall sound and was more willing to delegate such a task that he usually preferred to take on himself.

If it could lessen Till’s stress and prop up their image in the mind of sound guy, Ivan was happy to do so. He felt satisfied to have earned Till’s trust in this matter. Was it such a bad thing to strive for perfection?

Ivan didn’t think so, but he also knew how impossible it was to achieve such a thing. If he could help Till get as close to it as possible, that was enough.

Sound testing went smoothly. Everything, actually, felt like it was going smoothly.

“We’re doing the same set list as last time, but we’re switching out the end song for the new one.”

Dewey nodded, appearing to be channeling the wisdom of a sage from several millennia ago.

“Yes, yes, I think it’s a good chance to test it. The crowd isn’t too big if it feels awkward or whatever.”

… Well, he seemed a little wise until the end.

Ivan looked at Till carefully, judging his expression. “Do you want to do the introduction this time?”

“Hmm… No, but I think I want to tell the story behind ‘Till the end’ when we get to that song, if that works.”

“Of course.”

“Cool, then, same as before. Go right into the opener and the second set, then a break for interacting and introductions. Let’s follow the crowd’s lead on banter after that, if it’s going well, then we talk more, if the crowd’s reaction is a little dry, Ivan will cover?”

He said it like a question, which made Ivan’s smile spread a little wider.

“As you wish.”

“I’ll talk some before ‘Till the end’ and then we’ll end on the new song. Sound good?”

Near the door leading to the front, Mizi and Hyuna were preparing to leave. Waving, Mizi smiled brightly and Hyuna gave a mock salute.

“Fighting, guys!”

“Yeah, what she said.”

With the pair’s encouragement and subsequent exit, the five looked at each other with expressions dynamic and varied as they were themselves. Despite being less tense overall, there was a heightened nervous sense in the air. A little excited, a little flustered.

Last time, they couldn’t help looking at each other with a sense of resignation, walking onto the stage with the collective attitude that as long as they didn’t totally fuck things up, it could be considered a good result.

This time, the expectations were different.

Strangely, in only a month, they had become different.

Ivan, himself, didn’t share in this feeling much. He’d been in the band for only a few short weeks, but was more accustomed to being watched than the other four combined, so even if he was aware of the pressure imposed by the situation, it didn’t loom as heavily over him.

At DRAMA, he had felt more of it. Overwhelmed when Till sought his help. Having to sing in front of a crowd with no prior experience was a little nerve wracking, even for him, but Ivan was largely, and simply, satisfied with the events of that day.

… For once, Till let him in.

It felt good.

Even if it was only for convenience at the time, only if it was a total fluke.

Just that Till was willing to be a little vulnerable in front of him… Ivan was happy.

Now, watching the other four, he could detect their faintly but eager, mutual anticipation. Till’s manifested into an expression that could have been mistaken for anger, like the next person who bothered him would be asking for a beating. Rather, Ivan recognized it as achieving a state of extreme concentration, such that it was hard for anyone else to match.

Dewey kept trying to mess with Isaac, probably to distract himself and loosen up in the process, and Isaac, perhaps on account of being the oldest one among them, put up with Dewey’s antics as sensibly as one could expect from a responsible, big-brother type of hyung. Quiet as ever, Acorn picked at his nails, constantly shifting his weight around.

Anticipation… Well, Ivan wasn’t completely immune to this feeling, but by comparison, he looked composed and detached, as if the outcome of the show made no difference to him, that the strife and struggle of mortals was beneath him.

(He didn’t personally feel that way, but such was the way he appeared to others. Ivan couldn’t do anything about it.)

Out of the corner of his eye, Ivan could see the PA motioning towards them on the far side of the stage.

“They’re signaling for us to go on.”

Till squared his shoulders, not unlike a boxer about to knock someone into next week. Such a Till made Ivan almost laugh. So serious—not that it was inappropriate to be serious at all, only that it was rare to see Till in this state. Holding back the urge to tease him was borderline painful.

Like this, he was so cute, Ivan could only sigh, determining that he would have to bother Till twice as much once the show was over to recoup his loss.

Taking two deep breaths, Till braced himself and patted his face twice in quick succession.

“Okay, okay. Let’s do it.”

Ivan held his arm out and stood aside.

“After you.”

For a moment, Till stopped to look at him. Ivan’s heart gave one, solitary, extra loud thud, before Till looked away. He didn’t say anything and walked directly towards the stage, Ivan following after him.

Is this what Till and the others felt just now before coming out here?

Being stared at, exposed, blinded?

Ivan thought he could understand a little better now.

All the eyes in the world could be watching, and it would only make him a little self-aware, more conscious of himself in ways he wasn’t normally.

It only took one specific set of eyes to make him so nervous he felt like the room was suddenly ten-sizes too small, and that his pulse could seem so loud just beneath his skin.

In short order, Till put on his guitar, tested his pedals, and gave a very light strum. Ivan didn’t see any discomfort in his actions and had already checked to make sure Till put extra padding on the strap, so his shoulder must be doing better. Isaac and Acorn both performed similar tests, and without any prompting, Dewey started to move his drumsticks in some loud, random motions over the kit, drawing the crowds attention and cheers. It was a good move to set the tone, a nice preparatory action that accomplished checking his monitor and stimulating the crowd with some thrumming energy.

“Ready?”

Till angled his body towards them, rather than directly facing the crowd, and watched him give the cue.

“Three, two, one…”

The first song began with a gritty bass and guitar line, lasting only for a few seconds before the vocals came in. Between the tinny low notes and Till’s painstaking yet selectively vulgar lyricism, the first set had a certain raw and roughness to it, high energy and with a tempo to match, something that was hard to put your finger on but managed to suck you right in. At the height of the chorus, the instruments fell out for the first half-measure, leaving Ivan’s voice alone to carry the momentum.

Despite holding the note, the mic and the audience’s attention, Ivan’s attention wasn’t on any of those things.

Rather, it was fully occupied by stage right—by that willful and gleaming look, the riotous disorder that possessed Till’s entire being. Unruly and channeling everything into and through his music, Till had a smile on his face he didn’t show last time.

Ivan felt the world stopped spinning when he sang that note. It was just one note, among hundreds, maybe thousands of others he would sing tonight, but how could he explain all the ways it was not just one note?

The instruments returned and flooded sound back into the world, thrumming at an adrenaline that synced up with his pulse. Ivan tried to dedicate some of his effort toward the audience, but it was so hard when the entire world's axis seemed to be tilted to stage right.

The next song was even more intense than the first, following it directly with an absurd set of lyrics that was uncouth enough to make some of the audience laugh and cheer. In his head, he imagined the sound engineer slumping forward by mistake, pressing into the volume switch, given the way each second the whole room seemed to rise louder and louder. The chorus was deafening in a mind-numbing sort of way, but that was the effect Till wanted, so Ivan knew it wasn’t an accident—just having it played back on a small stage was entirely different than rehearsing it in the comfort of the practice room.

It was already unbearably hot by the time the second set ended, and they still had a long way to go. Completely different than playing the piano. Worlds apart.

Ivan loved this feeling, wished he never had to let it go.

“This band is probably not going to make it big before we graduate from Anakt.”

“And then, it’ll likely dissolve, and I’ll make a new one someday with other people.”

Even knowing better, having heard Till speak those words himself, Ivan couldn’t help being greedy. Again and again. That was the best and worst part of being on stage like this. He wanted more. Perhaps it was the effect of being subjected to an unbridled crowd or Till’s own wild, reckless approach to the world that made Ivan feel so unrestrained when standing beside him; he didn’t want to reign himself in at all.

He wanted to take everything he desired, he didn’t want to think about the consequences.

These thoughts came and went in the time it took for the crowd to cheer and for the room to quiet down. Long enough for Ivan to hold that feeling close to his chest before gently letting it go.

“Hey, good evening, thank you everyone for coming out. We’re UNKNOWN—”

A loud series of whooping, and Hyuna’s distinctive wolf whistle could even be heard from the back of the room. Ivan snickered lightly, half-hiding his mouth behind a hand to stifle the sound in the mic.

“Oh my, what a reaction. Maybe we’re not that unknown after all?”

Chuckles and appreciative laughs came from below the stage, which was a relief. Seemed like the crowd was responsive

“Well, I’m flattered either way. I can’t see your faces very well with these lights but it seriously sounds like there’s a thousand people out there, you guys are… heh, well, really loud.”

As if proud of Ivan’s remark, they swelled up with another round of cheering, stamping feet and yelling, whooping, and whistles.

“I’m Ivan. Actually, I’m the newest member to join the group. Some things happened, and I ended up covering vocals for the leader and founder of the group, Till, and now I’m here.”

Pausing to wave at the audience, Till seemed quite casual as he substituted the rest of his introduction by shredding on his guitar. Ivan saw the evasive way his eyes darted off to the side, though… that little bit of shyness made his own heart tremble.

Ivan continued.

“We also have Dewey behind me. Ah, sorry, I’m blocking him…”

“Isaac, on bass is the oldest, say hi to our hyung over here—”

“Last but not least, Acorn—”

One by one, Ivan went through similar dialogue as he had the first time, with some more natural adjustments to his choice of words.

Between brief moments of clapping and lighter cheers between each member’s introduction, Ivan gave each member a chance to interact with the crowd in a manner similar to how Till had done, or to say something of their own into their mics.

If he could say one good quality about himself, Ivan thought his ability at pleasing others was above average. Be it a crowd of strangers or the social elite he had to entertain every so often, he had honed the ability to speak the precisely right amount in a given situation. He'd mastered the art of reacting to the unexpected with minimal awkward stumbling.

The next song had some more variant tempo, with some slower parts that sped up, and faster parts that slowed down, so it was well-suited to be placed in the middle of the performance.

Forth, fifth, sixth song through, and it felt as if the initial adrenaline eventually started to take on a different shape. Following the same practice of smithy tempering a sword, the heat, the pressure, the stress all refined the final product into something that was both purely gratifying and terribly addictive.

It was easy for Ivan to understand why Till wanted this so badly.

Sparks belonging to a newly born dream of his own were struggling to ignite, kindling threatening to burn quietly somewhere in a corner of his chest.

To lose oneself so easily and entirely in less than an hour…

A bit scary.

When Till used to perform without a band, doing porch shows or in a punk house—basically, wherever someone would let him hook up his guitar without calling the police—his riposte with the crowd was always a little stiff. Anyone listening could immediately pick up on the fact that engaging with the audience was not the motivator for his performance. Rather, it was simply that he loved music. Composing it, performing it, recording it, even talking about it—this became clear when, before starting the next song, the only things Till could think of to talk to the crowd about were the songs themselves. Like a little teacher lecturing his students, he’d say why he chose this key when writing the song, or what he was thinking when he wrote the lyrics, or how long ago he wrote the melody before finally finding a way to build a bridge and chorus around it…

Most of the time, especially seeing how young Till was back then, the crowd was almost always encouraging. Laughing at his shyness or blatantly urging him on, the audience was mostly playful or encouraging. Inevitably, there would always be a few people who didn’t quite get it; leaning their heads together and whispering about why a kid was trying to explain the origins of the music rather than just playing it.

Well, it was their loss, really.

Ivan found that aspect of Till to be painfully endearing. It was just so him. Personally, he could listen to Till talk about the most granular details about chord progressions for the rest of his life and never tire of it.

That was why Ivan was very happy to turn over the mic to Till when it was time to perform Till the End. Having a front row seat to one of Till’s hyper-focused lectures of his own music was arguably the highlight of the entire night.

He spoke for almost a solid three and a half minutes—basically the length of an entire song—detailing the complicated creative process behind making the song. Ivan knew why he chose that song out of all of them; it was the first EP Till managed to actually record, and even if it never accomplished a huge reach, it was both personally and professionally significant to him.

So, after Till spoke himself hoarse, he let out a long exhale and drank water from a bottle set on a chair prepared for him ahead of time.

“Ahh… Alright. A’one, a’two, three—”

Performing it was even better, since Till didn’t have to hold back his voice. They basically sang it as a duet, Ivan graciously restraining his voice and harmonizing so Till could lead the vocals, just the way he liked it. No one could else perform that song the way he did.

Finally, they were reaching the end of the set. It had been about forty minutes, and Ivan was caught in a contradictory state both of utter exhaustion and bursting energy at the same time. Such was the unusual physiological suspension he'd come to expect during a live performance; his mind and body were telling two completely different stories.

The seventh song, the eighth song, and finally, the end of the set.

For the final song, Till stepped up to the mic again, clearing his throat.

“Hey, uh, you guys have been awesome tonight. Seriously, thanks for coming out. This is our last song—” A collective groan and simultaneous cheer of encouragement spread across the room, which made Till laugh. “—sorry, we don’t do encores, but we do have some merch in the back if you want to support us. Hopefully, next time, we’ll have some more new songs prepared. This last one is new and it’ll be our first time performing it live, so let us know what you think!”

Till looked to Ivan, since this song began with only two parts: guitar and vocals. No bass, no percussion and no second guitar.

Before counting out the cue, Dewey got up from the drum kit and walked over to Acorn’s amp, unplugged his guitar, and immediately pulled him into a playful-yet-somewhat-painful chokehold. His behavior made the audience laugh as Acorn tried to extricate himself to no avail.

Not needing a mic, Dewey yelled, sending a flying kiss to no one in particular and waving vigorously.

“Thank you!”

Not quite understanding why they stood off to the side until the song began, the crowd looked at each other, perplexed. As it turned out, this song didn’t have a part for them.

“Alright, one last song. Are you ready?”

In the past month, Till had written this song, had been playing it unconsciously on whatever instrument he picked up. The piece was written especially with Ivan’s voice in mind, something that should be easier on his vocals than the rest of the setlist, more suited for his register than for Till’s. Till hadn’t yet written parts for the other three players yet, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go through all the effort to do the rest if it seemed like the ‘demo’ version—the one they were performing tonight—flopped.

Seeing as Till had never written a song meant to be sung by anyone else, the other members were understanding and told him he could do whatever he wanted.

…

From Ivan’s perspective, extreme concentration was the most flattering state of all for someone like Till. The jade-tipped sharpness of his eyes were especially bright under the stage lights, taking in every detail of the stage, the crowd, of him—with precision and prejudice. Like arrows, waiting to be loosed, their destined targets did not stand a chance of survival.

“Hey, Earth to Ivan?”

Till snapped his fingers away from the mic.

“Hm?”

“I said, ready?”

Releasing a very soft sigh, Ivan turned his expression into something that looked like a smile. This smile he showed the world seemed to hold everything within it, except a smile.

“After you.”

“One, two, three—”

“It’s a shame, it’s a shame,

A fear made fact—”

Ivan did his best to face the crowd, but his gaze kept straying.

“I got taller, louder, two steps back—

I shouldn’t ever get accustomed to contact.”

That look on Till’s face when he played like that, he was intense to the point of seeming dangerous. Destructive.

“Cause anything’s a poison in the right dose,

And everybody bites when you get close—”

Love at first sight was a tricky business.

Even Ivan hadn’t fallen quite that quickly, and he practically gave away his entire heart the day Till walked into his life, barefoot and angry at the world. Yet, if Ivan had just met him today, he thought he could probably have fallen in love at first sight and sound with this Till. If this very moment was the first time Ivan saw him, unrestrained by anything, a young man defiant against everything, all fierce fangs and double-edges. It was impossible not to love him. Every twitch of his brow or shift of his lips, it was a knife that cut both ways—something that hurt as much to wield as it did to resist.

Yes, love like this... It should hurt. It would be even better if they both left behind a little blood on this stage.

Ivan thought, if he was unlikely to ever see Till up close when his guard was lowered, he was at least certain that this was the best Till looked with it up.

There was no room for anything in Ivan’s eyes but him.

“And all I want is you, you, you, you—"

For Till, there was still so much more worth seeing.

"—utopia now.”

The song ended, and the audience fell into an abrupt silence, as if they weren’t quite ready for it to be over.

Then, they erupted, far too loud and with much more energy than one would expect from such a small venue. Till wore a big, satisfied smile, facing the crowd and maneuvering his guitar over his head, holding it in one hand while making a victorious rock-on gesture with the other. Center stage, Ivan’s hand fell to his side, unable to hold onto the mic with his sweaty hands any longer. He was grateful for the mic stand or he probably would have dropped it.

No—he would have thrown it away if the song had lasted a second longer.

It hurt so bad, and it was the best feeling in the world.

The other band members, who had stood off stage-left and watched along, came out when the crowd reached a fever pitch, turning the noisy little live house even louder.

Ivan strode to stage right, where Till stood, turned to look at him with a puzzled expression.

There was a large amp and the stage curtains were just beyond them.

He couldn’t help it, really. Didn’t plan for it.

Too much stimulation, he figured. Acknowledged, in a self-deprecating way, that he suddenly understood how it was that someone on drugs could truly lose control of themselves.

Practically shoving Till off-stage, past the amp, more-or-less concealed by the curtain, Ivan pulled him in to kiss him without an ounce of hesitation.

There was an initial moment of shock, one that Ivan even felt when he realized what he was doing, but he had wanted this for so long and everything was spilling out.

Everything he never wanted to let see the light of day was overflowing.

Then, he felt Till push him, but there was no logic, nothing but desperation and ten years of desire that he couldn’t restrain anymore. He pulled Till even closer, kissed him even harder.

A violent series of shoves collided with his shoulder. He couldn’t be bothered to react.

That double-edged knife—yes, it should hurt.

It was only once he finally snapped out of it and let Till go did Ivan notice, wearing a face of complete disbelief, Till didn’t struggle anymore. It was hard to tell if it was resignation, disgust, disbelief, confusion, or a toxic concoction of all it that made him stop resisting.

For just one second, Ivan left his thumb on the perch of Till’s chin.

He shouldn’t have done that.

He really… shouldn’t have done that.

Ivan walked past him, taking the shortest route directly toward the backstage exit. He left the venue, stepped out into the night, and didn't look back.

The events that followed were an indistinct and confusing blur for Till.

It seemed… no one saw what happened? Dewey and Isaac were acting totally normal, just confused as to why Ivan disappeared. Acorn was quiet, but that was normal. Mizi and Hyuna each gave him a hug after he came out from back stage, but Till was too dazed to give much of a reaction to either of them.

He still couldn’t fully grasp what just happened.

Why did Ivan…

Till was even considering the possibility that he hallucinated the whole thing. It was possible, right?

… No, Till thought with chagrin.

His fucking lips… hurt.

It’s all because Ivan bites when he—

…

“Guuhh…”

Unable to properly engage with the well-meaning crowd that came up to the merch table afterward, Till felt a little nauseous and excused himself.

Even Mizi’s words of concerns were barely getting through to him, and he just waved her off before stumbling to a quiet corner of the venue, locking the door to the lounge and sliding down until he hit the carpet.

“Fuck.”

Was Ivan just, what, caught up in the moment or something? Till could magnanimously accept that logic. He’d been hyped up on adrenaline during and after a show before, knew how it felt. Like a livewire, you couldn’t help but burn the first person to touch you—but for him, it was always more like the urge to throw a punch or to do something vaguely destructive.

Maybe this was just what Ivan’s body did when he was caught up in his emotions?

Would Ivan have kissed anyone if Till hadn’t been the one nearest to him? Probably, right?

Okay, right, it was probably just that.

Fuck, that bastard, he just did whatever he wanted.

If Ivan just told him right after that he didn’t mean it and got confused or something, Till might have been able to let it go with just a hard punch to his shoulder or something.

Now, everything felt weird.

Wrong.

Why did Ivan look at him so intently after he drew away, and to hold his face like that…

Despite every desperate shred of evidence Till tried to string together that this was just a misunderstanding or a keyed-up-mistake, there was a nagging, uncomfortable voice behind his brain that was whispering incessantly.

It was telling a tale that Till did not dare to accept.

If it really meant nothing, Ivan wouldn’t have looked at me like that.

If it really meant nothing, Ivan wouldn’t have just left like that.

If it really meant nothing…

It was uncertain how long Till sat there, head lowered against his knees and trying to figure out what he was supposed to do when there was a gentle sound at the door.

Knock knock.

He was actually afraid to answer it.

What if it was Ivan? What was Till supposed to say?

Do you like me?

That couldn’t be it, it just… couldn’t be.

In fact, Till was willing to accept just about any explanation at all, as farfetched as they come. Someone bribed him. It was a joke. He was on drugs. Dehydration. Anything.

Anything.

Just not that.

Regardless of the shit Till gave Ivan on the daily, he was Till’s best friend. He knew him better than anyone else, and Till felt he was dangerously close to losing it all if he said or did one thing wrong.

Is Ivan gay? Since when? Does he like other guys, or just me?

Could Till even remain friends with someone while knowing they had feelings for him? It made him feel like there was something threatening to crawl out of his stomach and out onto the carpet, be it vomit or something else, the longer he thought about it.

Knock knock.

“Till, are you okay?”

“Mizi…”

Till was torn between wanting to let her in and keep her out. If he told her what happened, would it impact her friendship with Ivan, too? It felt so complicated all of the sudden. The show had gone so well, so why, why did this have to happen?

“Till, did something happen between you and Ivan? I noticed he never came out from backstage… Just know, if you want to talk, I’ll listen. I’m worried about you.”

Dragging both hands down his face, somewhere between exhausted and overwhelmed, Till reluctantly got up and unlocked the door. Right away, Mizi opened it and walked in, looking at him closely, not making any sudden moves like she was afraid to startle him.

“Tell me what happened?”

With Mizi there, her gentle tone, her careful, observant eyes, and that warm but unobtrusive smile, and Till immediately felt a little better. He took a few deep breaths and went to sit on the couch against the wall.

Taking the seat beside him, Mizi was uncharacteristically quiet. Moments like this showed her best qualities—she was kind, never asking for too much, respecting his distance. If Till wanted to talk, she was ready to listen. If he wasn’t, she was totally at ease just sitting there silently while he calmed down.

“I don’t know how to explain this. Ivan—”

—kissed me.

He felt panicked and dysregulated, unable to admit what happened out loud. It was as if speaking it into existence would make it real. Maybe, if Till never acknowledged that it happened, then maybe it never really happened.

“... Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m just like. Stuck at the moment.”

Releasing a slow exhale, Till tried to collect his thoughts, leaning against the back of the sofa, neck angled back.

He could feel Mizi’s worried gaze beside him, could hear the frown in her voice.

“No, what are you apologizing for? Take your time. You also don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t feel up for it.”

“It’s… It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. It’s just… Ugh. Listen, Mizi, what happened was, I—”

Ivan did that, while at the same time, Till hasn’t even had the chance to tell Mizi how he felt? After waiting for so many years, his first real kiss, one that he had hoped to share with the girl sitting next to him, was taken away from him in an instant.

A momentary sense of crisis rose in him, overshadowing everything else.

It felt like things were spiraling out of his control. He was finding it a little difficult to breathe. The plans he had been putting together were completely overturned in a moment. If things could change that quickly, who was to say things wouldn’t get worse tomorrow? What if Mizi really moved far away? What if she found out about this whole thing later? Would she think Till was gay? Would she doubt his feelings? Would she misunderstand?

“—like you.”

Neither of them reacted for a moment.

Till, with his head still tilted back, stared at the ceiling with a hint of disbelief, a hint of ridicule, flashing across the bottom of his eyes.

What the fuck did I just say?

Till blurted out the words he had never dared to say out loud, completely unplanned, with no preparation.

“...”

“Oh, that… I see.”

Almost looking a bit comical, Till sharply turned his head to the side, eyes blown wild in bewilderment.

“Did I just say that outloud?”

“... Pfft, I think you did.”

“Oh, christ. Kill me now.”

“No, no killing. Bahaha. Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, that was just—the last thing I expected to hear from you right now. I thought something bad happened to you.”

Amusement fading off with a low sigh, Mizi sat forward and gently touched Till’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Till, I can’t accept your feelings.”

He expected it, especially considering he didn’t do any of this right—where was the romantic confession, the perfect date, the dream he’d strung along for so long? It laid punctured on the ground like a sad balloon, rather appropriately matched with his feelings at the moment as a sad clown.

Giving his arm a light squeeze, Mizi probably sensed Till wasn’t going to say anything else, so she took it upon herself to explain.

“I will always care about you, Till, but I don’t think I can see you as anything but family. You’re my little brother, even if we never got adopted together like we used to dream about, it’s enough for me that we can still be this close. I don’t want to get your hopes up, so while I know you probably don’t want to hear this right now, please understand—I, ahem, already have feelings for someone else. I think you’re a really great guy with an unbelievable amount of talent and dedication. Because of that, you deserve someone who is willing to give their whole heart to you. I’m just sorry that I have to tell you mine belongs to someone else.”

“... Oh.”

Till was responsible for stabbing himself with that knife the moment he thoughtlessly threw his feelings out into the open, but Mizi’s gracious, gentle apology—that really twisted it, embedded deep in his flesh.

“I… I got it. No, I always thought… I mean, yeah. I figured we would always be like… siblings… but I guess I was the only one who wanted more.”

Pulling her hand back, Mizi still made it a point to keep her smile as she reached over and gave Till a little boop on the nose.

“I’m sure there are tons of people out there who would jump at the chance to date you, so don’t try not to be so hard on yourself. You deserve someone who can love you more, and you shouldn’t ever settle for less.”

“T, thanks.”

… Shit, Till thought he might actually cry.

He definitely couldn’t let Mizi see him like that. Not… Not because of the rejection. Just, honestly, he didn’t think his dignity would ever recover from a blow like that right now.

“Do you, ahem, mind giving me a minute? I’ll come out after I clear my head.”

“Sure, of course. Don’t worry, Hyuna and I are the best merch sellers in the game.”

Shooting Till two finger guns, which was the exact amount of adorable dorkiness Mizi possessed that made Till so enchanted with her, he really felt like his chest was caving in the moment she stepped out the door.

“... Everything is so fucked up.”

If Ivan hadn’t done that, Till have gotten freaked out, wouldn’t have been overwhelmed enough to blurt out his feelings for Mizi.

… Not that it mattered, really, if she was interested in someone else. Till could have waited to do it under the most perfect circumstances and that wouldn’t have done anything to undo her feelings towards that guy.

Thanks to his own morbid, self-destructive curiosity, Till sort of wanted to know who it was that could capture Mizi’s heart. He’d known her longer than anyone, longer than her own parents, so how could he not know? Who was able to squeeze into her life and go unnoticed by Till? Maybe it was another dance student, they shared a lot of classes…

Ugh, fuck, stop that.

Till knew he didn’t stand to gain anything from learning who it was besides establishing a painfully accurate benchmark against which he could compare all his shortcomings. Knowing would probably be a detriment to his mental health.

…

Now what am I supposed to do?

The person he would usually turn to when he was stuck was the person responsible for making him like this.

… Just like joining the band in the first place.

This same familiar dilemma happened back then, too. He remembered confiding in Mizi a little, but after what just happened, he felt she was not a reasonable option.

… Fucking Ivan, why couldn’t anything ever be simple when it came to him?

Seriously, Till was convinced he was put here on God’s green Earth just to make his life difficult.

Till draped an arm over his forehead and let out a humorless laugh, satisfied wallowing for a little while by himself.

Knock knock.

“It’s open.”

Till figured Mizi came back for something and didn’t bother moving. When he heard an unfamiliar woman’s voice, he nearly fell off the couch.

“Whoa there, kid, easy. Are you okay?”

“Ah, manager-nim… Sorry, I was, uh, feeling light-headed so I was taking a rest. Did you need something?”

Hovering in the doorway, Cho Jin-Kyong seemed uncertain for a moment but eventually went ahead.

“Is your singer around?”

Till had to bite his tongue to stop from rudely clicking it.

“... Haven’t seen him.”

“Hm, well… Anyway, here’s the deal. I’ll be honest, you guys were way better than I expected, and I was impressed with your professionalism considering half of you are minors. Some of the other live houses are going to rent an outdoor pavillion jointly to put on a Summer Fest show towards the end of next month. There’ll be a some other bands performing, and I think you guys can manage a crowd that size after seeing your performance tonight.”

Till stared at her blankly for almost twenty-seconds before blinking a few times.

“... S, Sorry?”

Bemused, the young woman looked at Till like he was a confused puppy who was just learning commands and that decided to sit instead of roll over.

Deliberately emphasizing the key points, Cho Jin-Kyong patiently repeated: “Summer Fest. Big show. Three weeks. Interested?”

“Y, Yes! Yeah, for sure. You uh, you have my e-mail, right? Can you send me the information? Or do you want to talk about it now? We can do it now, actually. Ivan, my phone, where did I plug it—?”

Till covered his face with both hands, groaning.

Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

“No, no. Forget it tonight. I’ll send you the information before the weekend is over. You and the other kids can talk about it and let me know what you decide, say, no later than Wednesday?”

“Um… yeah, right. Please send it to me…”

As soon as Cho Jin-Kyong left the room, Till sank to his knees and banged his fist on a couch cushion.

“Hah. Hahah. Just you wait… I swear… I am going to punch you so fucking hard the next time I see you. Bastard…”

(If one were to listen very closely, they could hear the thin wire of Till’s sanity snap at that exact moment.)

Notes:

ivan at the end of this chapter is like that one meme where the kid throws up a peace sign and then fades away. just. adios~

the song quoted directly in-text is called Utopia Now! by Rosie Tucker, and it is the title track from an album of the same name.
I particularly like rosie tucker's voice (it has a air, melodious quality that I feel suits Ivan's ((AKA PARK BYEONG HOON's)) register well) but the instrumentation and lyrics possess an underlying, slightly grungey, rock-but-not-but-indie-but-not quality that really fits more with Till than it does Ivan. subsequently, mashing these two piece together, I have found myself imagining ivantill performing virtually every song by rosie tucker at some point in my neurotic little head! so i made this imaginary playlist to reflect their setlist:
UNKNOWN @ The Basement
it even has an embarrassing high-school style band flyer for the cover art. the full piece can be seen shamelessly on my twitter (@realfakedokja) omgggg~ aren't i just so extra~ (blush)

(one more chapter to go, oh god oh fuck)

Chapter 7: Birthday (I)

Notes:

this bitch of a chapter ended up being 27k words so. we doing a 2-parter LMAO

Chapter Text

A faint set of footsteps approached the door before stopping.

Fourteen steps, from top of the stairs to the second door down the hall.

Rather than knock or call out, the figure outside stood there for several minutes. Whether they simply kept a silent vigil or were doubting themselves was anybody’s guess.

Ivan, having stared at the ceiling in his room for an indeterminate amount of time, listened to fourteen more steps recede back into the silent house, his expression unchanging throughout this entire procession.

There was no mistaking the origin of those footfalls—they belonged to none other than his sister. Her footsteps were easy to pick out from the servants or, god forbid, their father. She seemed to float over the surface of the floors, steps so light it would have been nigh impossible to hear if one wasn’t surrounded by complete silence.

Sua had come to visit him three times in the past day, but Ivan wasn’t eager for whatever conversation she might bring. Maybe she could sense his disinterest. Sibling telepathy, or something. Despite approaching his room, she never knocked, never tried to enter. Ivan wasn’t entirely certain if he would let her in or turn her away if she ever did take that fifteenth step.

Such has been Ivan’s life for the past five days.

Sua will come to his door, three times a day. One of the aunties responsible for cooking in the house will bring him food at scheduled intervals, of which he’ll take a few symbolic bites before returning it to the tray and leaving it outside the door. Otherwise, he’s spent a majority of the time staring at the ceiling until his eyes start to hurt, at which point he’d switch to reading until he can’t anymore. After that, he just sleeps.

Today was… Thursday, Ivan counted backwards.

The previous Saturday, when he left the venue and exited onto an unfamiliar street, Ivan hadn’t possessed the forethought to worry about where he was going. He simply walked forward without stopping, taking random turns whenever he was met with a stop signal, so preoccupied that nearly thirty minutes passed before he was able to regain some semblance of rationality. His mind had no room left to be concerned over his own whereabouts.

By the time Ivan thought to turn back, he could only let out a laugh that sounded more like a sigh than any display of amusement, the gesture filled with self-mockery.

He was lost. His phone could guide him back, but…

… Well, maybe this was better.

After weighing his options, Ivan decided not to bother and called a ride share directly.

He wasn’t exactly jumping at the opportunity to share a car with someone like Hyuna who could pick apart his mood in an instant. Sure, she would likely drop it if Ivan insisted he was in no mood to talk, but that was the problem—he wanted to talk about it. Being locked up in a quiet space for forty-plus minutes with a willing audience, he might never shut up.

Hitching a ride with Hyuna? A terrible idea. He wanted to talk about it to Hyuna. To everyone, to anyone, to try to explain away his momentary lapse in judgment with logic, but he wasn’t convinced he could make a compelling argument even if he tried.

After sending Hyuna a brief text explaining, Ivan placed the request for the KakaoTaxi and decisively went home.

He found his father sitting in the living room, facing the door, a dull sort of displeasure on his face when they made eye contact. Holding a dark amber drink in his hand, he studied Ivan like a test subject from across the room.

For his part, Ivan found his father’s expression a bit funny, but he didn’t feel like putting up the token resistance or to play their usual charade. Instead, he simply went forward into the living room and sat down in the adjacent chair, exhaling lightly as he sank back into the cushions.

There was no pretense, no attempt to please. It was all a little too much tonight.

After examining him wordlessly for several solemn minutes, his father half-demanded, half-questioned, “Your phone.”

“Yeah.”

Ivan placed it squarely on the table.

The living room was steeped once again in silence.

His father took a drink every now and then, while Ivan looked down at his own hands, folded neatly across his lap.

Eventually, once there was no more liquor clinging to the glass, his old man stood up and gazed down at Ivan from his towering height of nearly two meters.

“You’ll be on leave of absence from school until the semester ends. In order to finish your exams next month, you’ll be able to return for a few days—consider that my last act of goodwill since you’ve come back before midnight.”

It was a statement that brokered no room for negotiation.

That was fine. Ivan couldn’t find it in himself to fight at the moment.

“As for next year, Secretary Jang will make arrangements.”

“... Sure.”

“...”

Ivan raised his head until his gaze collided with that of the man looming over him, meeting that complex expression with an impassive one of his own.

“Was there something else?”

“... You really have nothing to say?”

“Was there something specific you wanted to hear?”

“...”

His eyes fell back to examining his hands. Calmly, Ivan analyzed his circumstances.

“If I wasn’t willing to pay the price, I wouldn’t have taken the risk in the first place. You made your terms perfectly clear last time. I knew what could happen, so being upset with anyone but myself in such a situation would be a waste of energy.”

Mouth flattening into a thin, decisively unhappy, line, the man listened to his son’s very sober explanation without a hint of remorse in his tone. The attitude left him both frustrated and dissatisfied.

As a man with no shortage of subordinates and frequently surrounded by social-climbers, he had heard heaps of praise about his children. Mature, calm, talented, obedient. Everything a father might want to hear, he’d heard it all before.

Some outsiders that were particularly bold would relay other, less pleasant, regards about children like them. An adage about children that were too sensible, for instance, being more distressing than those who acted like unruly brats. From his perspective, reflecting on all the resources he had invested into constructing not one but two perfect children, the man couldn’t help but find such a notion absurd. It sounded like the a special sort of lie crude spinsters sold to themselves, a mollifying palliative that would make their grievances over their own disappointing children easier to swallow.

But for some reason, at the moment, Ivan’s father was reminded of that vexing sentiment.

If Ivan was even just slightly caustic, or behaved a little unreasonably, then at least disciplining him would be worthwhile. There would be a chance, if only marginal, that Ivan could learn from his mistakes and grow to avoid them.

How could he hope to teach his child to behave when he made the active decision to flaunt the rules? It wasn’t a mistake, or shortsightedness, or immaturity. Those were all fixable qualities, things he could address and admonish.

… No, this child was already perfect. He simply chose to act imperfectly.

“Then, I’ll just ask you one question.”

Ivan glanced at his father to show he was listening.

“If, as you claim, you truly understood the risk—now that you have to face the outcome, was it worth it?”

“Worth it…”

He murmured those last two words under his breath, considering the question carefully. It’s not an unreasonable inquiry. Hindsight is, as they say, 20/20.

Would he still have made the same choices if he knew how it would end?

Do I regret it?

…

Ivan shouldn’t have jumped on Till like that.

He wished he didn’t—wished he could simply regret having done so, like a reasonable human being. Feeling sorry, making amends after doing something wrong—that’s what most people would do. But can he really ask for forgiveness when it was something he wanted so badly?

… If he approached Till while harboring such insincere remorse, then Ivan really wasn’t worthy of his forgiveness.

So he couldn’t ask to be forgiven, and he can’t take it back.

In that case, Ivan thought, he should simply call it what it was—a mistake—and then try to deal with the consequences so they could move on.

But that’s the problem.

Move on?

Ivan can’t. He can’t. He’s not capable of it.

Maybe Ivan was capable of piecing together an apology. At least doing so felt like it was within his ability. To apologize for taking matters into his own hands like that, without considering Till’s feelings; to apologize for running away without a word; to apologize for not cherishing the chance to be close to him without wanting more.

… Could he apologize for loving Till?

Ivan tried to imagine it.

Well, it was possible.

He could say it.

… It might kill him, but he could say it.

After what felt like a long time, Ivan finally settled on an answer to his father’s question.

“I don’t know.”

It was an impossible thing, something that neither ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would be able to fully capture.

His father might as well have asked if he wished he had decided to write with his left hand instead of his right. It wasn’t a choice so much as it was simply something that was. When something is so deeply entrenched in a person that it becomes part of their nature, then that thing can no longer be separated from them—it becomes a part of them.

For Ivan, Till was that something.

So how could Ivan possibly regret something he can’t live without? No, perhaps that was a bit dramatic. Ivan knew he could physically continue to exist in the world as long as Till was in it.

Rather, if Till was extricated from all the things that made Ivan, well, Ivan, he suspected he would no longer be able to recognize himself. The reflection in the mirror would seem blurry and indistinct. It would be as if a stranger was living in his body.

… Anyway.

That all happened late on Saturday, perhaps even into the early hours of Sunday morning. Ivan was promptly placed under house arrest thereafter.

He didn’t mind much.

He did mind some, of course. The cost of this punishment was steep. He didn’t care much about his academic performance or his classmates. Just that, it would have been better, easier, to find some way to communicate with Till. Even if it was only to clarify his actions (Ivan wasn’t wholly convinced he could apologize for them), then at least they could go back to seeing each other everyday.

Locked up in the house, he was allowed to leave his room, only with little desire to do so. The computer wasn’t disconnected from the internet, and Ivan contemplated using some platform or another to reach out to Till and Mizi, but the risk of making his current situation even worse kept this notion abated.

What would he even say to Till? Mizi was probably aware by extension of Sua, but it was hard to guess what Till might have been thinking.

After what he did, it was probably best to give him some space.

Still, Ivan checked his email, browsed through music scores without bothering to test them out—all in all, he killed time.

There was one email that was rather interesting to him, from the Basement’s manager, Cho Jin-Kyung.

He thought about the content for several days. He gathered from the tone of her message that she must have talked to Till directly on Saturday about UNKNOWN performing again at her recommendation.

This time, the details of the performance and the ‘venue’ were worlds apart from the Basement.

On the seventh day of confinement, a whole week since UNKNOWN’s performance, Ivan glanced at the calendar on his computer. “Summer Fest,” as Cho Jin-Kyung called it, would be in thirteen days.

Ivan decided to leave his room for the first time, when he happened to pass by Sua at the bottom of the stairs. Their eyes met, but neither of them said anything.

Just before Ivan reached the landing, he drew his foot back. Sua still hadn’t moved from that same spot, watching him carefully.

“Noona, can you do me a favor?”

“... What is it?”

“Can you pass on a message for me?”

“...”

After briefly seeing his sister’s face for the first time in a week, Ivan went to meet the only other person in the house that met the technical definition of family.

Knock knock.

“Father, it’s me.”

“... Come in.”

Ivan entered and closed the door lightly. Behind the desk, his father was squeezed into a regular-sized chair, reading glasses on the tip of his nose as he reviewed some official-looking document.

Even seeing his face didn’t put Ivan in a bad mood. It was a nice change of pace from the patterns on his ceiling.

With a faint smirk, Ivan took the seat across from him.

“I’d like permission to leave the house.”

“Reason.”

He didn’t look up or show any signs of stopping his work. At the same time, the fact that Ivan wasn’t outright rejected meant he was right—his father’s temper did indeed soften over a few days.

This man—a disciplinarian who held onto regrets. Truly a paradox.

After not speaking or seeing each other for a week, all while Ivan behaved very well, it was rather easy to guess his father’s temperament. Too proud to take back his words, he would never withdraw a punishment prematurely, but he wasn’t immune to the waning effects of time. It was natural that after he’d cooled down, looking at his only son asking for something, this man likely to waver.

As long as Ivan put forth conditions he found pleasing, it wasn’t impossible to get what he wanted.

“I’d like to meet with Luka. Mr. Heperu’s son.”

There was a pause, and Ivan could visualize a little loading bar in his father’s head, slowly buffering as it processed this information.

“... Old Heperu’s brat?”

“Well, Luka and I spoke for a bit at Mr. Heperu’s birthday banquet. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but after reflecting for a while, I’ve come to learn that he and I are a bit similar. Luka graduated from Anakt, yet he has worked alongside Mr. Heperu in advancing their brand for several years.”

Finally raising his head, Ivan’s father studied him from across the desk. His hands folded together with his elbows pinning the documents he had been previously reading against the table.

“Explain.”

Ivan withstood his scrutiny without showing a single flaw, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture.

“Since you’ve made up your mind in regards to my education, I thought it might be a wise choice to speak with someone with some experience switching between art and business. If Luka can manage to do both, I don’t see why I can’t.”

The man lowered his gaze, contemplative, looking at the documents in front of him without really reading them.

After a while, he asked, “You intend to continue playing the piano, even if you aren’t going to finish that program?”

“What can I say? Even if I end up getting my diploma from the internet, it doesn’t mean my years spent playing music will be erased. How can I just let something like that go? In the end, I still love the piano.”

“And if I say you have to quit?”

“... Then I suppose you and I are both out of luck, aren’t we?”

His father’s eyes narrowed, but Ivan didn’t have much of a reaction besides to shrug.

“You allow Sua to do whatever she wants, without a single condition, simply because she was born as your daughter, not your son. If I can’t even be allowed to enjoy the things I care about, for what reason do I have to continue to meet your expectations? Isn’t the reason I was born so that you can eventually give your power away to someone who shares your last name? Why would I want to accept such a thing if I don’t even have anything left worth caring about?”

“Hah… Haha. You brat, are you threatening me?”

“Not at all. I’m reasoning with you. Isn’t it better if we both get what we want? I’d prefer not to be at odds with you. I’ll keep doing as you say, and all I’m asking is that I can continue to play the piano, regardless of the plans you have laid out for me in the future.”

“...”

Exhaling heavily, the man removed his reading glasses, rubbing the space between his eyes.

“... And this request to leave the house—you just want to go to Old Heperu’s house to talk to this Luka? To hear how he manages, what, isn’t he an idol?”

“Exactly. I’d like to hear his advice on balancing the two. You could even say I’m taking the initiative, isn’t that nice?”

“... Tsk, nice? You only know how to be nice if it gets you what you want.”

“In that case, would it be too obvious to point out who raised me as a rebuttal?”

“Get out. You can go. Ask Secretary Jang to arrange it, you can’t have your phone back, and you must be driven to and from their estate. Understand?”

Satisfied, Ivan got up from his seat and turned around to leave.

The door closed, neither soft nor loud, leaving Ivan’s father to sneer at the wood frame in an aggravated silence before resuming his work.

… If that kid put half as much effort into his academics as he did towards the nonsense in his head, he would have even surpassed Sua by now. She was brilliant, but not as domineering as her brother.

Ivan was quite close to being perfect, if only he didn’t let himself be distracted.

The piano… It seemed to permeate all of the aspects of his life with a damnable amount of tenacity. He couldn’t escape it. His late wife, and now his son—what about it was so charming?

The man didn’t think he would ever figure it out. Not in this lifetime, or the next.

Ever since Saturday, Till has been feeling a little off.

At first, he thought it was a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. What a fucking day, right? His best friend threw himself at him without a word of explanation, and Till confessed to his crush of over a decade only to be gently rejected.

The kindness of Mizi’s rejection was almost stifling, because Till couldn’t stand to be mad at her. Instead, he just felt slightly ashamed and awkward, even though Mizi continued to text and talk to him just like before.

Till decided to double-down with Ivan and just be twice as mad at him to compensate. That would at least make him feel better. Yeah.

… But where the hell was Ivan?

Sunday—not a word from him. Fair enough. After that, er, mess on Saturday, it’s not like Till was expecting him to be blowing up his phone.

Monday—nothing.

… Maybe he was sick.

Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday.

Okay, what the fuck?

Classes still went on, KakaoTalk notified him whenever their group chat had activity, band practice proceeded as it had for months.

…

Fuck, Ivan, they have to deal with the consequences from Saturday night eventually, right? What are you doing just disappearing? What about rehearsing?

Acorn and Isaac asked him a few times when Ivan was coming back, and Till didn’t know if he should be pissed off that they expected him to know what Ivan was doing, or if he was actually pissed that he didn’t know what Ivan was doing.

Then there was that bastard, Dewey, saying Till’s temper had been even worse these past few days without Ivan around. What was that supposed to mean? Ivan was reason Till had such a bad temper most of the time, okay? After smacking Dewey’s knuckles with a drumstick, that half-assed hyung pretended to cry and said maybe Ivan couldn’t stand being abused by Till so he wasn’t coming anymore.

… That, no way. It couldn’t really be his fault Ivan stopped coming to school, right?

Anxious, Till argued back and forth with himself over the possibility. It wasn’t impossible that Ivan was avoiding him, but was it really justified for him to miss class over this? That lady manager, Cho Jin-Kyung, even extended the offer for their group to perform at the Summer Fest in a few weeks. They needed to practice now more than ever, and he didn’t even know if Ivan was still interested in singing for them.

At one point, he realized he must have been truly desperate when a thought so stupid occurred to him, Till almost considered walking into traffic.

Am I such a bad kisser that he died?

… No, what?

Was he an idiot? What was he thinking?

Till, after contemplating if he should see a therapist, opened up the Cryptid gang KakaoTalk. Mizi and Sua had exchanged some messages earlier that day, and the day before, Mizi sent them all the information for her dance recital at the end of the semester.

Scrolling back, he noticed that Ivan hadn’t said anything since… Saturday.

…

Till finally couldn’t stand it and sent Sua a private message.

[Till 18:40]
is Ivan sick? where has he been?

[Sua 18:44]
He’s not sick.
Sua withdrew a message.

Correction: I don’t think he is sick, but I’m not certain.
To put it simply, he’s under house arrest.

[Till 18:45]
??? did his phone get taken away too

[Sua 18:46]
Yes.

Well, that made a little bit of sense. Relieved that he didn’t kill Ivan somehow… But Till still wasn’t fully following. Ivan couldn’t even go to class? What was that about?

[Till 18:49]
do you know when he’s coming back to school

[Sua 18:50]
No.

… This was so annoying. Not to mention, prying information out of Sua was like pulling teeth.

[Till 18:52]
ok ty

Well, fuck.

Till threw his phone carelessly into his bag and looked at the practice room, now empty.

It was Thursday, practice having just ended.

Till was back to singing since no one could get ahold of Ivan, but it felt… wrong. He knew he’d go back to vocals one day, standing center stage with his guitar like he always wanted, but… he didn’t want it like this.

Now that Till was actually willing to share the spotlight, Ivan was nowhere to be seen.

Pushing himself to stand, Till still had to finish cleaning up before leaving. The other guys never hung around to help out, and Till had never cared about it before because even if Isaac, Dewey, and Acorn left…

… It took Till twice as long to get the room straightened up without Ivan.

Under his breath, Till muttered, “… Asshole.”

Seriously.

… Just come back so they can talk about it, or argue, or just—something.

When Mizi sent a text to their group later that day, inviting all of them out to a new cafe that opened near her house, Sua accepted immediately, and Ivan… didn’t reply.

Till knew the area, it was basically across the street from a popular outdoor mall. Honestly, he didn’t want to go if it was just going to be him and the girls, what if they tried to drag him to go shopping with them… It’s happened before. Sua had no spending limit and Mizi wanted to try everything.

… For someone like him, it was just this side of unbearable.

But Till also didn’t want to miss this chance if Ivan was finally going to show his face. It would be a good opportunity to finally clear the air.

Plus, if Mizi and Sua were accompanying them, after he and Ivan had a chance to talk, it shouldn’t be as awkward, right?

With the attitude of a man made to walk the plank with a sword to his back, Till agreed to go.

Saturday, a little after noon, Till met Sua and Mizi at the designated place. Seeing that Sua was there and that she was the only Unsha present, he had half a mind to turn around and leave before they noticed him.

“Till! Over here!”

Well, fuck me.

“Hey.”

He walked up to them with a stiff smile, and Mizi proceeded to point out every drink she thought he would like. It was pretty sweet of her, but Till took one look at the overpriced display board and decisively picked a plain iced coffee.

Puffing up her cheeks, Mizi pouted at him.

“Booooring.”

“Well, this is better for the staff. Yours had like fifteen extra words—double whipped extra mocha supreme or something—while mine is super easy. It should balance out their workload, right?”

Mizi stuck her tongue out.

“Ivan always lets me order for him and he never complains. I have great taste!”

“Hah, is that so… He’s not coming?”

Sua, the only person ordering a hot drink the first week of June, had stepped forward to get her order and returned to their spot waiting off to the side.

“No, he isn’t. I’m going up to the second floor to find a seat, it’s a bit crowded here.”

“Okay, we’ll be right behind you!”

Cautiously walking up the stairs, Sua’s pace was extremely slow compared to everyone else. By the time Till and Mizi’s drinks were ready, she had only just finished sitting down at the table.

“Hope you like it! I just really wanted to get the gift bag, heh.”

For the grand opening, such giveaways were common, and each of them had a different colored bag with cute animal characters printed on the side.

Till looked inside his before silently pushing his bag over to cozy up besides Mizi’s.

“Aw, Till, no! You have to keep it! It’ll commemorate this time we all came here together!”

“... It’s make up. You can just have it.”

“Really?” Mizi snatched the bag and peeked inside before pulling out a lipstick applicator. “No, see, this is chapstick. Anyone can use this.”

According to the label, the so-called chapstick featured a ‘tropical coconut dream scent’ and had ‘lush glitter’ embedded within.

Expressionlessly, Till could only insist, “... Please, just take it.”

With a mischievous laugh, Mizi didn’t resist any more.

“... Heheh, thank you, Till!”

He sighed, running a hand down his face.

“Really, don’t mention it.”

“Hmm…?”

Quietly watching their conversation, Sua took a sip of her drink and furrowed her brow before lowering it back into the saucer on the table.

“I think this is made with milk?”

“Oh no, really? I remember you said oatmilk to the cashier!”

“Well, it was an honest mistake. I’ll just wait for you both to finish.”

“No! You paid for the drink, you should get a refund, or they should remake it.”

Standing up with an indignant air about her, Mizi reached out and took the drink from Sua.

“Give it to me, I’ll go and explain to them.”

“Really? Thank you.” Sua gave a kind smile, eyes shining with a gentle light that could make one’s breath catch in their throat.

“N, no prob… heh.”

Bearing a striking resemblance to a pink rabbit making a hurried escape, Mizi dashed downstairs to remedy the situation.

Her enthusiasm was really… something.

Till sighed with a slight laugh once Mizi disappeared from view, and he turned back to Sua. He was about to ask about her ‘mystery bag gift’ when—

“Till.”

Like dousing a candle wick, all of the previous compassionate, warmth flowing outward from Sua was extinguished, leaving only a solemnity that made Till inexplicably nervous.

“Y, yeah?”

“We need to talk.”

… Why did Sua’s tone leave Till with the impression he was about to be scolded?

“Um, about…?”

“Ivan.”

Turns out, he was overthinking.

“... Tsk, I’d rather not.”

Sua held her chin with a hand, observing Till with expression of a doctor marveling at a medical anomaly.

Needless to say, this was not comforting to him. When Sua upheld that single-minded, unnerving focus, Till couldn’t help but comparing how she looked just like—

—like Ivan.

“Do you really mean that?” Sua emphasized. “You don’t want to talk about him at all?”

“... Well, what am I supposed to say exactly? You already told us that he was grounded, so he doesn’t have his phone. Sitting at home all day, that’s basically a vacation from school. How many of our classmates would kill for their parents to do that? And your dad does something like that willingly? It’s nuts, if you ask me.”

“Grounded… Well, I suppose one could call it that. Then, did you care to know why Ivan’s been grounded?”

Elbow propped on the table, Till rested his chin in his hand with a look that bordered on derision.

“Mizi told me he snuck out on Saturday to come perform with us. I’m guessing he got caught when he went home, right? I already know all about it.”

“... No, I don’t think you do.”

Lashes drooping, Sua looked down at the table, gathering her thoughts.

“Let me ask a different way. Our father said Ivan had to stay home on Saturday—do you know why? It can’t be that he was forbidden from sneaking out on Saturday because he went out on Saturday. That would be a logical fallacy.”

“Well, that… Huh.”

Till raised his head from his hand, brow furrowing.

Back at the Basement, Till had been so annoyed when he learned about the situation from Mizi, he never thought to ask the reason Ivan had to sneak out in the first place. Why was that?

“Don’t feel too bad, I only learned the details recently. I assumed Father and Ivan had some sort of disagreement and it simply escalated; such things boil up between them from time to time. It’s not as common anymore, now that we’re older, but it’s also not unheard of.”

Seemingly lost in thought, Sua weighed her words carefully before she continued.

“Father has never made Ivan suspend his education in order to discipline him. I was hoping it was just an empty threat that would pass after a few days, but seeing Ivan remain at home for an entire week, I now see our father is serious.”

At some point in Sua’s explanation, Till unknowingly bit his bottom lip.

… Actually, he had been wondering about that. He couldn’t make sense of it either.

As one of the few people from modest means attending their school, when Sua explained that Ivan wasn’t sick, it could only mean he was skipping class or their dad wasn’t letting him leave. Sua had called it ‘house arrest’ at the time, and Till’s first reaction was to scoff. When you’re born with a silver spoon in your mouth, it was probably normal that the corresponding punishments lacked any sense of proportion. The same way the rich douchebag who sat in front of Till in songwriting class got his ‘new car privileges’ revoked after getting a speeding ticket, Till felt like the behaviors of the upper-class were always so elevated and exaggerated. What about not driving for a month? Hah, of course not. That punk could still drive as much as he want, but it had to be one of their old models of cars—needless to say, it was still probably worth more than a year of his dad’s salary.

Till had never been able to fathom the minds of the rich, so when he heard about the so-called house arrest, he was quick to dismiss it as some bullshit overkill on Mr. Unsha’s part to demonstrate a point. He was better off not trying to understand to baffling logic of a capitalist pig.

Besides, there was no way a parent would actually impede their kid’s education just to punish them, right?

Anyway, after a few days, when Ivan comes back, Till would just hear his explanation—

“Ivan’s being transferred to a private high school next year. He won’t be attending Ankat any longer.”

“—What?”

Standing up from his seat with a jolt, Till almost knocked his drink over.

Sua, by comparison, gave almost no reaction at all, watching Till’s cup wobble haphazardly along with the table.

How can he be blamed for that reaction—what the fuck did he just hear?

Naturally, Sua would never joke about this kind of thing, but it was still possible his own ears might be damaged. Too much loud music, isn’t that something the Surgeon General or whoever warned about? Maybe his eardrums had burst.

“Say, say that again, Sua?”

“... Are you going to cause a scene before hearing the whole story? Sit down first.”

Till grit his teeth, dropping sharply into the chair and ignoring the few curious glances from the other people on the second floor.

“The story is a bit complicated, so let me try to explain from the beginning. It goes back to a night a few weeks ago when Ivan attended a party alongside my father. My father’s secretary was there that night, so I was able to learn some of the details of the situation through him. Apparently, Father and my brother argued in the car, but their disagreement stemmed from an unpleasant encounter they had while attending the party. Do you know what they fought about?”

“Why ask me? How should I know?”

“Because it was you about, Till.”

With a small curve of her mouth, Sua looked directly at him as she enunciated each word.

“They fought about you.”

Startled, Till couldn’t even imagine what face might have been making.

“What? Me? Why?”

“That’s what I want to know… Tsk, your father was also there that night, at that party. I heard he provoked Ivan, or perhaps our father. Secretary Jang wasn’t sure about that conversation, as he was predisposed elsewhere.”

That… Was that the same night he ended up staying over at Hyuna’s? When his dad came home and acted like a self-righteous prick?

“It seems that the argument began with something your father said that upset ours. After thinking it over these past few days, I’ve come to the conclusion that the most likely outcome was that your father tried to flatter our family and ended up upsetting one, or perhaps both, of them. If it was Father that was upset, it was probably something that insulted his pride. If it was Ivan that was upset… Obviously, that must have been because your father said something unpleasant about you.”

Somewhat involuntarily, Till couldn’t help but mutter, “Wouldn’t be the first time…”

Thinking back to how his dad behaved after coming home that night, he couldn’t decide if he should be mortified or dismayed. It was one thing for that old bastard to rip into Till when they were at home, but he actually spouted his bullshit to Ivan’s dad?

To Ivan directly?

“Afterwards, in the car, the conversation ended up on your band. Our father made it clear that he felt it being inappropriate for Ivan to be a part of it—it’s possible he may have even insinuated that you should sever your friendship altogether. Father gave him an ultimatum at the end of the argument: if Ivan didn’t quit UNKNOWN, he would be punished severely.”

Till held the side of his head, becoming increasingly confused.

“Wait, back up, back up. So my old man went up to your’s at that party and made a fucking embarrassment of himself. That tracks. But why did your dad make it Ivan’s problem? It was my dad who was being an asshole.”

“Well, yes, but our father can’t exactly reprimand an adult, now can he? At an event surrounded by affluence, it would be seen as extremely uncouth to scold someone. Ivan, on the other hand, is someone our father can control. When things go too far afield from his expectations, Father tends to…”

Placing a hand lightly against the base of her throat, Sua said with a soft, self-deprecating smile, “He tightens the leash, so to speak.”

Till could feel an insurmountable wave of tension gathering behind his eyes—the first signs of a headache swelling between his temples.

Just fucking great.

“So let me get this straight… My dad pissed your dad off. And since he can’t exactly discipline a grown ass man, he lashed out at Ivan… Using the justification of Ivan joining my bad to punish him? Then, doesn’t that mean Ivan wouldn’t have been allowed to join UNKNOWN in the first place?”

“Well, Father never made an explicit rule against us engaging in, ah, let’s call them voluntary extracurricular activities. But he can’t tolerate us doing anything that he deems unsuitable. I’m certain that Ivan knew, just as well as I could guess, how our father would feel about something like UNKNOWN.”

Adjusting her appearance, Sua brushed some of her hair behind her ear before she continued to speak.

“Our father is very… orthodox, as you know. I’m only speculating here, but I doubt our father’s feelings are based in some heretical belief that rock music will lead one to burning in hell. It’s not impossible, but he rarely weighs his decisions against moral standards. Rather, it’s more likely he feels that one’s social landscape is reflective of one’s worth. With whom you associate, how you speak, what skills you possess… Those are the things our father values. Alternatively, it’s also possible it’s an extension of his rejection towards Western idealism and conventions—things that are too ‘American’ tend not to sit very well with him.”

It took almost a minute to process Sua’s analysis, but once Till managed to wrap his head around the esoteric, eccentric logic—the exact sort of surreal bullshit he would expect a rich guy like Mr. Unsha to believe, if Till were being honest—he nodded slowly, chewing on the straw of his iced coffee.

“Okay, so. I’m guessing Ivan wouldn’t have told your old man up front that he joined my band, since your dad’s all… moral… orthodox… ideal… Actually, let’s just round up and say your dad’s an asshole. So, your dad heard that Ivan joined UNKNOWN, got mad at Ivan, and punished him. Am I getting that right?”

“Yes.”

“So, Ivan knew joining my band would make your dad mad? And he joined anyway.”

“That’s right.”

“Then why the hell did he agree?!”

If Till was made to hear one more shitty revelation today, he might end up overturning the table. He had to clench his fist to resist the urge to punch something.

(Honestly, he couldn’t even tell who he was mad at anymore—there was so much fucked up about this situation, he could barely keep the direction of his anger consistent.)

But then, abruptly, Sua laughed.

She dropped her face into her hands, the sound muffled behind her fingers.

It wasn’t a pleasant sound. Rather, the entire gesture seemed to drip with disdain.

… Was Sua actually losing her composure? Sua?

“...”

Till had never seen her like this before. It made him break out into goosebumps and shocked him to the point of being speechless.

What, what was happening now? Was this that whole, ‘Venus in retrograde, so nonsensical shit starts happening’ thing?

“Hah… haha, why, indeed? Ivan really is such a fool.”

“What do you mean? Sua?”

Raising her head, Sua gazed across the table, measuring Till carefully with her stare. There was an unfamiliar intensity surging behind those cutting eyes. She seemed like she was stuck, oscillating between frustration and something else, something closer to pity, or maybe even disappointment.

Just when she was about to resume speaking, a distinct, cheery voice interrupted, causing both of them to flinch back in their chairs.

Almost immediately, any evidence of Sua’s previously emotional state was wiped away. She resumed her typically demure and gentle expression with such expediency, Till would have doubted his own eyes if he hadn’t been watching Sua so closely.

“One oatmilk latte, complete with apologies from the barista, piping hot and freshly brewed!”

With a joking bow, Mizi smirked as she placed the mug on the table. Before she could even finish sliding into her seat, she took stock of the heavy atmosphere looming around their table and her actions became noticeably more wary.

“Um, what’s going on? Did something… happen?”

Till glanced at her briefly before looking back at Sua, who accepted the cup and took a light sip from the rim.

“This is perfect now. Thank you, Mizi.”

“No, no problem. So, what did you two, uh, talk about…?”

Shaking her head, Sua gave a very tiny, almost imperceptible, smile.

“We were talking about Ivan.”

“Oh, is that right?”

Wilting like a flower left too long in the sun, Mizi’s entire body drooped.

“Hmm, I miss my little buddy, I didn’t even get to talk to him after the show. You know, Till, you never did tell me what happened on Saturday.”

Louder than intended, Till choked out, “Nothing happened!”

Both Sua and Mizi raised their eyebrows, clearly doubting him, suspicion obvious in their scrutiny.

He cleared his throat, but Mizi got a word in before Till could change the subject.

“With that kind of response, I would almost think you two kissed.”

With a slightly awkward chuckle, she scratched her cheek, trying to lighten the atmosphere by teasing.

“Cough—cough cough! That—! He, I mean, it wasn’t… cough!”

It had the opposite effect.

The rate at which Till’s face turned crimson was much too fast to simply be a result of not being able to breathe. In a rare moment of shock, Sua appeared to be truly dumbfounded as Mizi anxiously reached across the table to pat Till’s back.

“... Wait, could it be that Mizi really guessed correctly? You and my brother kissed?”

“That… well, I mean, on Saturday—it was in the moment, okay?!”

Barely able to steady his breathing, Till’s voice came out as a defensive wheeze while he urgently tried to explain. Still, he had enough self-awareness to drop his voice and lean across the table, making sure only the two girls could hear him.

“And, besides, it, it wasn’t like I did it to him. Ivan—you know, to me! And then he ran off, so, it wasn’t like it was me who did anything. I was basically attacked, understand?”

Mizi covered her mouth with a hand, eyes wide enough to be mistaken for copper bells.

“I, I was just kidding, I didn’t mean… I really didn’t know! Till, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I was really just joking around.”

“No, this… Knowing this is a good thing, actually.”

Counting on her fingers as if performing some mysterious arithmetic, Sua’s face changed into something solemn and profound. Neither Mizi nor Till had any idea what she was thinking about.

(Sua was counting the days backwards. She and Mizi kissed for the first time on Friday, which meant if Ivan and Till kissed on Saturday…)

(Heh, I guess I was able to get my kiss first, little brother.)

(Sneering in her heart, Sua reached a moment of extreme inner-peace as she, the older sibling, mercilessly mocked her younger brother for falling behind.)

“Ahem, cough. Sua, the Saturday thing, erm, it’s a separate… issue. So let’s not talk about it. About what you were saying before, can you continue?”

“... Hm? Oh, and here I thought you said earlier you didn’t want to talk about Ivan.”

“Well, this is different…! I didn’t realize he got in trouble because of UNKNOWN. I feel… somewhat… at least a little… partially responsible.”

“So this all really started because of the band?!” Mizi, quick on the uptake, picked up on the key point immediately. “I mean, I did guess that was the case… I just hoped I was wrong.”

Till didn’t know what to say to that. Mizi had already guessed that much?

Till hadn’t even made the connection that Ivan’s current situation was even related to the band. He was so stupidly self-absorbed, he thought Ivan was skipping school to avoid him.

How fucked up does that make me?

Whether it was the fact that the band would cause him trouble, Mr. Unsha’s shitty social politics, or his own dad’s clownery, Till’s could not deny he had been completely clueless. But then Mizi, who wasn’t even tied to this mess, had made greater strides in understanding the situation than he did—and, for fucks sake, Till was basically right in the middle of the shitstorm.

No matter what happened between him and Ivan, they were friends.

Why had he been so… indifferent?

Despite being on the cusp of summer, Till never thought the air seemed so cold.

…

“There are two reasons I’m telling you these things about Ivan right now.”

Sua spoke with deliberate slowness, successfully bringing Till out of his reprieve.

“The first reason is simple. I want you to feel bad.”

“... Excuse me?”

“Sua, that’s a bit—”

“No, Mizi. He should feel bad.”

Sua gave her a slight warning from the corner of her eye before turning back at Till.

“Ivan is responsible for his own actions, but he’s also like a… a stupid puppy. He latched onto you, so it doesn’t matter how badly you treat him, as long as you show the slightest willingness to keep him, he’ll always come back. He’d rather survive off scraps of affection than dare to wish for more, in case he’s really kicked away and never welcomed back.”

Maybe it was the scorn in her voice that made Till react, but he was inexplicably flustered. A surge of guilt made his complexion turn ashen.

“No, no way. That’s too far, even if I give Ivan shit sometimes, it’s not like I bully him or something. I’ve never treated Ivan that way.”

“Maybe not on purpose. That’s the most frustrating part from my perspective. Because all of this is really Ivan’s own fault. He’s never honest, so how could you know? He’s the kind of person to stab himself, and then worry about getting blood on your clothes… No, that’s not true. He’s not ‘that kind’ of person. He’s only like that towards you.”

Sua turned the mug in her hands slowly, watching the foam on the surface dance along the edge of the porcelain. Threatening to spill over, but never pushed quite far enough to cross the edge.

“I don’t think I could count the number of times Ivan has done something for you without expecting anything in return, and those are only the instances I’ve seen with my own eyes. Things that might have even been painful for him… If it was important to you, he never hesitated.”

Tapping her neatly manicured nails on the surface of the table, Sua maintained a perfect, measured rhythm, keeping time with the seconds on her watch.

“Why else would he ask our housemaids to buy your favorite foods to keep in our pantry? Take impeccable notes so you can copy them when you’re catching up on sleep in the back of the class? Arrange theater seats far enough away from the stage that you don’t have to pay full attention whenever you come to watch me perform? Join your band when he full-well knew it could end with him being disciplined? Tell me, what does Ivan gain from doing any of these things?”

“I, wait—”

“He keeps piercing-cleaning solution stocked in his bathroom, yet he has no piercings. Attended house shows for bands he’s never heard of. Reserved a full-sized practice room at the school when we have three pianos of higher quality in our own home he can use any time of day.”

Mizi gripped Sua’s arm, her golden eyes carrying a hint of anxiety.

“Sua…”

“You can hate me if you want. Call me cruel. But just for today, I wanted you to feel bad, Till. Just a little bit. Just enough to realize that, if you’ve ever stopped and thought that life has ever felt a little too easy for you, then there’s a good chance that there really was something about it that was too good to be true; there’s a very real chance that Ivan stepped in without you even knowing to deal with it, so all you saw was the seamless finish. My brother would rather change fact for fiction if it meant making your life a little better.”

The hand on her arm squeezed, exerting pressure enough to force Sua to stop.

“Sua, that’s enough. It’s… enough already.”

Till, sitting opposite to them, ended up putting both arms on the table and covered his face with his hands, similar to the way Sua had done so earlier.

Only, at that time, Sua had been laughing.

Till was not laughing.

… What am I hearing right now?

Ivan did have the solution for disinfecting piercings, but he said those were for Sua since her ears were pierced; told Till it was a coincidence they liked the same food and since it was already there, he could help himself; the notes, Ivan said he took on his own initiative to help himself memorize the material.

Was that all… really not the case?

A volatile, painful emotion rose in Till’s chest, pressing down on his airway while making his stomach churn in tandem. It felt a little difficult to breathe. Like approaching the precipice of a disastrous summit, he felt himself hurtling towards something—something that, if crossed, Till didn’t think he could ever come back from.

The three sat in a tense silence for almost a full minute. Despite being basically berated, Till wasn’t angry at Sua. He didn’t resent her or find her cruel like she said.

In fact, he didn’t know exactly how he was feeling at the moment, but there was none of his usual derisive attitude.

If there was a word to encapsulate this feeling, it was outside of Till’s limited vocabulary.

A little numb… A little lost.

Tone much softer than before, Sua finally spoke again, causing Till to blankly look up at her.

“I’m sorry, Till. I got carried away just now. I said there were two reasons to bring this up today, but I don’t want to damage our friendship over this. I went… a bit too far. Let me explain the second reason, alright? This one has more to do with Ivan.”

… Was he even in a position to refuse?

Till sighed, shoulders slumped, and nodded, gesturing for her to continue.

“Do you remember the day we met, Till?”

“... Huh?”

Why did Sua suddenly change the topic?

“Erm… yeah. It was before I was sent back by my first family, Mizi’s family had let me stay over for a week or two in the summer, right? Why are you asking about that?”

Nodding, Sua affirmed his memory and took a sip from her drink.

“That day, after you and Mizi left our house, Father hit Ivan so hard his lip split. In fact, later on we discovered he swallowed a tooth.”

“He what?!”

In a rare moment of anger, Mizi smacked her hand on the table.

“Don’t worry, it was just one of his baby teeth.”

With a patient smile, Sua patted the back of Mizi’s hand consolingly.

“You both may not remember, but that day, as we took you around the house, we stopped inside the music hall. The grand piano was the only instrument of its kind in that room, such that it was not allowed to be touched by anyone. Servants, guests, even my brother and I were no exception. It belonged to my mother when she was alive, and my father treasures it as part of her memory. We purchased the other pianos in our house later on.”

Glancing out the window, there was a distance in Sua’s gaze that suggested she was embedded in some unknown memory, visualizing something Mizi and Till could not see.

“... And yet, Ivan did not think twice to disregard the rules of our father simply because Till was interested in that piano. Afterward, Father was furious and reprimanded Ivan for nearly an hour. Of course, rather than obediently nodding his head or admitting he was wrong, promising not to do it again, would you like to guess what Ivan did instead?”

“...”

Sua turned to Till, a wry smile on her face.

“He looked our father in the eye and said he would learn to play the piano. You should know, Ivan had never expressed any interest in playing music or performing on a stage before that moment.”

… That doesn’t seem right? Why doesn’t Till remember it that way? He swore Ivan said he had learned to play the piano before they ever met.

Was that a lie?

“I thought… didn’t he already know how to play the piano by then?”

“No. It only started that day. In a broader sense, I suppose you could say everything started that day.”

Mizi bit her thumbnail, deep in thought.

“He doesn’t even like the stage? But he eventually enrolled in Anakt… No, piano is even his specialization! Are you saying Ivan did all of this because…”

Rather than finishing the thought, Mizi and Sua both looked right at him.

No, what?

His face felt inexplicably hot. It was so hot.

He drank his iced coffee in an attempt to cool down.

Was Sua trying to imply that Ivan learned to play the piano just because… Till was a little interested as a child?

That was too hard to believe. Till was even preparing to refute, to tell them they were obviously misreading the situation, that Sua’s theory didn’t make sense because, wasn’t it obvious, based on the time and effort Ivan put into it, he clearly loved playing the…

—Another voice in Till’s memory overlapped with Sua’s.

You think Ivan loves… the piano?

Hyuna had rebuked him in almost the exact same way.

…

What did Ivan say when Till asked him about it? Right, he didn’t even deny it. He simply said he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Then why did you play it for all of these years? Why did you build your life with it at the center?

… Unless the piano was never the center at all.

The realization made Till’s limbs feel too weak to support him, and he suddenly couldn’t muster the strength to even hold himself up at the table. He lowered his head against his knees and groaned.

This… This was insane.

Yet a guilty, angry little songbird that lived inside Till’s head started drilling against his temples, pecking viciously into his ear. It pointed out piece after piece of evidence that there were certain things that Ivan really would do, regardless of how crazy they seemed.

No, rather, he wouldn’t just do those things randomly—Ivan would do those things for him.

When they were still children, Till wanted to go to America. Had been making plans, drawing out his vision of a happy life in a different land with vivid color for years. Ivan was the only one to take his dream seriously, never once treating Till’s desires as childhood capriciousness.

Barely teenagers, Ivan was the only person who has been to every gig Till could squeeze his way into, no matter how small or poorly attended. In retrospect, it made him cringe to imagine himself at twelve-years old, pretending to be fifteen, so he could beg to play at a punk house. What was he thinking?

That shit could have been super dangerous for a bunch of kids to do; they’re lucky nothing ever happened to them. Despite it clearly being a bad idea, Ivan never looked down on Till for grasping at every opportunity, no matter how pathetic or worthless they were in the long run. At the time, Till just wanted to play his guitar and sing so badly, it felt like nothing else mattered.

… What was Ivan thinking at that time?

Till remembered Ivan would keep track of his equipment, helped him set up and haul his shit around, and he was Till’s ride home, every time.

(They had to lie to Ivan’s driver and be picked up several blocks away, or else they never could have gotten away with it.)

How… how many other things has Ivan done just because Till wanted it?

“This… crazy. No, I can’t…”

“Crazy? The only crazy thing about this is that you refuse to face reality despite the situation being spelled out for you. Do you need to really need to hear it out loud to believe it?”

“Sua, at the end of the day, the situation between Ivan and Till, it’s not our business…”

Till didn’t really process what Mizi was saying, feeling suffocated by the information piling up around him. It was the same helplessness he felt when a plan started falling apart, when a situation spiraled outside of his control.

He could all but see the words being projected through the harsh weight of Sua’s eyes as she sat across from him. That gaze, fixing him in place with a mix of contempt, sympathy, and even some desperation. As if to say, I don’t want to be involved either; as if pleading with him to understand on his own.

… No, Sua didn’t need to say more.

Till understood.

The way she was looking at him pierced him straight through, leaving behind painful puncture holes in the carefully crafted defense Till had relied on for so long—denial.

He could hear what Sua wanted to say without her opening her mouth.

Ivan is in love with you.

Daylight streamed in, revealing in it all of the ugly, selfish, hateful parts of himself Till would sooner ignore than admit he was avoiding.

How long are you going to pretend not to see it?

… Did he always know?

All this time, was he only refusing to acknowledge it? Preferring to brush over the occasional uncomfortable interaction between them—when Ivan stared a little too long, or acted in a way that was hard to describe as friendly, but even more impossible to call inconsiderate. Till really couldn’t tell. Maybe it was all easier to see now, from far away. Gazing at the details, memories akin to faded photographs of their past, discovering things he hadn’t noticed before. Maybe he had felt the difference at the time, but couldn’t discern the pattern when he was entangled in the day-to-day.

Maybe, he was a shitty person and simply chose not to see it. Overlooking things that were inconvenient or inconsistent with the way he constructed the world. Maybe he didn’t want things to change. Maybe he wanted to maintain the status quo he’d spent so long trying to find, the tiny reprieve he carved out in his fucked up life.

That comfortable, reliable story, Till wanted to read it again. He didn’t want to reach the last chapter of this script around which he’d built his entire life—of liking Mizi without having high expectations of her liking him back; of Sua, being just near enough that he could set her talent as a benchmark to keep improving, but not so close that he ever had to try and really understand her; of Ivan, always there beside him, wherever Till went.

In the solitary, quiet space he stored all his thoughts, Till’s arranged things this way for as long as he can remember. Mizi was his future, the distant dream that kept him going; Sua, the path forward, the way to measure his progress—she was the closest to Mizi, their school’s top student, her talent and skill unrivaled; Ivan was his present, his past, the assurance that, if he had to ever check, there was always someone a step behind him to encourage he didn’t lose sight of what was ahead of him.

But now, the veil was being forcibly torn apart, and nothing looked the same under all of the harsh light.

He couldn’t get Mizi’s heart, while Sua stopped right in front of him, cutting off his path forward until he confronted the road he used to get this far.

And all of that which Till needed to confront was behind him—Ivan.

Ivan drove him up the wall and liked to make things difficult for Till at every given opportunity. That’s how it’s always been. That makes sense, fits nicely in the arrangement of boundaries Till has drawn around and between different aspects of his life.

To undo each careful demarcation would be the same as disappearing all the barriers in an aquarium. Each environment was well-suited for certain things and met the conditions of the lives within each tank; if the glass suddenly vanished, a flood of unwanted, complex, messy emotions would immediately overflow. That much water might even drown him. If it became too deep, the flood may even swallow up the sun.

Till loved… Mizi, right.

But Ivan loved… him?

In an attempt to disassemble his thoughts and carefully put them back together, Till tried to think about it another way.

If what Sua said was true, then, the way Till had felt towards Mizi all these years, Ivan felt that—towards him?

Shoved backwards into a stuffy memory, Till felt like he returned to that dark corner off stage-right, when his overheated brain went completely blank, when something soft and hot pressed against his mouth.

Ivan kissed him, forcing their lips together regardless of Till’s struggle. It hurt, was a kind of crushing pressure, and Till tried not to pay attention to the way it tasted like sweat and heat and the strangest hint of citrus from that drink he’d had earlier. He focused all of his effort into getting Ivan off of him, ignoring every other detail that tried to put down roots.

… After it ended, when they finally pulled apart.

In that fraction of a second when Ivan held his chin with a hand, Till felt like he saw a completely different world in that murky red ring at the center of Ivan’s eyes. Something irrefutable that terrified Till to the point that he violently rejected any notion that it could be real.

Because, at that moment, it really felt like Till could see directly into Ivan’s heart. Could feel the way it was desperately, quietly, yet so sincerely, begging to be… loved.

“I’m going. I really need to… ah, be alone for a while.”

Worried, Mizi started to get up as Till pushed out his chair from the table.

“Are you sure? We can still keep you company, even if you don’t want to talk…”

With a dry, almost sardonic smile, Till shook his head.

“Thanks, Mizi, but I’ll be alright by myself.”

It seemed everything really was heading in a direction he couldn’t control. Would he have ever declined spending more time with her in the past? Despite how much he cared for Mizi, Till really didn’t want to be with her for even a second longer right now.

“Till, when Ivan heard I was going to see you today, he asked me to tell you something.”

Just before he was out of hearing range, Sua said one final thing.

She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t even turn her head. It was as if Till was still rooted in that seat across from her—unable to escape, even if he wanted to.

“He wanted me to tell you—cheer up.”

Sitting quite comfortably in the shade of the Heperu’s southern veranda, Ivan leaned back with his eyes closed when a very soft voice spoke over the cicadas and distant sound of traffic.

“What do you want?”

Ivan pried an eye open, watching as Luka sat down on a lavishly decorated couch, facing him. Based on his current appearance, he seemed a little ruffled as if he just woke up.

Wasn’t it nearly ten in the morning? Are all idols so… idle?

“Good morning. Shouldn’t I start by saying nice to see you again?”

Luka rubbed his eyes and waved a hand without much concern.

“Yes, hello, welcome, so on and so forth. Now, let’s hear why you’re really here. Talk.”

Laughing, Ivan leaned his head against his fist, head tilted slightly to one side.

“I didn’t mean to intrude on your sleep. In that case, I won’t waste any of hyung’s time and I’ll get straight to the point.”

Hearing Ivan call him that, Luka’s mouth twitched. It was a rare thing for him to hear. He heard oppa all the time, from the stage, at fan events, comments online. Some younger artists at his company would call him hyung, but it was with an overly sticky, affectionate tone that felt less like informal speech to indicate familiarity and more like a some kind of unsettling term of worship or endearment.

… At least when Ivan said it, the word wasn’t steeped in excessive flattery, so sticky it seemed like it might peel off a layer of his skin.

“I want to make a deal with you. The terms are fairly simple. There’s an event on June 21st, if you don’t have any thing else scheduled already, I’d like for you to go and show your face.”

“... In the industry, we call that an appearance fee.”

Luka, having just woken up, was momentarily confused. He honestly didn’t even know what day it was. If he had known they’d be talking business, he would have asked his assistant to come.

“So what is the event? And why should I be there?”

“It’s a music festival held in the city center park. Well, it’s got remote locations that run concurrently in other cities as well, but that’s not as important. My impression is it’s a mixed bag of different types of performances, which is probably one of the reason it’s got relatively good attendance despite being fairly small in scale. I’m sure it’s leagues below the sort of stadiums you’re used to filling, but hey, some of your beloved Anakt juniors will be there performing. Wouldn’t it be nice to show up and support them?”

”You said this was a deal? What are the terms?”

“I’d offer to pay you directly, but I’m sure if there’s anything you lack, money is not on that list. Besides, there’s probably some ethical code set by your contract against accepting direct payments from individuals, right? You would know better than me—I’m not well-versed in the world of idols, just guessing. I don’t want to get hyung into any trouble with his agency.”

Lowering his gaze, Luka seemed to consider Ivan’s proposal before replying. The pale, purple tips of his fingers began to tremble as they tightened slowly in his lap.

“You’re right, I don’t lack money. There’s only one thing you could offer that would be worth anything to me.”

As Ivan expected. For someone like Luka who seemed to have everything, what else could he want but the one person he couldn’t have?

“That’s right.”

“... Will she really listen to you? How can I be certain?”

“Seeing as you figured it out so quickly, Luka hyung must really care about noona.”

Ivan remarked on it with neither mockery nor sarcasm—closer to the way one might make an observation of stars through a telescope. The hold that woman has on him is a statement of fact.

“You should know, I can’t promise to change Hyuna’s mind. The best I can offer is to promise to arrange a meeting with you. I can get her in front of you, but after that, it’s up to you.”

Ivan noticed, as Luka held his face with one hand, deep in thought, his light golden gaze was remarkably different from Mizi’s. Her’s moved, danced like light scattered over a vibrant sea; Luka’s were stagnant pools of deep water, devoid of life.

Well, that was usually the case when Ivan met this person’s gaze.

Right now—right now, it seemed Ivan could detect the faintest trace of life within them.

“... I suppose, if you are able to really help, then I can also try to actively advocate for you in front of her. That much really depends on hyung’s performance.”

“I need you to be more specific.” Dispelling his slight daze, Luka sat up straight. “What exactly do you want me to do at this music festival? As for… I need to know you’re sincere. Give me some assurance.”

“I don’t have my phone, so I’m afraid I can’t contact noona at this exact moment, but I know she’ll be there that day. In fact, she’s already agreed to be my ride.”

Ivan lied without batting an eye.

He was almost certain Hyuna would attend, but he certainly never arranged to go to the event together. Rather, he was speculating. Knowing Dewey and Isaac would be there as part of UNKNOWN, and accounting for the soft spot Hyuna had for Till that she would never admit, it was likely she would make every effort to go and support them.

As for his own attendance, well. Ivan wasn’t sure if he could pull that off.

It would be nice… Ivan would really prefer to be there. Unfortunately, the day was too far in the future for him to have any degree of certainty.

“Considering Hyuna will be there, beyond the chance of running into her yourself as the day goes on, when it’s time to leave—you can simply take my place in her car. Make some arrangement to be dropped off without a ride home, and I’ll very graciously give up my spot as her passenger.”

“... ? That’s your plan? Do you think I have a death wish? She’ll kill us both if you try to pull a fast one on her.”

“Well, yes, it’s a risk, but that’s also the worst case scenario. You said you wanted assurance, so I’m telling you the very worst possible outcome is that you’ll still be alone with her for a period of time. Otherwise, I’ll be with her during the day, so it’s not like it’ll be impossible to, ahem, accidentally cross paths with you, is it?”

He didn’t appear convinced, which Ivan felt was understandable. Hyuna was hard to predict and trying to set up a scenario that worked in Luka’s favor wasn’t easy.

“If you want my honest opinion, I think Hyuna will be much more receptive to seeing you again if the entire situation seems unplanned. If I arrange something separately, isn’t it more likely for her to get herself worked up—you know, defensive and angry and altogether pissed off? But if you just ‘happen’ to run into her at a local festival, is that really something she can get mad at you or I about? It’s about as close to an unthreatening encounter you could hope to have with her, and I don’t know if there’ll be a good chance like this again in the future.”

“... I understand. I’m thinking about it.”

Very directly, Luka drew a line, and Ivan knew it was time to stop talking. If he pushed too hard, it wasn’t impossible for Luka to throw him out at his point. At the end of the day, this was a way for Ivan to get what he wanted, he was just doing his best to make it so they both could get something out of it.

He felt he had a lot more to lose than Luka, so Ivan was silent, leaving the other with his thoughts.

It took several minutes for Luka to break the silence. He did so after looking at his phone for sometime.

“Is this it?”

Turning his phone around, Luka passed it towards Ivan. On it, he saw the same informational poster Manager Cho Jin-Kyung sent him on via email. Probably the result of a cursory internet search.

“Yes.”

“Got it. I don’t know my schedule off the top of my head… But I think it should work. Fridays are typically training and rest days, so let’s say I’m considering your proposal. But I want a better idea of the stakes. So, what are you getting out of this?”

“Till is going to perform, so—”

“No, hold on? You’re doing all of this for him?”

As if he heard something ridiculous, Luka took back his phone and laughed.

“I thought, maybe, this was something for your sister. I’ve heard rumors she’s been scouted by a few agencies before. But, wow. I really didn’t think you would go this far for Till. Does he even know you’re doing this?”

Maintaining his same polite smile, Ivan replied, “He doesn’t need to know, and I want to help him. What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong? I’ve only met Till a few times, and even I can tell he’s a steel-straight guy. Isn’t he obsessed with that girl, Mizi? I mean it when I say this is coming from a place of concern, not judgment, but, come on. Why are you wasting your time?”

Wasting his time… Is that what it looked like?

Ivan wasn’t offended. He didn’t mind if others thought that way.

To him, it wasn’t a waste—what would truly be a waste is not to take advantage of this opportunity.

A stage like this is a rare chance for Till, to be seen and heard in front of a much bigger crowd than usual. Even at full capacity, DRAMA was still mid-sized, and that had been the best venue Till had been able to get over the years.

Summer Fest? Don’t be deceived by the boring name. Upwards of thirty-thousand people attend this festival.

Relegated to a small stage for an emerging group, sure, Till’s music may only reach a fraction of that thirty-thousand, but even one-percent was still 300 people. Compared to a hundred heads at DRAMA, could the two really even be compared?

With enough time and exposure, someone was bound to take notice of Till’s ability. He wasn’t like the wealthy one–percenters who bought their way into a place at Anakt—he was the kind of person who could really make his dreams into reality.

If Till had the kind of resources Luka or Sua had, his future would surely be boundless.

Ivan wasn’t in a position to give Till those resource.

He’s only sixteen. He can’t perform miracles. Even if Ivan had all the money in the world, Till wouldn’t accept something he didn’t feel like he earned. Everything that Ivan was willing to give—it didn’t matter if Till didn’t want it.

It didn’t matter then, and it didn’t matter now.

… This way, at least Ivan could give Till something for his birthday. Who knew, after what Ivan did to him, if Till would even be willing to let him celebrate by his side anymore.

Why are you wasting your time?

“Well, I don’t see it that way.”

Ivan wanted to do what he could within his ability, and capitalizing on Luka’s connections—that was still pretty good. Till could build from that. He wouldn’t accept Ivan’s charity, but if someone else promoted UNKNOWN, if someone else brought Till exposure, maybe it would be enough to tip the scales, even just a little.

… In a perfect world, maybe Till would be able sign with a music label early. Before he graduates would be even better. Even one day sooner was a good thing—once Till had money and connections, he would be free to create to his heart’s content, and he would never have to live under the same roof as his father again.

“It sure seems like you’re doing a lot for someone who hasn’t expressed the slightest interest in you. He might not even be grateful for your help.”

“That’s fine. After all, I’m not like you.”

With an unbothered expression, Ivan met Luka’s sneer with a great amount of patience.

“I’m not driven by gratitude or other people’s reciprocity. I’m not doing this because I want him to know and feel moved. Maybe hyung should keep that in mind when talking to noona later. For someone in your position, you should be satisfied if she’s even willing to talk to you. The more you expect in return, the more you’re bound to be disappointed.”

“... Maybe so. But I’m not like you, either. I value myself and my effort. If I’m doing something for someone, I don’t necessarily expect their gratitude, but isn’t it just right to give them the chance to express it? You play your cards so close to your chest, I’d be surprised if Till even knew how you felt. How could he ever take a hint if you never give him one?”

Pausing, Luka leaned back a bit in his chair, an amused expression on his face.

“Which is a bit funny, really. It’s so obvious to everyone else. It really only takes being around you for five minutes to have the insufferably differential treatment thrown back into your face. The way you look at him like he’s the whole world, and in the same breath, you can look at other people like they’re worth less than the gum on the bottom of your shoe.”

Recalling the first time Luka met Till, it wasn’t exactly an accident. Luka had been trying to contact Hyuna for months, and, like the lovelorn, slightly pathetic man he was, and ended up sitting his car in the parking lot of her apartment building. Finding out where she lived wasn’t hard; mustering up the courage to act on that knowledge was excruciatingly difficult.

There was no winning, Luka thought while a sarcastic smirk flirted at the corner of his mouth, pursed between smoking a cigarette with the window cracked.

If he never makes an effort to make things right, he knew Hyuna would never seek him out and what remained of the bridge that bound them would crumble into nothing. Yet, if he sought her out of his own initiative, Hyuna would never forgive him.

Was it worse to let their memories fade into rose-tinted sepia—to let go—or to covet her attention at the cost of her rage?

What to do?

While engaged in this internal struggle, a familiar set of faces wandered past Luka’s windshield, making him perform a double-take.

The Unsha siblings?

What were they doing in a place like this?

Additionally, a pretty, pink-haired girl walked side by side with them, appearing as if they were friends. How bizarre.

At the time, Luka did not care what brought them here. No matter how thin a veneer of justification, running into some juniors outside of Hyuna’s apartment felt like a gift from god. He could finally step out of the car as long as he had even the flimsiest excuse to act.

Luka shamelessly inserted himself into the situation, approaching the trio. He made polite conversation with the Unsha siblings, while the other girl, Mizi, turned out to be very simple-minded. Between being starstruck and genuinely sweet, she immediately spilled the entire story, involving some other teenager named Till that happened to live in the same apartment complex.

Not long after they began to chat, Till came out to meet his little friends—not much to look at, Luka noted, an appearance akin to an angry wet cat—and was defensive towards him from the get-go. For a celebrity, Luka found this response to be a little interesting.

But that minor curiosity was dwarfed by his astonishment at Ivan’s reaction.

This child who, in the handful of Luka’s memories cataloging their interactions, maintained a polite and playful attitude, pleasing to elders and just friendly enough to his peers—was capable of such expressions?

So much joy.

So much… sorrow.

Luka remembered it vividly, the way that unnerving pair of black eyes became distant the moment he interacted with anyone else.

With a curl of his upper lip, Luka came out of the memory and met Ivan’s gaze—the very same he remembered from all their interactions.

Measured, posturing, obscured. Neither kind nor rude.

“... Do you know how annoying that is?”

“Oh. Is it annoying? Then I guess I can only say sorry.” Ivan responded, without a trace of apology in his tone.

In fact, he almost sounded pleased.

Snorting, Luka leaned his head back against the couch and muttered to himself. “Well, I am nearly as bad, so I guess I don’t have much room to talk.”

The two fell silent for a moment, until Ivan suddenly began to laugh.

“Hyung, in another world, I think we could have been friends.”

“Maybe we could have been friends even in this one. Unfortunately, I think the best we can do is be considered chaebol-comrades-in-arms.”

“Hyung is joking. My family isn’t at a level to be called something like that.”

“Well, close enough. I’m too tired to think of a better comparison.”

“Of course, hyung is a very busy person. So smart, and talented, and beloved by his fans—”

“Ugh, stop, stop. I’ll do it. I’ll pull some heat that day by showing my face. But just like you can’t promise Hyuna’s reaction to meeting me, I can’t guarantee how effective my influence will be. I have a feeling my fans might not necessarily be interested.”

“No, that’s already enough. So we have a deal?”

Holding his head with a hand, Luka wondered if his manager would scold him later.

… What was he afraid of? If he could withstand Hyuna’s ire, his manager’s chastizing was about as threatening as a squeaking mouse.

“I guess so. Should I make an announcement on my socials?”

“You can if you want, but I could also share what I had in mind. Of course, hyung should do whatever he thinks is best.”

“Well, I’m listening.”

“I recall that you have an account with KakaoTV.”

Luka’s pale complexion went through an unusual change from white to green and back to white.

“You want me to livestream? I’m an idol, not an internet personality.”

“I know, but idols do live streams sometimes too. And you wouldn’t have to do it for the whole day, of course. Earlier is better, it’ll give viewers the chance to flock to the location since it’s right in the city center. Who would want to pass up the opportunity to see their beloved idol walking around on their day off?”

“It’s such a pain to carry around the tripod…”

Not seeming to hear him, Ivan counted off on his fingers.

“If you want bonus points, then doing it during the show is good too? So people can stream it right from their idol’s live room. That would be even better.”

“... You’re not listening at all.”

“A mukbang in the middle could be fun, trying to make it a full-blown festival experience. Ah, but you can’t eat random things, so I guess that’s out.”

“A mukbang wouldn’t even be helpful for Till’s exposure, right?”

“Well, maybe.” Ivan tapped his temple. “It all depends on how you play it. If you grabbed an ice cream and said, ‘ah, this is my hoobae’s favorite kind, let me try it to support him!’ that could be worthwhile. I’m sure the ice cream vendor wouldn’t complain.”

“If your career as Till’s stalker doesn’t pan out, I can only say there are many idols who could benefit from your twisted, market-driven mind.”

“Oh, I’m flattered.”

Luka gave him a complicated sideways glance.

“... Have you ever considered, perhaps, being normal?"

Chapter 8: Birthday (II)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Thirteen days was not a long time to prepare, in the grand scheme of things.

Till was stretched especially thin these days. Studying, exam prep, and practicing every single day.

Sleeping less than usual. He can’t catch up on it in class anymore. Locked his keys in the practice room three times already. Of course, the only one who was issued a spare was nowhere to be seen—Till couldn’t spot a single hair of his dumb head.

… Sigh. He was singing again.

Crazy how Till had only passed over the mic for two shows, and he already felt reluctant to take it back.

Really, Till did love to sing.

It was the first thing he was able to call his own, before he ever held a guitar or even realized his feelings towards Mizi. The orphanage gave them choral lessons, probably because actual instruments were too expensive, and he was complimented by a teacher for his voice.

His voice.

It belonged to him.

What a novel thing. When the bed wasn’t his, the toys weren’t his, the moms and dads weren’t his—Till had his voice when he had nothing else.

Maybe he was ungrateful. To have come this far relying on it, and now he felt like it was more of a burden than it ever had before.

“Till, we’re leaving.”

Isaac and Dewey waved from the doorway. Acorn already snuck off, vanishing like a thief in the night as soon as practice ended.

“We’re meeting there early to get set-up? Manager noona said our stage is in the afternoon slot, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there at 9 to scope out the place, but we won’t be able to start setting up until at least 11:30. As long as you’re there by then, it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Cool, alright. See you then.”

Till heard the door close as he dropped his gaze back to the strings of his guitar. He plucked it somewhat randomly, playing the same few melodies that were ingrained into the callouses of his fingers like muscle memory.

This festival, falling on Friday, meant he had to get an excused absence from school. But what could he do? Till really needed to give it his all tomorrow.

Exams start next Monday.

Would Ivan be back for that? Or did his dad fully withdraw him from school?

Sua said even she didn’t know. Till wanted to follow-up with her—why doesn’t she just ask her dad—but it was hard to insert himself into the affairs of someone else’s family like that.

On the day of the event, Till arrived on time, touring the area on his own to become familiar with the set-up and arrangements of other performers. Their stage and time were third-rate, but he wasn’t about to complain. How many people were lucky enough to have a chance like this before they even graduate high school?

Some of the stifling frustration that had been stuck to him all week felt lighter in the early summer sun. Later, during their set, it would be hellishly hot, and it was supposed to rain shortly after their stage ended. Maybe, if they were lucky, by then the clouds would block out the sun, but the storms would hold off until it was all over. Till really, really did not want to get his equipment wet.

Tents were set up behind each stage, and in rows to form a walking path where vendors set up wares to sell. Till paused when he saw a crowd gathering, wondering if there was some special event or a giveaway or something—without fail, people flocked to free shit—but when he tuned in to a bunch of girls shouting oppa, he immediately lost interest.

Maybe one of the headliners was out walking around before their set, same as him.

Lost in a strange daydream, Till wondered if he would be in that position someday, recognizable at a glance with strangers fawning over him. It sounded awful. Why couldn’t he make music and be famous and never, ever have to show his face?

Stopping at a booth selling clothes, Till glanced at the provided mirror positioned at the corner of the tent.

Sua had warned him that if he kept scowling like he always did, his face would wrinkle prematurely. But his scowl was, like, his most useful deterrent. No matter how famous, no screaming fans would dare to approach him like this, right?

So what does Ivan even like about it?

Such a weird thing to think about, Till’s scowl became even more pronounced. The salesperson didn’t dare to approach and offer to help him find his size, which, if nothing else, proved the effectiveness of Till’s method.

As he was killing time, the park began to liven up gradually. Unfortunately, Till didn’t find any familiar faces in the crowd.

Sua and Mizi were able to get excused absences for half a day and would come just before the show started. Ivan was still MIA. Dewey, Isaac, and Acorn were showing up on their own and would arrive in about an hour.

Since he would never in a million years willingly insert himself into that crowd of fangirls, Till missed the only face he might have recognized (if he even remembered), smiling softly at the end of a selfie stick and interacting with his fans.

“Luka oppa, are you performing? Are you a surprise guest?”

“Can you sign my t-shirt? Please?”

“Please, back up, don’t crowd oppa. He can’t even walk.”

“Don’t shove…!”

Luka intervened before one of the young fans could fall down, his arm gently supporting the middle of her back.

“Careful now.”

“T, Thank you, I’m so sorry, oppa.”

With a gentlemanly, warm smile, Luka shook his head and put a polite distance between them again.

“It’s my fault for causing a disturbance. I wasn’t expecting to run into so many STARS* today. I was hoping to keep a bit of a low profile.”

Luka lied with a straight face while guiding his livestream audience seamlessly.

“I’m just here to support some juniors from my old high school. If you want to help, please spread the word to check out UNKNOWN this afternoon, they’ll be playing the second session on Stage 6! I’ll warn you though, it’s more hardcore than my music… But I still want to make sure my hoobae know that I’m cheering them on.”

Under Luka’s coaxing, the immediate crowd agreed to take one group picture to give him some space and gave UNKNOWN a rousing, “Fighting!”

Behind his kind eyes as he interacted with his fans, Luka was curating a mental list, organizing all the ways he’ll ruin Ivan’s life if he doesn’t keep up his end of the deal today.

Don’t fuck this up for me…

Please.

He really wants to see her…

About an hour before UNKNOWN was set to take the stage, Till was getting busy. He wolfed down some cheap food and hurriedly began to abide by his compulsory equipment check. Isaac and Dewey arrived and started to help out, relaying that they saw Acorn on their way in but he was trying to get someone’s autograph.

“Tsk, whatever. As long as he’s not late.”

Dewey helped Till shift an amp forward and asked, “We have a tent behind the stage, right? I want to set my stuff down.”

“Yeah, you’ll see it, the Basement’s manager is around and she put up a sign for us. Make sure you thank her if you see her, by the way.”

“Hey, we don’t need you to tell us, kid!”

Isaac, in well-meaning gesture, ruffled Till’s hair and pulled Dewey away before their disagreeable little leader would bite or curse them out.

“Fuckers, it’s already so hot, my hair is so sweaty…”

Sighing, Till pushed his hair back from his forehead and got back to organizing the stage.

Twenty minutes later, Acorn showed up and apologized. He offered to give Till a break, saying he could finish putting together the drum kit.

“That works.” Till dusted off his hands and walked towards back stage. “I’ll check it one more time before we start.”

With only a short nod of agreement, Acorn was always a person of few words.

“Good.”

Till swiped his forehead with the back of his hand, annoyed that he was already sweating so much. He came around the corner by the stairs, he spotted Cho Jin-Kyung with a PA headset on. Till wanted to express his gratitude to her, but he didn’t want to interrupt when she was in the middle of a… conversation…

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Till all but bared his teeth, each word springing from a fountain of familiar rage that had run dry for too long.

Ivan?

Ivan was standing right there.

Till barely had time to catch the startled, but oddly relieved, expression on the bastard’s face before he was right in front of him.

Grabbing Ivan’s collar, Till pulled him away mid-conversation, not even giving the manager a second glance.

“Ah, hold on, this shirt—”

“Shut up, who cares about your ugly ass shirt?”

(There was nothing wrong with the Ivan’s shirt. It was just plain black.)

(… Anyway, Till was too mad to care about the accuracy of his insults at the moment.)

He half-dragged Ivan towards the tent for escaping the heat, equipped with no fewer than six electrical fans whirring simultaneously, billowing the fabric walls by the edges. Split beams of sunlight struggled through the occasional gap, casting unnatural shadows that moved like ghosts with the artificial wind.

Dewey and Isaac were still here, and when they saw Till walk in, they were about to greet him—

“Ivan?!”

“Dude, where have you been—!”

Till kicked the back of Dewey’s chair with an impatient expression.

“Get lost.”

“Hey, man, what gives…!”

“Shh, go, go.”

Isaac gave Dewey a comforting pat on the head before quietly, and urgently, directing him out of the tent.

Till didn’t turn around to check if they left before he continued to yank Ivan forward. When they were in the very center of the tent, Till shoved him against the wide supporting beam that held the tent together.

Perhaps he was overreacting, but at that moment, Till was feeling too many things.

The subconscious, familiar feeling of comfort—he didn’t want to think about right now.

“Um, happy birthday?”

Everything else was fire and fury, everything else was burning.

It only felt fitting to put his hands on Ivan’s throat.

Who knows, maybe this guy would try to kiss him again if Till didn’t force him to stay-fucking-put.

“Not running away this time?”

The way Ivan could still smile right now made Till’s blood boil. And he had been worried about this guy?

What a freakin’ waste of energy. He’s the exact same as usual, hell-bent on pissing him off.

“Oh, is this your way of saying you missed me?”

Till grit his teeth and exerted more pressure on Ivan’s throat.

“Missed you? Fuck, do you have any idea how pissed off I am and you’re joking around right now?!”

Putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender, Ivan’s eyes curved up with a glimmer of obvious sadistic joy.

“Hm, can you let go first? We can’t talk if I asphyxiate right?”

Till sneered, glaring at Ivan, his snarl an unspoken promise of more violence if this guy tried anything stupid.

“How can you come here after disappearing off the face of the Earth like that? Sua told me some of what happened, with your dad, mine… There’s so much shit I’m mad about, I don’t even know where to start.”

Pacing in the middle of the tent, Till cast Ivan an accusatory glance now that he could finally express his grievances.

With a softness that, once, would have made Till’s skin crawl, Ivan advised, “You can be mad at me as much as you want later, okay? Just try to relax, you’ll give yourself a headache at this rate before you go on stage.”

Pause.

Foot hovering in mid-air, Till’s head twisted like a puppet to stare at him.

He wasn’t messing around, no trace of teasing—well, maybe just a little—but the concern Till saw was… so disgustingly sincere.

“Shit—”

A somewhat panicked voice in his head decided to remind him at this moment.

Ivan is in love with you.

Till spun around, turning in any direction that wasn’t facing Ivan. He hastily stepped in front of one of the straining, battery-powered fans, trying to get ahold of himself.

Why, why was his face so hot? He’s not gay. He’s not.

Just… he couldn’t get used to this feeling, of knowing he was the subject of someone’s… Attention? Affection?

What does he even like about me? I just don’t get it.

Clearing his throat, Till crossed his arms and berated over his shoulder. “You—you have some fucking nerve, Ivan. Do you think you can just decide to appear here and suddenly you’ll be able to sing? You haven’t practiced with us in weeks… This isn’t like that time at DRAMA, I can sing perfectly fine.”

“That’s good, then. I’m relieved.”

“So even if you beg—huh?”

Till’s flustered state-of-mind was momentarily forgotten, reluctantly turning himself so he could see Ivan’s expression.

Approaching the edge of the tent, Ivan lifted part of the fabric wall to gaze out at the milling crowds. Till’s legs moved before his mind did, causing him to lurch forward. He was prepared to grab Ivan before he could walk away again, but after observing for a moment, it appeared that Ivan wasn’t about to leave.

Rather, it seemed like he was searching for someone… Who was he looking for?

“I don’t want to pressure you, but it’s probably best that you do some mental preparations—do you remember Luka?”

“Luka… that guy who fucked up Hyuna’s leg?”

“Mm. Yeah, that guy.”

Till curled his hand into a fist. Depending on what Ivan said next, he was contemplating throwing it at the side of Ivan’s head.

“He’s a popular idol, you probably remember. He’s doing a livestream today with his fans, and he’s coming to watch the whole set. So when you’re making banter with the crowd later, I’d advise against comparing K-Pop fans to a flock of brainless, screeching birds.”

“Okay, first of all, I only said that one time, and it was because those girls were being really fucking loud!”

Till retorted, only to catch the smug little smirk on Ivan’s face—he’d been goaded intentionally. Fuck, he should have just choked Ivan out and been done with it.

“So, Luka is… what, promoting us? Why?”

“Because I asked him to?”

“Okay, but why?”

“Well, you’ve never gotten to perform live on your birthday before, right? I thought, this could make it a little more memorable. I’ll admit, not being able to contact you or the other members, I was a bit worried about everything working out today. I’m relieved that it seems to be alright.”

Hearing this matter-of-fact explanation, Till felt a little lost for a moment.

“... Ivan.”

Blinking repeatedly, Ivan turned away from the outside and let the linen fall, a thin line of light falling across his face.

“Hm?”

“Don’t tell me you actually came here and weren’t planning on coming on stage with us?”

Some of the latent anger flowed out of him, leaving Till feeling like a balloon forgotten after a party that you discover three days later—it’s still got air inside, but there’s hardly any of that original, fit-to-bursting liveliness left.

“I… wasn’t really going to make you beg. I, man, fuck, I was just… I thought you wanted this. Hah. Hahaha.”

Till found the nearest chair and slumped down into it, head in his hands.

“Have you been lying to me all this time? Like you lied about playing the piano since you were a little kid? Have you ever been fucking honest with me once?”

Lifting his gaze, Till kept the bottom half of his face covered with one hand, a secondary spark of emotion lighting the fire in his veins.

Except this time—it wasn’t just anger.

It was painful. It burned.

It really… hurts.

“Did you join the band just because you were afraid of disappointing me? Didn’t you think about the fucking consequences? What are you even doing here? Shit, you should have just stayed away from me.”

“... Some of that isn’t true.”

Till found Ivan had moved in front of him, and he knelt down on the grass so they were closer to eye level. The sudden proximity made Till anxious, fearing Ivan might do something crazy again.

“I didn’t join UNKNOWN under the pretense of not wanting to disappoint you. I wanted to do what I could to make sure you could always follow your dreams.”

A hand extended between them, but Ivan ended up pulling it back and put it on his own bent knee instead. Till barely noticed, hyperfocused on his face, looking for any traces of dishonesty.

“In fact, today is the same. You said it yourself, remember? This band won’t last forever, and you’ll end up starting a new one someday. And when that day comes, you’ll go back to being the singer and the lead guitar, just like you wanted. This is just a chance that came a little sooner, but hasn’t being under that spotlight always been your dream?”

With a faint trace of a smile, Ivan said, “That’s why this stage belongs to you.”

Seated less than an arm’s width apart, Till’s face partially covered by his hands, Ivan didn’t move away and didn’t avoid his gaze.

It seems he wasn’t lying.

Till grit his teeth.

“Get up.”

Ivan did as he said, slowly standing, and Till rose from his seat at the same time.

Then, he punched Ivan in the stomach.

… Not too hard, he wasn’t trying to actually beat him up. But he needed to do something to show Ivan exactly how he felt about this situation.

Just enough to leave him winded.

“Ah… that hurts.”

Serves him right.

“You know, you are a real fucking piece of work. Did your brain stop getting enough oxygen because you’re so high up off the ground, perched on your moral high ground?”

He pushed Ivan between the words, shoved his face backwards in disgust.

“ You’re just unilaterally doing whatever you want, making decisions like you understand me—like you’re doing it for me—But you don’t know me nearly as well as you think you do.”

Ivan raised his eyes, a darkness in them Till thought suited him so much better than the soft-hearted crap he had seen a minute ago.

“Are you mad? Huh? Good. You should be. I’ve had enough of you doing whatever shit you want and then leaving me behind to deal with it. I’m not some, what, puppet, doing this or that because you set up things in a certain way. I hate that, Ivan. I really hate that.”

With Ivan still doubled over from the blow to his midsection, Till raised his foot and planted it on Ivan’s shoulder.

He pushed him back, enjoying the sight of this bastard being startled, falling ass first into the grass.

“And what about actually singing? Did you force yourself to sing? Do you even like to sing, or is that just another thing you did because you thought it would be good for me?”

“... Stop it.”

“I won’t.”

For the second time, Till grabbed him by the collar, partially pulling Ivan off the ground so he had to look up at him. Ivan’s hand overlapped with his, fingers prying, clearly trying to get Till to let go.

More. Get even angrier.

“You were saying you did this to help me reach my dream? Do you hear yourself? I realized something in the past few weeks, you know-it-all son of a bitch, and it’s that some dreams are better off not coming true. They’re made up. Dreams are things losers like me tell ourselves to keep going when we hit rock fucking bottom, but I’m not the same person anymore. I’m not someone whose going to always cling to a fantasy. The things I want are real, not things that exist in dreams.”

Till’s free arm reared back, hand clenched so hard his knuckles turned white, and smashed his fist into—

the palm of Ivan’s hand.

Tsk, he caught Till’s punch before it could land.

He was exerting enough pressure that Till hissed between his teeth, but he didn’t loosen his grip on Ivan’s collar. In a moment of stalemate, a storm brewed in the silence, sparks that could erupt into lightning.

“You… You kissed me without warning or any explanation afterward, and then disappeared for weeks. Instead of trying to—support me, or some shit—why can’t you just take responsibility for it?”

“...”

Though they hadn't exerted much physical effort, Till’s breathing was labored and his heart thundering with such weight, he could feel it in the tips of his fingers.

… Could Ivan feel it?

Then, all at once, the world seemed to tilt. The planar axis was reversed. Till coughed, and his ankle felt a sharp stabbing sensation, his back suddenly flat against the grass.

Their positions changed. Ivan had his hands on Till’s throat. Till had never seen Ivan like this before. At least, Ivan had never directed an expression like that at him.

It actually looked like he wanted to kill him.

Good. This is how it should be.

The pressure Ivan exerted wasn’t much, just enough to keep Till restrained. He didn’t even have the impulse to try to peel off Ivan’s hands. Despite how scary this guy looked right now, a very small, but instinctually certain, part of Till knew that Ivan wouldn’t really hurt him.

Clearly upset.

“Till, why are you so…”

Still, almost begrudgingly, he maintained his smile.

“Do you hate me that much?”

Till sneered, tilting his chin away from Ivan’s hands at the base of his throat so he could speak.

“... You idiot. All those stupid dreams you’re talking about coming true—would they have been possible if you weren’t doing things to make them happen? I hate that I’ve relied on you for so long and had no idea. I really hate that. Stop trying to feed me a fantasy, Ivan. I’d rather live in the real world.”

At that moment, Till felt an extreme sense of satisfaction as Ivan appeared to be filled with disbelief. His eyes were just the slightest amount unfocused, and there was no goddamn grin on his face for a change.

“Maybe all of that, it was what I used to want, but when you involved yourself, it wasn’t just my dream anymore. Think about it: what’s even the point of a achieving dream like that, if you’re not standing next to me when it comes true? It became something we made, ugh… together. Whether I like it or not.”

…

“Now, let go of me.”

As if by reflex, Ivan’s hand snapped back towards him, and he fell away from Till into the grass. Sitting up, Till saw dirt and grass stuck to his exposed skin, and Ivan looked about the same.

“Till-ssi, it’s almost time for you to…” Cho Jin-Kyung lifted the cut of fabric that represented the ‘door’ to the tent. “Oh, isn’t this Ivan-ssi? I didn’t think you were coming. Then…”

Pausing, the woman seemed to realize the atmosphere was not right. Clearing her throat, she made an expedient exit.

“Sorry, you two talk. I’ll, uh, come back in a few minutes.”

With a sigh, Till’s head dropped between his bent knees.

After so many days of pent up emotions, it felt good to get it all out. That may have been a lot of words for him, but whose fault was it that he’d been stuck with these thoughts for so long? It was totally normal to blow up like that.

Pretending to be deep in thought, Till pursed his lips. He didn’t want to be the one to break the silence. It was already a cringey that he said that emotional shit all at once.

Let Ivan, this typically chatty bastard, say something.

“... Till.”

Without raising his head, Till could tell that Ivan was looking at him again, could feel the presence of that gaze.

Although a bit reluctant, Till lifted his eyes and looked back.

Both of them had slightly ruffled, flushed expressions on their faces after fighting.

“I think I should apologize, but I don’t know if I can. Instead, maybe it’s better to thank you.”

“Uh? Thank me? I almost beat the shit out of you just now.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“... Are you some kind of masochist?”

Ivan laughed out loud, and with a soft, drained thud, he dropped back fully into the grass, sprawled out like a little kid.

“Hm, who knows? Maybe. I’m still thankful, either way.”

“For what, exactly?”

“... Hmm. For letting me experience something that hurts so badly, while knowing at the same time how good it can feel. For this wretched, lovely feeling.”

Slowly brushing off the excess grass that stuck to him, Till propped himself up and climbed to his feet. He approached the spot where Ivan was laying. His eyes were closed with an expression of serenity like he was engaged in some questionable, new-age style of meditation.

It would have been more convincing if his brow wasn’t slightly drawn, revealing what seemed like a faint trace of pain.

One of Ivan’s hands twitched, and he raised his arm before resting his palm against the center of his chest.

Till, with a belated jolt of realization, recognized that he wasn’t just randomly setting his arm down.

Ivan was actually… gripping his heart through his shirt.

Is his chest actually aching right now?

… Because of me?

“Are you sure you’re not just speaking nonsense again? I can’t imagine feeling grateful for something if it made me feel horrible.”

“Well, I can’t help it.” An unbidden smirk pulled at the corner of Ivan’s mouth, and he opened his eyes to look at Till. “I don’t feel regretful, so that really only leaves me to be thankful. And I am thankful—for you.”

“...”

Isn’t he embarrassed that I’m seeing him act like this?

Till couldn’t even fully grasp what Ivan was trying to say, but the way he sounded—he said it came from a place of gratitude, so why the hell did he sound so…

Lonely?

“... Hey, bastard.”

“Hm.”

“About the band—and your, uh, house arrest—and school—how are you able to be here right now?”

Lowering his tone with a hint of danger, Till’s gaze grew significantly sharper.

“Did you sneak out again?”

“Ah, that… No, not exactly. It’s a long story.”

“Tell me the short version, then.”

“Let’s see…” Rubbing his eyes as if tired, Ivan nodded as he finally sat up from the grass. “My father still wants me to finish my degree somewhere other than Anakt, but I’m trying to see if I can change his mind. It’s hard to say if I’ll be successful, but for now, I’m attempting to show him that even if I stop attending a music academy, I will not be forced to stop playing music.”

“So you’re really transferring?”

“Mm, it’s too early to tell. He’s gradually eased some of my restrictions. In exchange, I have to report where I am at any given time, and I also have to do some… well, you could say it’s occupational training.”

“Occupational training?”

“It’s not that interesting—”

“Just get to the point and tell me already.”

“... Additional courses in accounting, management, organization psychology, that sort of thing. I’ll also begin hands-on lessons with my old man directly, looking at budget analysis, forecasted spending, legal review of contractual agreements—”

“Okay, damn, I get it. So basically, you have to do a bunch of boring shit that’ll groom you into being a good successor?”

Ivan shrugged but did not deny it.

Considering all of that, Till was exasperated. Was he trying to work Ivan to death so he didn’t have any energy to do other things—like play in a band? It sounded like it. He had more work during summer vacation than most students did during the height of the school year.

Till felt a pang of pity for him. It seemed even being rich couldn’t guarantee a comfortable life.

“Well, uh that sounds like a lot. Won’t you be too tired?”

Tilting his head slightly, Ivan’s mouth spread into a smile, eyes curving up so much Till could hardly see the pupils hidden behind his lashes.

“Could it be that you’re worried about me?”

“... I should have choked you when I had the chance.”

“I won’t resist if you want to continue—ahh, okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

Till used the tip of his shoe to scuff up grass, getting in Ivan’s face and on his clothes.

“Oh, so now you know to be sorry.”

Rolling his eyes, Till glanced at the edge of the tent, wondering how much longer before their set started. He needed to hurry up and get back to the stage to finish checking the set-up.

“... Hey, do you remember what you said to me in the practice room, when I asked if you wanted to join UNKNOWN? No, if you would sing for me?”

“Hm?”

Ivan took a moment, evidently searching his memory, before he replied.

“Yes, I said I would sing for you for as long as you would have me.”

“Well then, get up.”

Till gave him a half-hearted kick.

“I’m not done with you just yet.”

The other band members seemed only mildly surprised when Till dragged Ivan onto the back of the stage, shoving a mic into his hands and positioning him in front of the feedback monitor.

“Check it.”

“Till…”

“I said, check it.”

The ‘or else’ remained unspoken, but Ivan complied after revealing a look of defeat.

Observing this interaction, Isaac gave a subtle cough before he stepped forward—still out of range of Till’s fist—and asked the question they all wanted to know.

“So, then, we’ll do it just like last time… ?”

Till raised a brow at him that seemed say, ‘which time, practice, or the show?

“Just like at the Basement?” Isaac guessed, pinning his hopes on Ivan’s arrival.

“Yes.”

“Good! Good, good. That’s… good. ”

“Is that the extent of your vocabulary?”

With a look of contempt, Till finally turned his attention away when it seemed like Ivan wasn’t going to half-ass his set-up.

“Go away, drink some water or something. We’re on in five minutes, and we’ll play through the setlist even if you pass out from dehydration.”

Nodding, Isaac backed away until he was out of earshot and whispered to Dewey.

“Did you hear that? You were right, his mood is much better when Ivan is here.”

“Told you, dude. He didn’t even swear at you!”

Till went onto the stage and bustled around, adjusting everything just-so. No one minded, knowing it was Till’s habit when it came to performances. Who would blame him for caring too much?

At the same time, Ivan felt a huge sense of relief with daggers no longer being stared at his back. Preparing the feedback for vocals was relatively easy, and it took a lot less effort compared to the guys with instruments.

This atmosphere… it was different again.

At DRAMA, they’d been infected with a sense of urgency that came with making the best out of a bad situation. The show at the Basement was the result of steady, culminated effort, amounting to a collective sense of confidence and even excitement from the others.

This was, at least for the rest of the group, somewhere in between.

Ivan, by comparison, was under an extraordinary amount of pressure.

Unlike when Till had been sick and turned to him as a last resort, this time, Till made the choice to put his trust in Ivan simply because… he wanted to.

If his stomach didn’t have a bruise from where Till punched him, he might have even suspected to be trapped in some kind of illusion.

Choosing to put Ivan on this stage would reduce the quality of the performance.

That was an objective fact.

Not a manifestation of some deep-seated, inward dissatisfaction, and regardless of Ivan’s ability, the show was going to be affected. The truth was, having not practiced with UNKNOWN for several weeks, there was a certain amount of final polish that be would sacrificed if it meant letting Ivan sing.

… Ivan still couldn’t quite understand.

He sort of did, but he also didn’t.

Till said he wanted to live in reality.

Did reality imply compromise? Wasn’t reality ugly, unkind, preferential, even inhumane?

It was difficult for Ivan to imagine Till ever voluntarily forgoing the most optimal stage to showcase his music, his talent, his voice. If making this change was at his own expense, then why would Till ever want to share the stage with him?

Back in the tent, Ivan would have asked if they had a little more time, but he can tell when Till’s made up his mind. It would do more harm than good to try to object at this point.

Ivan was somewhat distracted, barely making it through a set of vocal warm-ups before Till had come back.

He started ruthlessly correcting his pitch, only to stop abruptly and give Ivan a doubtful once-over.

“What?”

“I forgot… I should have checked first. Are you going to get in trouble if you perform with us?”

A cheshire smile appeared on Ivan’s face.

“My father might not be happy, but… I’ve got a bit of leverage. If he really overreacts again, I have a plan.”

“Well, if you say so… Then, with the few minutes we have left, I wanted to review the setlist with you. It’s a bit late to make a ton of changes mid-song, but we can probably make it work since you’re a little out of practice. When possible, we should sing together, so I can cover you. There’s a few points that wouldn’t make sense though, so let’s just rule those out…”

Arms crossed, Till tipped his head back, eyes upward in a thoughtful expression as he rattled off his thoughts about the songs one-by-one.

At the same time, Ivan noticed Cho Jin-Kyung motioning over Till’s shoulder that they were ready to go on.

“Till, Manager noona is—”

“Hold on, I’m still thinking. Since there’s not a lot of time, I’ll raise my chin—like this—if we should harmonize on the next section during a song. But just for a broad idea, obviously, the first song, the register is fine so we won’t need to change it.”

“Till—”

“I said, hold on, fuck. The chorus for the second and fourth songs should be fine since they’re in a lower register, but the third song might be tougher… ”

Ah, this…

It was rare for Till to get like this, but Ivan’s seen it a few times. When he was particularly worked up about something, or he was extremely focused on his music, Till sometimes got lost in his own world.

Ivan tried to raise a hand to at least motion for him to check behind him.

“Till, the PA is sign—”

“Let’s do that chorus together, and I can do the opening high note for—”

“Till, I'm in love with you.”

“...”

Ivan had a helpless smile as he took in the look of pure astonishment on Till’s face.

“The opening high note for the fourth song, right? I got it. I haven’t practiced in a few weeks, but it’s not my first time either. I’ll watch for your cue.”

Till opened his mouth, looked around for other people—thankfully, the other three were just far enough a way that they didn’t seem to hear.

“How can—what did—just, you, blurt out whatever you’re thinking?!”

Till’s entire face, neck, and even ears turned scarlet. He seemed both overwhelmed and visibly furious.

“Don’t be mad, I had to do something. You wouldn’t stop talking, and I think you’d kill me if I did anything to…”

Pointedly, Ivan’s eyes shifted to Till’s mouth.

“Physically interrupt you. Right?”

“You—you!”

Till turned around and grabbed his guitar, grumbling to himself as he pulled the strap over his head.

“I seriously can’t understand you. How can you—don’t you… how can you never feel embarrassed?”

“Embarrassed?”

Tapping his chin, Ivan straightened his clothes and felt somewhat regretful for his stretched out collar. “Because of what I just said? Why would I be embarrassed? There’s nothing about you that could ever make me feel ashamed, and it worked, didn’t it?”

Till paused in his movements with his back still facing Ivan. After a moment, his actions sped up at double-time, and he marched out on stage without even bothering to look back at him or check on the other band members.

Oh, he’s shy.

Even if the way Ivan felt was one-sided, he was quite happy to discover a new way to get under Till’s skin.

“What’s wrong with him? Are we going now?”

Isaac gave a dubious glance at the far end of the stage, where Till was visibly pissed off as he plugged in his guitar and angrily moved his pedals, seemingly unconcerned with the sizable crowd directly in front of him.

“... Pfft, it’s nothing, let’s go.”

From what felt like a safe-enough distance, Luka slumped tiredly against a tree in the shade. Damn, these sorts of events were tiring. He was used to being recognized and didn’t mind the attention, but continuously, while livestreaming, in this godforsaken heat—

He has limits, okay? He’s not a machine.

Alternating between wearing his hat and mask and sweating to the point of dizziness, Luka was in dire need of a break, some air, and no fans.

Thankfully, Till’s group would be on anytime now. He’d secured this somewhat-secluded vantage point with an okay view, not so far the music wouldn’t be picked up by the mic, but at least he’d be exempt from the shoving and swaying of the audience.

Luka could try to briefly relax with his phone set to the outward-facing camera on the ground, checking the screen to verify it captured the stage and a decent part of the crowd to push the image of their popularity.

… She would definitely be somewhere in the crowd to watch the performance, right? Then, Luka might be able to catch sight of her from up here.

With a cheap, battery-powered fan that one of the booths gave him for free brandished in one hand, he blindly reached around his bag for the ice cream he’d been very pleased to buy from a little girl and her mother. It wasn’t anything special, clearly homemade, with disposable paper cups and… crap, he forgot to get a spoon.

Well, whatever.

Ice cream was Luka’s favorite snack and one of many foods he was absolutely forbidden to eat by his manager, his father, his doctors, the aunties that cooked for him—basically, everyone. His health condition largely barred him from processed foods, refined sugars, dairy, wheat, while avoiding alcohol, coffee, anything that was too hot, and anything that was too cold.

Needless to say, such a hollow life was absolutely miserable. So much of the best food contained some, or sometimes all, of the very things he wasn’t supposed to enjoy.

Then again, he wasn’t supposed to smoke, either, but who let the life of being an idol be so stressful? Maintaining a balance and dedicating such extensive time and effort into taking care of himself was more of a burden than a blessing, but it did lead Luka to valuing his life more. After all, when it felt like it might slip away at any moment, he could only cherish it.

… Which is exactly why he was going to eat this ice cream, consequences be damned, and not tell anyone about it.

What was better than something sugary, milky, and frozen in the summer? Only something that was lovingly handmade by a cute little girl and her mother, who gave him a toothy smile and told him to enjoy.

Finally retrieving the little cup before it melted completely, Luka, unwilling to deprive himself of his fan, used his teeth to pry off the lid while holding the base in one hand.

“Pfft, now there’s a sight you don’t see everyday.”

Da-tink, brr, brr, brr, bzzzzzzzzz.

Luka dropped the fan he’d been holding, not from being take by surprise, but because that voice belonged to the last person he expected to approach him.

“... Hyuna?”

Without acknowledging Luka whatsoever, Hyuna sneered and walked up to him.

“I’m confiscating this.”

“But that’s mine…”

Hyuna sniffed the small cup with a doubtful look on her face.

“And?”

Self-awareness was critical to someone who was under as much scrutiny as someone like Luka, so while he felt pain for his stolen ice cream, he kept a clear head and retrieved his phone. Once it was in hand, he directly cut the livestream and put it to the side.

Sorry, Ivan. Now we’re even.

“And… If I don’t eat it now, I’ll probably have to wait at least another year.”

“Isn’t that your problem for being such a delicate little butterfly boy? Are you going to admit yourself to the hospital afterwards if you go into cardiac arrest?”

With his eyes peeking up through his pale lashes, Luka cut a pitiful figure as he watched Hyuna look around the ground nearby.

“No spoon?”

“I forgot to grab one.”

“Useless.”

Then, she mercilessly stuck her tongue directly into the cup with zero regard for her appearance or Luka’s disappointed face.

Even if one cup of ice cream was nothing compared to being able to have a conversation with Hyuna, he was still disappointed. It looked like it was strawberry-flavored, too.

Putting his doubt into words, Luka directly admitted, “I didn’t think you would be willing to talk to me.”

“Well, I guess it’s my fault for having a conscience. How can there not be any of your nannies or guard dogs around to stop you from doing things to destroy yourself?”

“I came here on my own to help Ivan with something.”

“Oh. Ivan?”

Blinking, Hyuna pulled the ice cream cup away, licking her lips.

“I didn’t expect that.”

It really wasn’t done with the slightest trace of seduction, none of the low-grade flirting Luka endured at industry events. Hyuna was clearly just enjoying the flavor with no ulterior motives.

Honestly, it was her earnestness that made her so much more attractive than any cheap attempt to be sexy. Luka stared at her for a short period of time before remembering it was his turn to speak.

“Well, I’ve known the Unsha family for a long time, that shouldn’t be so surprising.”

Luka pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them, trying to subtly make room beside him. Not that he wasn’t on the top of a small hill completely by himself, but still, maybe Hyuna would take pity on him and keep him company?

“No, not that. What’s really surprising is that you’re helping someone, voluntarily.”

Masking the urge to smile, Luka laid his head on top of his knees.

“I’m not some delinquent bully.”

Maybe Hyuna was in a good mood today, because she actually let out a laugh that wasn’t derisive.

“Pfft, haha, no. I guess you’re not. You’re little Mr. Perfect these days. Just like back then.”

With a sporty, summer, rather bare-skinned look, Hyuna’s prosthetic seemed to gleam in the sunlight. A little blinding. Luka wanted to touch it but was afraid she might hit him, so he changed the subject.

“Are you here for Till’s band, too?”

Eyeing the bottom of the cup, Hyuna sighed and—oh my god, she actually sat down.

“More or less. Dewey and Isaac are in it, but I really didn’t expect Ivan to be singing today.”

“... Ivan? Singing?”

Hyuna jutted her chin toward the stage, causing Luka to blink obscurely and turn his head. Indeed, he could tell in an instant the person in the center of the stage wasn’t that Till at all.

“Tsk, that little… He didn’t say anything about performing himself.”

Setting the cup in the space between them, Hyuna glanced at him with a dubious expression.

“Then why are you helping him? What did he want your help with?”

“It’s a bit of a long story… Let’s just say it’s for Till’s birthday.”

“Oh, shit. It’s that little brats birthday today, isn’t it? I forgot, duh, the summer solstice, the summer fest. That makes sense. I better go and find a shirt or something so he doesn’t know I forgot.”

Hyuna smacked her self in the forehead, which made Luka’s mouth twitch.

She was so alive, so bright.

If he wasn’t such a coward, he would have asked her about Hyun Woo’s condition. But he didn’t dare. Didn’t want to upset her when she was actually willing to talk to him, and Luka had his own connections, received regular reports from his hospital ward.

He knew as well as anyone that he was still the same—comatose, unresponsive, barely considered a living thing.

… He knew it was his fault, too.

“Right, Till’s birthday… I didn’t know either, Ivan told me.”

“I wonder if he’ll end up taking my advice… Aww, baby’s first gay awakening, I feel like I’m watching my children grow up.”

“...? Baby’s first what?”

“Hmm? None of your business. I’m going now, I just came over here to make sure you didn’t die in front of me.”

Hyuna stood up and brushed off the grass on her body, not bothering to say goodbye or to wave. She directly walked away.

Lowering his eyes, Luka wondered if she would be mad if he followed her… Hmm?

The ice cream cup was still sitting there… Didn’t Hyuna eat it all?

There was a tiny portion left… The cup was already small to begin with.

Luka picked it up and licked the base of the paper, the refreshing chill of the remaining ice cream touching his tongue and leaving behind the sweetest whisper of strawberry and summer.

Indirect kiss…

The previous evening, Till felt like he had a rare stroke of good luck.

The air conditioner in their apartment was god awful, and when night fell, it wasn’t uncommon for the summer nights to be more comfortable than the stuffy air of their apartment. At the same time he walked over to the window to open it, hoping to feel a little less like death so he could actually sleep tonight, he saw a familiar figure standing in the courtyard.

Hyuna was there, smoking a cigarette. It was too far and too dark to tell exactly what she was doing, but the light of her phone pointed up at her face brightened her features, revealing the outline of a cigarette dangling between her teeth.

They hadn’t really talked much since the last show… A few texts here or there, but nothing of substance.

Not that Till believed in fate or dumb shit like that, but the so-called stars that never aligned for him felt like they were outlining a semi-illuminate path forward. The way a movie theater aisle faintly glows, Till had to make the choice to walk down it or stay and watch the film unravel.

Remaining passive was, like, Indie pop, or folk core, or something. Not punk rock at all.

So, with a decisive “fuck that” muttered under his breath, Till snatched his keys and walked outside. A bad habit since he was a kid, if the weather permitted, he tended to go barefoot in the area around his house. Sua and Mizi had both gotten on his case for it before; Ivan would always make some weird remark…

With a quick descent from the third floor, Till entered the back courtyard, waving at Hyuna when she looked up from her phone.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Mr. UNKNOWN himself. What brings you out here?”

“... Wouldn’t be a terrible name for a song.” Till said to himself, observing the burning tip of Hyuna’s cigarette and taking a step so he was downwind from the scent. “I saw you from my window and thought I’d come say hi.”

Nodding, Hyuna took a drag and put her phone in her hoodie pocket. “Nervous for tomorrow?”

“Eh, not particularly? No more than usual.”

“Really? Your eye bags are killer, man.”

As a reflex, Till touched the area under his eyes, a grimace ticking down the corner of his mouth.

“Haven’t been sleeping super well.”

“Oh?” Grinning, Hyuna boasted while raising her chin, “Come now, tell noona all of your troubles, I’ll help you chase them away… Assuming they’re troubles that I can beat with a bat.”

“Thanks, but not likely. End of semester exams, the show and band practice, you know. That kind of stuff.”

Exhaling smoke and her overbearing attitude, she slumped back to her usual posture and clicked her tongue.

“Boring. I thought for sure I was going to get the go-ahead to at least smash in a few windows.”

Till took a seat on an upturned crate nearby, propping his chin with a hand.

“Hah, unless you want to go to the Unsha’s place and get caught by their security cameras or some shit…”

A brow raised on Hyuna’s angular face, burnt orange by the end of her cigarette. She ashed it and threw it in the trash nearby, leaning on a pole opposite to where Till was sitting.

“I’d ask if it was Ivan or Sua who pissed you off, but I guess the answer is obvious. What did he do?”

“Ahh, I don’t even know anymore.” Till ran his hands through his hair. “Why is it suddenly difficult to even be mad at him? It’s a long story… Basically, he got in trouble that day at the Basement, and I think it was kind of my fault. Well, it wasn’t really my fault, but he was sneaking around in the first place because I guess his pretentious, rich, asshole dad doesn’t like me. Or… America. Sua’s explanation was confusing.”

“Well, I was following up until the last part. So Ivan’s been caught by the ol’ rents, huh? Well, doesn’t surprise me. Our parent’s and grandparent’s generation are the fucking worst when it comes to that kind of thing. They worship capitalism in one breath, and then hate the fact that Korea isn’t the same as the good old days the next. Like, what, you expect me to get perfect grades, eat healthy meals, balance a fulfilling social life, maintain etiquette, and then turn around and serve my husband? I’d rather kill myself.”

Till blinked rapidly as he listened to Hyuna’s rant.

“Uhh, yeah, actually… That’s sort of similar to what Sua said. I wasn’t expecting you to know so much about it.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Hyuna let out a low sigh.

“Yeah, sorry, I used to know some people in the same circle as the Unsha’s and they’re all the same kind of trash. I got carried away, let’s talk about your thing. Ivan’s been in trouble? I think Dewey and Isaac mentioned they hadn’t seen him in a while, but I didn’t realize it was so bad.”

“He’s not even going to school anymore.”

After a brief pause, Hyuna gave a dry laugh.

“I wish I could say I was surprised. Rich people would pull that kind of shit. They treat their kids like property, not people. If your car wasn’t working, would you keep driving it, or take it to get a tune up? That’s the way they treat them.”

Till cupped his cheek with a hand, face despondent.

“That’s why I said it’s hard to be mad at him. Ivan didn’t tell me anything and I had to find out through Sua later. We’re in a band together, doesn’t he think I should know? And then he even…!”

When the hand hanging by his side suddenly clenched into a fist, Hyuna’s eyes tracked the change immediately.

“What? What happened?”

Till let out a strangled noise, mad that he got carried away and almost blurted out what happened that day at the show.

Then again… He raised his head, carefully observing Hyuna. A realization dawned on him.

Sua and Mizi—talking about that with them was both embarrassing and complicated, being Ivan’s sister and considering Till’s feelings towards Mizi.

But Hyuna was the perfect person to confide in about this. She’d even told Till on multiple occasions she was interested in women, so she was at least… Sort of gay…? Half-gay? Bisexual? Something like that, right?

“Noona, if I tell you something, can you promise not to make fun of me…?”

“I can promise not to make fun of you relating to what you’re going to tell me. But I’ll probably keep making fun of you in general.”

“That’s fine.”

Till inhaled and sat up a little, but he still found it difficult to meet her eye.

“Also, it’s sort of private, so don’t…”

“Just spit it out already.”

“Ah, that—at the Basement—Ivan, er, he, kissed me.”

If Till was looking, he would see Hyuna’s apparent shock, and slight appreciation, towards this development.

Wow, that kid actually acted on his feelings? I thought I’d turn old and gray before that happened…

Musing to herself, Hyuna cleared her throat and adopted a decently serious vibe.

“I see, well. That really must have surprised you, right?”

“It did, yeah. I didn’t know Ivan was, ahem, gay. Actually, I still don’t know, after we, you were there, right? He just ran out afterward and left the venue, so I never even got to talk to him about it.”

Hyuna’s mouth twitched, and she suddenly wanted another cigarette.

Well, I’m not old, but these brats might give a few gray hairs prematurely.

“Sounds like he was probably pretty freaked out. He texted me like, maybe half an hour after the set ended and just told me he was going home on his own. I didn’t realize there was this kind of story behind it.”

Clenching and unclenching his fists, Till actually felt a huge burden lifted off his shoulders. Hyuna may tend towards being abrasive, but she always looked after Till sincerely. Right now, he was beyond relieved to hear her processing this, gauging her reaction in real-time.

Nonjudgmental, neither teasing nor dismissive. If only he had thought to talk to her sooner.

With a slight sigh of regret, Till retold her most of what happened that night, including his own confession and subsequent rejection.

“Jesus, what a whirlwind. No wonder you haven’t slept well. If you really want, I could probably take a bat to Ivan’s knees. Don’t think I have the heart to do it to Mizi, though. She’s an angel.”

“No, god, what is with you and the baseball bat? Even if I was, or still am, mad at Ivan, I don’t want you to break his legs.”

“It would have been kind of funny… But fine. So, your heart got put into a blender and now you’re trying to figure out what to do, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“What did you think about kissing Ivan?”

“...? What do you mean? I’m not gay, so I didn’t really think about anything? I was just shocked.”

“Kissing a dude doesn’t necessarily make you gay. And being gay doesn’t mean you have to kiss dudes.”

Till hated when people beat around the bush. Groaning, he held his head with hand.

“Noona, please, just tell me what you’re trying to say directly. You know I’m stupid.”

“Hm, at least you know. What I meant was, your reaction to being kissed by him was reasonable. You didn’t see it coming. Naturally, you’d want him to back off. But that’s a reaction you would probably have if anyone tried to forcefully kiss you—well, maybe not Mizi, but that’s more of a case-specific thing. Did you actively hate it when Ivan kissed you? Do you hate the idea of kissing a guy? Do you like the idea of kissing any girl? Or did you only ever think about kissing Mizi, and never thought about anyone else—guy, girl, or anywhere in between.”

“Uh… there were a lot of questions… I guess, for the most part, I’ve never thought about any of that. I…” His ears felt a little hot, but Till was getting more out of this conversation than he had any sex ed class or vicariously through the internet, so he set aside his discomfort and tried to be as honest as possible.

“I don’t think I’ve ever even thought about really kissing Mizi, I mean, I just sort of… wanted her to be mine?”

Tilting her head to one side, Hyuna seemed to be considering something.

“Till, do you watch porn?”

“That—I’m not answering that!”

“Hehe, you’re such a virgin. Don’t worry, it’s not like it matters if the answer is yes or no, I was just curious what really goes on in your head sometimes. You said you wanted Mizi to be yours, but you never even visualized kissing her? She’s way too young for me, but Mizi is objectively good-looking. If I was younger and she wasn’t already head over heels for… cough, someone else… I would have definitely imagined all sorts of things like that. I’m not saying it to be creepy or weird you out, but to make a point—have you ever stopped to think about what you really like about Mizi? Maybe you never even liked her, or at least, maybe not as much as you thought.”

“I guess I don’t know. How are you supposed to tell if you like, or if you love, someone?”

Hyuna cradled her chin with a hand, letting out a contemplative hum.

“That’s not such an easy thing to answer. Sexuality and attraction aren’t the same as liking or loving someone. They can be a factor, and sometimes they’re the fastest and easiest way to tell if someone is at least eligible to be someone you want to be with, but even that’s not always the case. There are some people who fall in love with someone before even thinking about them as an object of attraction; most of the time, we think about it the other way around.”

Till ran a hand down his face, somewhat overwhelmed. The contradictions and complications kept piling up, but he wasn’t ungrateful. Even if this information seemed basic, but he really didn’t know the difference between the things Hyuna was talking about. He didn’t have any experience or people he could learn this kind of stuff from. Even hearing words like sexuality made him a little uncomfortable.

Maybe she sensed his distress, as Hyuna dialed back her tone into something a little kinder—for her, at least.

“Listen, kid. I don’t have all the answers you’re looking for. I can’t tell you if you should forgive Ivan, or if what he did was all that wrong because I’m not him and I’m not you. He definitely shouldn’t have forced it, and he should have tried to talk to you, but I do know Ivan, and he’s certainly capable of making a mistake. Since I don’t know the in’s and out’s, I’m just telling you what I think based off what you’ve shared.”

With a light laugh, Hyuna pulled out her phone and checked the time.

“Don’t stress yourself out over every little thing, alright? You’re still young and have a lot of time to figure things out. I’m how many years older than you, and I certainly don’t have it figured out either. It’s late, so you should try to get some sleep for your big show tomorrow.”

With a only-somewhat-forced smile, Till nodded and stood up, dusting off his shorts.

“Right, thanks, noona. I’ll try not to overthink things… The next time I see Ivan, I’ll have to talk to him about it. I guess I have some time to figure out what to say before then.”

Putting her hands on her hips, Hyuna stood in front of him. Despite the fact that she was shorter than him, Till really felt like she could chew him up and spit him back out.

“If I can offer one last word of advice—at least, something I wish someone would have told me when I was your age?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“There are certain things we can’t understand about ourselves until it’s already behind us, until we’ve experienced it ourselves. Context is important for everything.”

Digging around her pockets, Hyuna pulled out her lighter and clicked the tab to create a tiny flame.

“Think about it, if you’re in the middle of a fire, it’s going to be real fucking hot, and real fucking bright—but if you’re looking at it from halfway across the city, it might seem so small you can’t even figure out if it’s a fire at all.”

The flame was extinguished, only to be brought back again.

“You can guess and speculate and worry all damn day and never get a clear answer until you’re it’s right in front of you. Getting too close, that shit can hurt—you’ll almost definitely get burned trying to figure it out—but at least when it’s over, you’ll be able to walk away with an answer you can feel confident in.”

Watching the wick dance at the end of her fingers, Till blinked at the same moment the light went out.

He realized after the courtyard became quiet that his heart was beating extremely loud. Was it the fire that made him react like that?

Biting his lip, Till nodded and took a step back.

He didn’t know for sure if he understood exactly what Hyuna was trying to tell him, but he felt pretty close to an answer of his own.

If you never try, you never know. Not knowing the way you feel fucking sucks, and knowing the way you feel might also suck, but would he rather not know and be blindly strung along, or would it be better to try to figure it out? Even if he didn’t like the result, at least having one meant he had the experience to say—whether it hurt, whether it burned.

Hyuna ruffled Till’s hair and turned back, wishing him luck as she went.

“Hyuna—” In a flash of impulse, Till reached out to stop her but just called out instead of grabbing her arm.

“What… What would you if you were in my position?”

Without turning around, Hyuna’s movement stopped.

“If I were you, huh…?”

Her head tilted from side to side as she appeared to be considering it. “If I were you, I’d…”

Sweaty.

Till’s sweat was sweating.

He was so fucking sweaty.

“Oh, god.”

Did he mention he was sweaty?

It felt like he’d been fished out of a bathtub, staggering off stage. Usually, he might feel a little self-concious, but he absolutely could not fucking care right now—he took his shirt off and practically jumped off the back stairs, stumbling into the tent to sit in front of a fan for the next five-thousand years.

Their band merch was in the tent—they hadn’t thought about how to arrange a table to sell anything before they had to perform—so Till pulled out a shirt at random and put it on after he plopped down in front of the nearest buzzing, bladed cooling slice of heaven. Somewhere in his periphery, he clocked Isaac and Dewey drinking several bottles of water in a row.

Acorn was just laying on the ground. Maybe he died.

Till was out of breath like he’d run laps around the festival rather than performed at it, and despite everything, he was smiling so hard it hurt.

“That was good. Really good. Fuck.”

A blast of hot air came from the tent flap when it opened, and Till almost hissed—he might have, if it had closed any later.

Seeing Ivan appear looking almost exactly the same, except for a slight flush on his cheeks, Till threw a half-empty bottle of water at him.

“How the fuck do you not get drenched out there?”

“All in the high-quality genetics, I’m afraid.” Ivan said breezily, laughing when Till sneered at him.

“I hate you.”

He didn’t crowd Till’s private little fan—which was a good thing or else he was likely to attack him—but sat down in a chair by his side. One on the grass, the other on a cheap folding chair, Till let the semi-hypnotic state of post-show adrenaline fade off in the ASMR of the buzzing fan in front of him.

After he finally got his heart rate to a somewhat normal level, Till opened his mouth and made a stupid, indistinct sound into the fan, his eyes closed.

If he had opened them, he would have seen Ivan watching him with a terribly fond expression—something that was so painfully smitten, Till probably would have gotten violent in response.

Instead, all was peaceful. Dewey managed to flip Acorn onto his back and checked if he was alive. A water bottle was gratefully poured all over his face.

Till, feeling like he was 20 kg lighter, said randomly to Ivan, “I wonder if Mizi and Sua ended up showing up, I didn’t see them.”

“... Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Hm?”

“No, nevermind. I saw them, they were sitting together. It was almost directly off stage-right, so they might have been in your blind spot. They looked like they were, ah, enjoying themselves.”

“Oh, good, good. If I thought about it ahead of time, I would have told the manager to let them come back afterward, but whatever. I guess girls probably wouldn’t want to be confined in a small space with five sweaty guys, huh?”

“Four,” Ivan corrected, glancing at the other three.

Perhaps the sun had fried his brain, as Till turned to him with an incredulous expression.

“Whose the girl…?”

“... I meant, I’m not that sweaty by comparison.”

“Oh. Haha.”

“Hey, Hyuna just texted me, she said…” Isaac called over to them. “Huh, she said she has something for Till? Should I ask her to come back to the tent?”

“No, no. Manager Cho said we needed preapproval for any guests to come in this area, so it’s better to just go meet her. Tell her to give me five minutes, I still need to cool down. Did she say what she wants?”

“No, let me ask…”

In a low tone, Ivan reminded, “Probably a gift, right? It is your birthday.”

“Oh yeah… Huh.”

Clearly enjoying Till’s dazed state, Ivan barely managed not to laugh out loud. Instead, he got up and got another cold water bottle from the cooler and unscrewed the lid, putting it directly into Till’s hand.

After gracelessly downing half the bottle, Till wiped the back of his mouth and looked up at the tent ceiling.

“I wonder if that Luka guy really promoted us… That would be wild. I was so mad earlier, I sort of forgot you said that.”

“Well, the crowd was pretty big. How many people do you think that was?”

“You guessed during the chit-chat during the uh, what was that, fifth song break? You said like, a thousand?”

“Mhmm, DRAMA had a headcount of about a hundred, so imagining if you scaled up, it was probably closer to, like, 750 or 800. But saying one-thousand sounded better to the crowd.”

“Damn, that’s crazy. And that’s just the people who saw it live…”

Scratching his head, Isaac cleared his throat.

“Hyuna asked us to go meet her and bring her back here, I don’t know what she’s doing but she insisted coming here herself. Dewey and I will go meet her.”

Acorn, abruptly rising at a 90-degree angle, sent a supercilious glance at Till and Ivan sitting next to each other and got up.

“Coming.”

The three of them walked out all at once, and Till had to shout after them, “That’s fine, just tell the manager before you do!”

His expression twisted and he looked at Ivan briefly before closing his eyes and leaning towards the fan again.

“Do you think they heard me?”

“Hm, probably? Acorn is responsible enough, he’s likely to think of it on his own even if they didn’t catch it.”

“What kind of band is this where the juniors have to keep track of things for the hyungs? Tch.”

“Heh.”

The tent became quiet, only the muffled sound of far-off music and crowds milling, layered by the continuous sound of the wind blowing.

Same as always, Till could feel Ivan looking at him without even needing to open his eyes.

He really… took for granted how much Ivan did for him until he was gone. Being stared at endlessly, it got pretty tiring, but it was also strangely satisfying. Despite knowing he was being watched, Till didn’t feel like he had to behave any differently.

So Ivan likes… this ‘version’ of me.

What would that be called, the director’s cut, or the raw footage? Basically, the unedited, unrefined, arguably worst version.

And Ivan liked that?

…

It still weirded Till out to think about it. After talking to Hyuna, his mind was a lot more calm approaching the subject.

The weirdness didn’t really come from Ivan liking guys; it stemmed from the idea that Ivan liked him. Till really didn’t think he had much going on. He was skinny, cursed way too much, sweats like he’s fucking dying. He wasn’t particularly considerate of others and cared way too much about a very small number of things.

Shouldn’t someone that likes you be put off by those things?

Barely parting his lashes, Till tried to sneak a glance next to him. Ivan had one leg crossed over the other, hand propping up his chin, looking down at him like he was some sort of fascinating thing.

He never thought he’d be sitting right next to someone who liked him, and for it to feel so… normal? With Mizi, he could barely talk in proper sentences; with Ivan, he could talk plenty, but often didn’t need to since Ivan was basically always on the same wavelength as him. They didn’t need to talk constantly to convey their thoughts.

Till closed off the thin gap in his eyelids, unsure if Ivan could see that he’d been looking back.

… It’s scary.

Till could admit it to himself, and maybe to Hyuna, but not to anyone else.

This feeling was really scary.

Ivan likes him.

Should I try to… like him back? Is that how this worked?

If Mizi tried to like him, would Till have been happy? Or would it have felt like it wasn’t right, like any feelings that rose out of it were makeshifted to fit, forcibly engineered into something to even be compatible in the first place?

The silence was becoming less comfortable. Anxiety wriggled its way over Till’s exposed arms, causing goosebumps to spread.

Bad, this was bad. Hyuna said not to overthink it.

Yesterday, Hyuna said…

Till’s eyes flew open, blinking as if startled awake.

Almost directly above him, he could see Ivan’s brows rise, probably curious about whatever roused him.

They’d been this close earlier when Till wanted to beat some understanding into his dumb fucking head, but he had been more driven by looking for lies, for getting a rise out of him that wasn’t some overly sentimental bullshit.

Till looked at his eyes. Black, white, and red—like a bad joke. Blots of blood on piano keys. Crayon on newspaper clippings. A firework at midnight.

That same look as last time… Completely silent, yet endlessly asking, yearning for something.

Had Ivan always been looking at him like this, since the very beginning? When did it start? Why did it start?

Why?

Didn’t Mizi say you were popular? Haven’t you been confessed to fifty times?

Didn’t any of those confessions move you?

Till raised his arm, and without needing to ask, Ivan knew what he wanted, helped him to his feet.

Why me?

Why do you want to be loved by me?

He looked at Ivan closely. Their heights weren’t actually that far apart. Till didn’t have to strain his neck to look at him.

“Um, Till? What is it?”

A light, involuntary laugh escaped him. Till found himself feeling strangely pleased as he took in the sight of Ivan looking a little uncomfortable. Was this that foreign sense of arrogance that he’d seen in the other kids who got adopted by good families, the confidence that came with knowing you were loved by someone?

“Why, am I making you nervous?”

Ivan scratched his cheek but didn’t look away.

“Maybe a little… ?”

Understandable. They were standing quite close. If Ivan ever got this close to him, Till would have immediately pushed him away.

It’s interesting, how the same doesn’t apply for him invading Ivan’s personal space.

Was he really just blind for so many years? Somehow, these things feel so obvious now that he’s taken the time to notice.

“I’m surprised you can even feel nervousness.”

“Despite what some people say about me, I am not, in fact, a robot.”

Lip twitching, Till wanted to know who exactly had ever accused Ivan of being a robot. What was his primary function, being an annoying little shit?

“Yesterday, I talked to Hyuna for a while about some things that were bothering me.”

“Well, noona usually does offer the best advice.”

“Is that so?”

If I were you…

Till turned his head to the side, the same way he had been standing right before Hyuna walked away from him.

“She gave me some interesting advice yesterday, actually.”

I would kiss Ivan—on your terms this time. If you really, with your conscience clear and heart prepared, cannot feel anything, or even feel repulsed by the act, then you’ve got an answer you can justify. There’s no need to force yourself, and Ivan wouldn’t want that.

Now that he was in the moment, Till’s heart felt strangely anticipatory. Jittery. Faster than he expected.

It made him feel strangely… powerful? No, was that the right word? He couldn’t explain it.

Just, knowing that he could take action on his own and the only rejection he could face was his own, Till felt emboldened to at least… try.

Till faced forward again, and for the third time today, he grabbed Ivan by the collar.

This time, he kissed him.

Ivan was, for a moment, totally still, which was funny, considering how last time it felt like he was trying to absorb Till into him.

The heat was insufferable. The first day of summer was bound to be scorching.

It’s so hot.

So why does his mouth feel so good?

After several seconds of pressing their lips together, Ivan gave a more meaningful reaction.

He really does bite.

The initial feeling his took Till by surprise, but it wasn’t actually painful, just a little startling. He was, however, tempted to push him back when Ivan put his hands on him.

… I don’t hate it. I kind of wanted to hate it.

I’m sweating again, damn.

What do people think about when they’re kissing?

It turned out, Till thinks about what other people think about while he’s kissing.

(Ivan, for the record, thinks that perhaps he has played the piano for too long. His fingers can’t help but search for the right places to fit, trying different notes, a little bit desperate to imprint the feeling until it’s incorporating into part of his muscle memory.)

(He was really, terribly confused at the moment, but he recalled that night when he first sang for Till. His sister accused him of being someone who wasn’t above taking advantage, if the situation presented itself.)

(All he could say is that she was absolutely right.)

Till also thought about how he never realized his own lips were a little chapped, and that a guy’s mouth shouldn’t be this soft? Did Ivan really do all those skincare routines with Mizi? Till always thought they were joking. Right now, with his grip pulling Ivan into him, he really couldn’t fault them if it was true.

Really smooth to the touch… Guess they were pretty effective.

It took an embarrassingly long time for either of them to actually become short of breath—singers, you know, their lung capacity being no joke—but Till caved first. He inhaled and Ivan, that sneaky son of a bitch, licked his bottom lip.

No fucking way, though. It was Till’s second kiss, the first one he initiated thank you very much. Ivan wasn’t allowed to fucking make-out with him just because Till found the whole thing a little hotter than he expected.

Letting out a little groan, Ivan covered his face with his hands when Till pushed them apart.

“Till…”

Snorting, Till took in this reaction, somewhere between exasperated and amused

… Really sounded like a puppy whining when his toy was taken away.

“I was trying to test something.”

Ivan made a sound that was close to choking.

“Do, do you perhaps need to test it again?”

Okay, that time, Till actually laughed at him. The post-show high felt pretty similar to the strange sensation making him lightheaded and a little breathless.

Ivan didn’t find the situation amusing at all, his hands reaching forward and pulling back again like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I, but… We… That… I’m confused.”

Till wasn’t exactly sure how to explain himself at the moment either. He got his affirmation like Hyuna said, and it was—ahem—satisfactory.

What happens next, he wasn’t completely sure himself. The fire she talked about, it didn’t hurt as bad as he thought.

Perhaps she had a sixth sense for Till thinking about her, as the very same moment her voice loudly cut in from outside the tent.

“I’m coming in so if you’re making out, put your shit back on and make yourself decent.”

Till rolled his eyes and walked towards the opening. “Shut up, stop yelling, I’m right—”

“Happy birthday, Till!”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

“Happy birthday.”

Pop-pop-pop!

“Happy birthday, kid!”

“TILLLLLLL HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Bzzzt!

Confetti balloons exploded in his face, and Till nearly fell backwards. Thankfully, he caught himself, otherwise that shit would have been so mortifying he would have fallen backwards into an early grave.

Wearing matching party hats, Sua and Mizi were standing there—someone had made the well-intended mistake of giving Mizi an airhorn—along with the other guys in UNKNOWN. Hyuna stood in the middle, holding a whole ass birthday cake, complete with lit with candles. The frosting appeared to be melting under the summer heat.

… Well, it was the thought that counts.

A few seconds later, Ivan lifted the curtain behind him and stepped out. He appeared more composed than before, but Till thought there was still a slight trace of panic in his eyes.

Heh.

Ivan covered his face with a hand and waved bashfully at them.

“You guys, my birthday isn’t until next year.”

Sua kicked him in the leg.

“This is why you will be having no cake.”

“But I—”

“BRR-BRR-BRRRRRR—” Mizi’s airhorn interrupted, and she waved a finger at Ivan. “You’re in big trouble this time, Ivan. Do you know how worried I was when I couldn’t see you for so long? Listen to your noonas this time.”

“What does cake have to do with it… Till, help me. It’s your birthday, surely you can—”

Without hesitation, Till moved to stand behind both girls. He was taller and clearly spotted the pout on Ivan’s face.

“But—”

“BRR-BRR-BRRRRRR—”

Sua gently patted Mizi’s head and deftly took away her new toy.

“Okay, that’s enough airhorn for today.”

“Fuck, will you blow the candles out already, the wax is melting onto the cake.”

Dewey, astutely, pointed out, “To be fair, the cake is also melting onto the cake.”

“Isaac.” Hyuna said only a single word, and the man gave a quick salute.

“On it.”

Smack.

He hit Dewey on the back of the head.

“Ow…”

It wasn’t certain who started it, but someone laughed, and it quickly became infectious. Soon, everyone, even Acorn, were swept up in the moment of celebration and teasing, with Sua finally pushing Till toward the cake before Hyuna really started to curse them out.

This wasn’t a stage meant for singing, and Till had never really thought about making a grand spectacle of his birthday. Most years it was spent low-key with the same few faces, all of whom were here today.

Yet, it felt a little different this year.

Till reared back, inhaling, not really thinking about anything except the present moment.

He was no longer going to waste his time anymore on wishes and dreams; his life was already the one he wanted to be living.

Notes:

damn what that was. crazy was it too corny?? HAHA i just wanted them to have a happy ending sorry if it was too much
also i really like ivan being confused as hell at the end too like. "ok im fine with this but. honest to god i dont know what the hell is happening. good. can we kiss more lets do that. yeah"

thanks for reading!! i appreciate the comments and ill do my best to reply in time, but im a little slow haha sorry. feel free to drop a line on twitter too, im more active to respond on there! @realfakedokja
bye bye have a great day! happy (belated) ivantill week 2024!!!!

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chevalperd on Chapter 1 Sun 23 Jun 2024 03:24AM UTC

band au save me...save me band au...
thank you for writing, this is so intriguing and silly so far, i'm excited to see more :))

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~ (Guest) on Chapter 1 Sun 23 Jun 2024 05:47AM UTC

band au!!! your voice is so akxndkxmlsmd

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Space_noodle_event on Chapter 1 Sun 23 Jun 2024 03:34PM UTC

SO GOOD, BAND AU YIPEE
Just the other day I had the worst cold ever two days before an interview and I was so worried seeing I'd lost my voice, so I definitely felt for Till here. He is in for a long recovery road thanks to this stunt but holy shit, the way everything played out was so fun! I wonder if now, whenever they practice, Till will want to feel that synergy with Ivan again?
Looking forward to seeing the rest of the story!!

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koroshiya on Chapter 1 Sun 23 Jun 2024 05:37PM UTC

oh this fic is gonna be so fascinating I can feel it. what a fun first chapter! it was a nice teasing introduction to this world you’re crafting here and I just want to know so much more.
there were small issues/typos with names (there was a part where someone said Isaac would sing and I got a little worried bc I was really hoping Ivan would sing LOL) but your prose was lovely! Till’s thoughts are so fun to parse through. “How were the rest of us supposed to live, jackass?” so true Till speak your truth!!
can’t wait to read more of this, happy ivti week!

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1. realfakedokja on Chapter 1 Sun 23 Jun 2024 08:53PM UTC
  
  thank you so much for reading and for the feedback! i’m so embarrassed i spelled isaac’s name wrong LMAO i was relying on google docs to catch that and it let me DOWWWWN…. I also fixed the part where it said Isaac would sing instead of Ivan (facepalm) thank you for reading and supporting! :3c
  
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Xxdamnedforeverxx on Chapter 1 Mon 08 Jul 2024 09:32PM UTC

“ The bottomless black of that stare that observed him like a book to be read, line by line, word by word; those eyes that felt as if they pierced down to the ink of Till’s blood and the pages of his bones.”
This part was so good. I can’t get over this turn of phrase here.

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shulemon on Chapter 1 Sat 26 Oct 2024 01:22PM UTC

came here to cope with r7

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1. yOyo_mi on Chapter 1 Sun 03 Nov 2024 03:17PM UTC
  
  i feel you, same
  
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Cheesecakessss on Chapter 1 Sat 09 Nov 2024 01:15AM UTC

Sore throats are the worst man, I can't believe Till would even still insist to sing even if his voice is wrecked back there. Good thing Ivan saved the day for the band! But would that mean that Ivan would now be a part of their band since their first performance includes him as a member and a singer at that. The audience may expect to see him again. 👀

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Liely on Chapter 1 Sun 24 Nov 2024 09:20PM UTC

YOU MENTIONED MY BABY ACORN??????? AHH I LOVE U

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Sol (solenaj0y) on Chapter 1 Mon 24 Mar 2025 11:39PM UTC

This is beautifully written oh my god 😭💞

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Fuel_my_dreamsss1806 on Chapter 1 Mon 13 Oct 2025 01:37PM UTC

All the world's a stage,
and all the men and women, merely players.
They have their exits and entrances, and one man, in his time,
Plays many parts, his acts being seven ages...? Did i get the title right? Lol i've been staring at shakespearean works for ages cuz of school. Anyways, I LOVE THIS. BAND AU FOR LIFE <333

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pyamoe on Chapter 1 Mon 10 Nov 2025 11:24PM UTC

bro this reminds me of given sm 🥹🥹 i saved this to reread like last year it was worth it ❤️‍🩹

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aichizcake on Chapter 1 Tue 11 Nov 2025 06:49AM UTC

hi yes im rereading😖😖✌️

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bluesaturn222_4951 on Chapter 1 Tue 11 Nov 2025 07:02PM UTC

holy peak

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koroshiya on Chapter 2 Mon 24 Jun 2024 02:27AM UTC

you’re so right about Mizi being the mvp!! I enjoyed her interactions with Till and Ivan, and the juxtaposition of their scenes together - Till visibly being shy just sitting next to Mizi but her not entirely picking up on it, and Ivan being comfy enough to braid her hair and Mizi still can’t get to know him. the contrast is so tasty!!!
I almost want to slap Till silly for not noticing Ivan was slightly cut from the video but it’s incredibly like him not to notice. I think you capture the way he’s just driven by his ambitions so well. also Till and Ivan having a conversation where Till is the yapper!! god bless!! the scene in the piano room felt so delicate and a nice way to end this chapter. can’t wait to see where it goes from here!

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Space_noodle_event on Chapter 2 Mon 24 Jun 2024 03:22AM UTC

Mizi wing woman let's go!! I have a feeling Ivan is slowly stabbing himself if only to give the handle of the knife to Till, for him to have any kind of say in Ivan's life. It's sad, seeing Till think of Ivan as someone who's always there, for better or worse, and Ivan thinking himself as a shadow in Till's life, only existing thanks to Till's sheer light, always ready to pull away if it seems he's pushed too hard. May they communicate properly in this incoming week orz 🙏

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D_Ceit on Chapter 2 Mon 24 Jun 2024 03:24AM UTC

Mizi a real one yo

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aelius_cho on Chapter 2 Mon 24 Jun 2024 10:20AM UTC

honestly felt so bad for ivan. sometimes, okay maybe no. this b always acted as if he didn't deserve 'things' and called them 'selfish things' (flashback to thank you for being the victim of my shallow emotions) and bro i wanna punch him and tell him that it's not selfish. i think he sacrifice so much its so unbelievable. he cares more about the others than himself, istg he's so??? and mizi, sweet, lovely mizi 💕 she's the mvp, and god bless her heart 🥺🥺🥺

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shamari_writes on Chapter 2 Mon 29 Jul 2024 05:41PM UTC

my heart breaks whenever Ivan self sabotages his heart. from the smallest things like subtly being a wingman for Till to have interactions with Mizi to the big things like uhh everything else he fucking does!!!
and till u son of a gun look one degree away from Mizi and ull see Ivan
ISTGGG grrr i need to blow them both up with my mind...

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Wintercrier on Chapter 2 Wed 06 Nov 2024 04:23AM UTC

Till stronger than me cause if Ivan said that to me while dreamily smiling with his arms resting on the key cover I would've folded instantly

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Redbug on Chapter 2 Fri 22 Nov 2024 02:36AM UTC

HAGSHAHA I love the texts between Hyuna and Till 😭 Wait but literally Mizi is so damn cute and it's so cute when Till goes beet red over her. But also Ivaaannnn, I think he got a little jealous when he saw Till blush over her :( Dude, he has it rough with Till not even noticing his absence from the video 😭 Him sneaking up on the two though 💞 The bestieeesss!!!
HAGAHAHAH the piano scene!!! Ohhhh they're so cute. "Are you deaf?" 😭 And Ivan stopping when Till offered omg omg. In his mind he is now a part of Till's dream <3

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