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Time stood still for a moment.
It was dark, silent, and oh so cold. A pair of teary golden eyes would flash before his mind’s eye from time to time, and then he would feel warm for just a moment.
His neck hurt. The pain was pounding, throbbing in his veins. Yet it made him feel nothing. He felt empty, like somebody had scooped a hole into his very being and tossed it aside to leave him with nothing, nothing at all. Where was he? Who was he?
Snippets of unknown information climbed their way back into his brain, and the vast nothingness slowly turned into a picture. It was blurry, and he felt dizzy. He could faintly make out the outline of a building, soft voices speaking nothing but gibberish reached his ears. Voices that were unfamiliar to him. As unfamiliar as that house.
That’s right. He hadn't been here just before. Before, he stood on a stage, singing out his soul for a crowd of sadistic lunatics. Disfigured creatures awaiting the death of anybody, awaiting a beautiful blood bath to dye the stage crimson. He had done that. He had dyed the stage crimson.
Oh. He was dead. And this wasn’t what he imagined the afterlife to look like.
The picture before his eyes cleared, and he found himself standing in front of an old looking building. The roof was black, and the sky was as gray as the cement pushed between every purplish brick in the walls. Tall street lights drowned the area in golden light, and when he looked behind him, there was nothing. So he didn’t.
His gaze stood fixed upfront, eyes narrowing as he took in the three big archways leading into the building.
The chatter he had heard earlier came from long queues of what seemed to be people, divided into each of the archways. Well, they seemed human for the most part, if he were to ignore the faint blue-ish glow enveloping their silhouettes. When he looked down to see himself, he came to find his body glowed the same color.
For a while, he stood and observed. By now, a few more people had joined his side, looking as disoriented as he felt.
He watched as the lines shortened slowly. From the small glimpses of inside the building he got he could tell that every person that left the queue to move on with their way had stopped by a small booth within the pillars separating each archway.
Might as well check it out , he thought to himself. Better than standing here doing nothing at all.
He stepped forward carefully, inching closer to the queue until he was a part of it. The chatter was mostly gibberish, and he couldn’t understand a word. Perhaps language barriers were never to be solved, even in the afterlife.
Too much time passed until he finally caught a glimpse of the booth. A blue, see-through blob in a red conductor’s uniform sat on a chair behind the glass wall. Its fingers, or whatever their equivalent was called, flipped through a thick binder before pulling a small piece of paper from a dispenser. It was way too small to fit as many of those paper slips as the creature pulled out, but anything was possible in death, huh. After all, it was a literal human shaped blob stamping papers and handing them out to a bunch of dead shiny people.
Finally, it was his turn.
The creature, which looked like it was made out of water up close, let its eyes – or whatever they were – wander over his figure before flipping through its binder.
“Till”, it spoke, its voice both soothing and high-pitched at the same time. “You were killed.”
He knew that. His neck still hurt, though not as much as before.
The conductor blob pulled a paper from the dispenser and stamped it before sliding it over to where Till stood. “Your train will depart from platform 25 in twenty minutes.”
So it was a train ticket. Till scratched his neck.
“Your belongings are stored in locker 1025 in the storage room beside your platform”, the blob continued. “Pleasant travels.”
It ushered Till away. The gibberish from the people around him morphed into words.
He mindlessly took the ticket and walked away, right into the big building that turned out to be a train station. He didn’t pay the interior any mind, tucking the intricate wall designs and creaking wood floors away in his subconsciousness. The signs guided him through the establishment, and the more dead people he passed as he wandered the halls, the more he felt the hole in his existence be filled up again.
The golden eyes he had occasionally seen earlier were those of a girl named Mizi. Till must’ve liked her a lot during his life, because he could feel his dead heart warming at the thought of her.
And then there was this guy, Luka. Till couldn’t remember him clearly, as if his mind was blocking him out. All he knew is that the Till he used to be didn’t appreciate whatever Luka had done to him.
He could faintly remember what had gone down before his death after a while. The disfigured sadistic lunatics were aliens that pitched Luka and Till against each other in a competition. Till knew it wasn’t the only time he had participated in such a sing-off, but it was the only one he remembered.
Luka had made him feel miserable. He had reminded Till of somebody, and it made him want to die. But then there was Mizi.
The way she had stood in the crowd, her short pink hair partly obscured by a hood, and such worry in her beautiful golden eyes. And when Till reached out to her with newfound strength, it was the last thing he did. That’s all he knew. And he hated it.
Platform 25 was coloured in the same grays and reds as the rest of the station. A few others sat on the benches, while some were already seated in the train that was already awaiting its departure.
Till’s eyes swept over the platform until they landed on a room labeled “storage & luggage”. His feet carried him there on autopilot. He didn’t even know what belongings he could possibly have, he felt as if his life never gave him much.
But still, his gaze scanned the locker numbers. Locker 1025 was tucked into a far corner. A small display on the door ordered him to hold the symbol on his train ticket against it, so he did. The locker clicked open, and in it lay a small, circular bag and a guitar. The same ornamental symbol as on the ticket was stitched on the black fabric of the bag. Must’ve been the station’s logo or something.
Till took it out. The fabric felt weird underneath his fingertips, and the zipper was stuck at the front, but he still took the time to pull it open. A small key, as well as a tiny jar filled with glistering liquid lay embedded within. Till was confused.
Usually he would’ve felt an odd sense of familiarity at something of his life, but neither of these items struck anything in him. It was only the guitar leaning in the corner of the locker that made him feel something. Nothing to pinpoint, but something.
When he slung the bag diagonally over his shoulder and took the guitar out, he remembered why. He had played it for a bit in the competition.
It felt rather odd in his hands as he weighed it around. The wood (was it even wood?) was smooth and shiny, and the chords cut into his skin as he tried to play a note. The wounds healed in the blink of an eye.
What being dead does to you.
Outside, a voice echoed over the platform. “Train will depart in 5 minutes. All passengers are to board immediately.”
Till didn’t move right away. He stayed staring at the guitar until the voice repeated itself.
His feet carried him into the train. It was warm inside. Another blob, this time in purple, checked his ticket and showed him the direction of his booth. Till followed its orders without a word.
In fact, he hadn’t spoken at all since he arrived here. Who knows if he still knew how to when he reached his destination – wherever that may be.
The booth was cozy. It was closed off from the narrow hallway through a wooden door with a small glass window, and a small lamp drowned it in soft lighting. Underneath the overhead compartment was a seat and a small table, a thin binder laid on it. Against the window was a narrow bed with a plush looking duvet and a big, fluffy pillow.
Did ghosts need to sleep? Could he be classified as a ghost?
Till decided he didn’t care. He placed the guitar in the overhead compartment, but kept the small bag on. His eyes fell on the binder on the table. In a swift motion, he grabbed it and lay down on the bed. It was comfortable. And warm. Nicely warm.
Welcome to Soul Stream Express, Till.
Oh. Personalized. Till skimmed the pages with quick glances.
We are sorry to inform you that you have passed away, leaving yet another life behind you. Presuming you did not take memories of your last death with you, we shall fill some of those gaps in the steed of the universe.
1. You needn’t worry, you will be granted a chance at a new life after completing your debt in the Soul Stream. This translates to working off your karma. At the end of your stay you can choose to not reincarnate and continue your existence here.
2. You are stripped from all your needs. Sleeping, eating, and drinking as well as all forms of hygiene and relief are no longer required. However, you are not deprived of the ability to do either of those things. If you wish to sleep, you can sleep, if you wish to eat, you can eat, etc.
3. You will regain all memories of your latest life. It is a matter of time, but you have the ability to speed up the process by visiting your soul’s art gallery. To access this, you will find a small brass key within your luggage to open the door.
Till raised an eyebrow. An art gallery just for his soul?
‘s that, like, snapshots of my life or something?
He huffed. He would find out either way.
4. You have boarded train 837 on platform 25. Your destination is east of Soul Stream City, district Orion. Please visit the information centers at the station there to figure out your accommodation and your debt.
A small rumble. The train started moving.
“Departing for Soul Stream City now. All passengers mind your luggage and your fellow co-passengers. The journey to the city should be an opportunity for everybody to adjust to their new form of existence. Thank you, and have a nice journey.”
Till drowned the voice out, focusing on the words in front of him. The rest of the binder was mostly information about the train itself, what food to get in the bistro etc. Till didn’t particularly care for that.
He closed the binder and tossed it on the seat beside the bed. With a sigh, he pulled the duvet over him, burying himself in the warmth it gave him.
His mind started to drift away. But he didn’t feel like thinking, so he closed his eyes and hoped to fall asleep. The gentle rocking of the train, and the faint noises of the wheels turning on the rails aided him, softly transporting him into sleep.
- - -
The shrill voice of the announcer ended up waking him up after a while.
“We will reach our destination Orion, Soul Stream City, shortly. Please make sure to take all your luggage with you. Upon arrival, please head to the information centers to collect all needed information for your stay in the Soul Stream. Thank you for traveling with Soul Stream Express.”
Till sighed and sat up, glancing around.
The same vast nothingness he had woken up in when he died flew past his window, but he could make out silhouettes of what seemed to be buildings in the fog.
He brought up a hand to wipe the sleep out of his eyes and stretched. His waist was aching a little. Oh. He forgot to take the small bag off when he went to sleep. Stupid.
The guitar was pulled from the overhead compartment the moment the train stopped. Till stumbled a little, shoulder slamming into his door. It hurt for just a second, then it felt as if it never happened at all.
He slid the door open and peeked his head out.
Other ghosts – he decided he could call them that – passed his booth, their glowing figures disappearing in the next wagon. Some of them carried suitcases or briefcases, some had nothing more than a fanny pack with them. Neither of them spoke, silently gliding along the carpeted floors of the vehicle.
Inhaling, Till slipped into the line and followed them out. The platform here looked a little more inviting than platform 25.
In delicate letters, directions were engraved in dark wooden signs dangling from the ceiling, the chains creating calm melodies with every gust of wind. The stone floor was less ragged, and the platform itself was much wider, granting everybody a bit more space.
He didn’t want to waste much time there, so he quickly made it his mission to find the information centers. The directions were pretty clear.
After walking down a long, spacious hallway, he reached a big hall. Above the opened double door was “Information” written in bold letters.
The hall was filled to the brim with people. A red blob at the door reassured Till that he didn’t have to find a specific desk in this sea of ghosts, but could go to any.
He opted for the one with the shortest queue. Three more people would go before him, and they all didn’t linger for too long.
A different red blob in a black uniform and a round pair of glasses was seated behind the desk. Unlike the conductor back at the other station, this one had a whole shelf of binders behind it.
It pointed at the bronze bowl embedded in the desk, one half in front of the glass, the other behind the glass. “Please put your ticket in there.”
Till did, and the blob moved the bowl around, the ticket now on its side of the glass. It inspected it before turning around to grab a specific binder. “Till, timeline 12. I’m sorry you had to live like that.”
Till gulped. The creature turned a few pages until landing on the one it needed. In the upper right corner was a picture of Till, a familiar scowl plastered on his face. Underneath was a table with all sorts of information about him. Last came a small text.
The blob fixed its glasses and looked at Till pointedly. “So. Please correct any false information. Your name is Till, age 21, height 178 centimeters, and you were killed as a result of a lost competition. Does that feel familiar?”
Till nodded. Although he only really remembered his death, all other information felt correct.
The red blob mirrored his action.
“Your timeline features the abduction of humans by aliens and the singing they want you to do”, it explained. “I’m reading here that you were a little rebellious and oftentimes severely punished for your actions. Your karma mostly stems from rule breaking.”
Till felt something akin to annoyance creep up his neck. The blob paid his expression no mind and kept talking.
“As your captors certainly didn’t treat you right, the rebellious acts that have granted you your debt didn’t affect you as much. They did more wrong than you did, so the rules you broke are regarded as mostly irrelevant. Exceptions for such would be your performance in the second round you performed in Alien Stage. Can you recall anything from there?”
As the creature mentioned that performance, Till could only remember snippets. He won, and he didn’t win fairly.
“Barely”, he replied, his voice hoarse. It was the first word he spoke while dead. He cleared his throat.
The blob nodded in acknowledgement. “You see, you sung a song that you composed yourself, granting your opponent no chance at winning. This act is registered as second degree murder in the Soul Stream. While you didn’t directly kill your opponent, you certainly knew it would happen and didn’t change your actions. One month added to your debt.”
Till rolled his eyes faintly.
“You have delivered heartbreak to a friend of yours”, the blob continued. Till wasn’t sure what it meant.
“But it was unintentional, so your debt was only extended by three days. A week was deducted from your karma due to your harsh living conditions.”
Wow. Pity points.
Till mentally shrugged. It was better for him, he supposed, less time dead was always a good thing. Probably. Maybe. Nevermind.
The red creature opened a drawer beneath its desk and pulled out a small, silver key along with a folded paper. “This key opens the door to your temporary accommodation. This” it pointed at the paper “is a map detailing your way there as well as the way to your soul’s gallery. Did you find the key for the latter in your luggage?”
Till recalled the small brass key embedded in the bag around his torso and nodded.
“That’s good”, the blob said with a slight nod. “The gallery is available in the Museum of Life in the city center. You might want to check it out soon before it gets replaced.”
It placed the map and key into the bronze bowl and turned it. Till took the things out and tugged them away into his bag.
“Ah, before I forget”, the blob quickly added, resting its head on its intertwined fingers. “You will work off your debt in the Soul Stream University for unlost souls.”
Till squinted his eyes. What the hell are “unlost” souls?
As if having read his mind, the blob continued its words. “Unlost souls refer to the people that have chosen to stay in the Soul Stream, now working there to accommodate the indebted dead well. Like me, for example. We study our jobs at the university. You will work off your karma in the library there. If you don’t oblige with your superior there, your debt will extend. All information regarding reincarnation will be provided after completing your debt.”
It closed its binder, pushing its glasses up with its shoulder. “I recommend heading to the museum immediately. Get on train 13 from platform 3 and get off on the last stop. Don’t panic if your personality during your life doesn’t reflect the way you feel at the moment. Death changes things. Have a nice stay.”
Till left without another word.
- - -
The Museum of Life was probably the most beautiful building Till had ever laid his eyes upon. It was indescribable, the way the off-white walls were illuminated by the evening sun, the blossoming vines of some plant he didn’t know casting swirly shadows on the surface. The windows were curved and big, granting him a first look inside.
In awe, he stepped through the glass doors into the building. Behind the front desk stood a pink blob in a sundress, awaiting him with a friendly smile.
“Welcome to the Museum of Life”, it greeted him, its voice chirpy. “Please provide me with your name and timeline so I can help you out properly.”
Till scratched his neck. He thought to remember that the red blob back at the station in district Orion had mentioned he was from timeline 12. “Uh, Till. From timeline 12. I think.”
The pink blob nodded, still smiling as it typed the information into a computer. “Ah yes, correct. Your gallery is up for another three hours, just down the hall.” It pointed into one of four archways. “You can choose to make it public after your visit, then it will partly be moved into the upper floors.”
With a slight bow of head, Till made his way over to the archway, walking down the hallway with slow steps. He passed a few closed galleries on his way, all from timelines 10 to 12. Finally, he reached his own.
[Till, 21, timeline 12]
The small brass key from his designated luggage was already pressed between his fingers as he stopped in front of the black door. The very door that separated him and his life, him and his memories.
So far, nothing more had come back to him. It was just him, Luka, Mizi, and his death. He could tell there was more to it, and he still felt empty.
He glanced over to the door next to his. It was also closed, but unlike all the others in the hallway, the light shone through the small slit at the bottom and faint footsteps could be heard from inside.
[Ivan, 22, timeline 12; !! gallery will close soon !!]
His eyes lingered for a while. Why did his stomach churn terribly as he read that?
He shook his head, pushed the heaviness of his heart away and punched the key into the lock of his own gallery.
The door swung open, the lights flickered on. It was a moderately sized hall, walls filled with intricate pictures of different moments in his life. A long sofa was stretched along the middle of the room, allowing him to sit.
As Till paced around the room, he came to find that he hated himself. He hated himself and he hated his life. Suddenly he wished that he hadn’t come here, wished that all of his memories had stayed tucked away elsewhere, where he couldn’t ever find them.
He didn’t need to remember all the pain he had to endure for the sole reason of not wanting to be treated like a pet. He didn’t need to feel his dead heart speed up at the sight of a certain pink haired girl, only for it to shatter a little bit when he saw her be so happy with a girl he’d never be. Sua was her name. He knew that now.
Back then, he would tell himself they were just friends. But looking at the picture of them on the wall, he felt stupid. Sua had been in love with Mizi, and Mizi had loved her back tenfold. But then Sua was gone, murdered by the aliens the same way Till was many weeks after her. Yet Mizi’s feelings never changed. Till sighed.
His eyes drifted to the next picture, and his breath hitched.
It depicted him, sitting on the artificial grass in the place he knew to be called Anakt Garden, pencil in his hand as he focused on doodling on a small paper. And on his side sat another boy. A boy with raven hair and a delicate yet handsome face, his pitch black eyes glued to Till’s oblivious face with such tenderness Till didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
His eyes darted to the exit of his gallery, and it took him mere seconds to reach it and pull the door open.
There he stood. There he stood, in the same white suit he had worn on his death day, his black hair pushed back as it had been when he fell into a puddle of his own blood, smiling at Till in a way he had never once smiled at anybody during his life. Except this time, he wasn’t smiling.
His eyes looked tired as they drifted from the sign next to the door to Till, who could hardly contain his urge to punch him in the face the same way he used to.
“Why are you here?”
Till frowned. His voice was still the same deep, soothing melody he remembered it to be. But it lacked the teasing, the childish slur in his words as he spoke.
“Because I’m fucking dead, Ivan. Why else would I be here?”
Ivan looked away. “You were supposed to live.”
A punch was all it took to shut him up, but Till didn’t want to do that. Not yet, at least. Maybe never. “Okay, and I didn’t. I lost. Of fucking course I did.”
“Not so soon..” Ivan’s voice was barely anything but a whisper by now, and his hands trembled ever so slightly. It surprised Till. He didn’t remember Ivan this way.
He scoffed. “Can’t change it now.”
Ivan opened his mouth to say something else, but the footsteps of somebody coming down the hall shut him up before he could get a word out. They watched as the letters on Ivan’s door changed to a different name.
[Marvin, 19, timeline 10]
Ivan’s hand encircled Till’s wrist and pulled him along softly. Till wanted to protest, but his words got stuck in his throat. “We’re talking somewhere else.”
“What if I don’t want to talk to you?”, Till asked after a few minutes of silence, yet he made no effort to break free from Ivan’s grasp as he tugged him outside the museum into the nearest station.
“You do want to.”
The train ride was silent. They sat pressed against each other on a double seat, knees bumping with every rumble of the vehicle. Till avoided Ivan’s gaze, pretending not to notice his eyes wandering all over him.
It was only when they got off that Ivan spoke up. “You lost round 7?”
Till rolled his eyes. “I already said that.”
Ivan said nothing to that, looking lost in thought as they walked through the narrow street. He had taken Till to his accommodation, a little farther away from Till’s own. It was a small apartment with a couch, a bed and a small bathroom. They both knew the latter as well as the tiny kitchen in the room were there only for show, it’s not like they needed either of those things.
Till sank down on the couch, followed closely by Ivan.
“You know, I’m really fucking mad at you”, Till broke the awkward silence after a couple of minutes.
Ivan raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like it.”
“Well, I am. I fail to understand why you would pull a stunt like that and think it was a good idea. You weren’t supposed to die that round, I was.”
The other chuckled weakly. “You’re an idiot.”
“Excuse me?”
“For as long as I was alive, you could never die.”
Till shut his mouth. Ivan didn’t. “I would’ve never let you. Never before me.”
Till’s teeth clenched as his fists did. He lunged forward, hands clasping Ivan’s neck as he pressed him down into the cushions of the sofa. “Are you fucking proud of yourself!?”
Ivan showed no signs of struggle. Maybe it was because he was already dead anyway, or maybe it was because Till couldn’t bring himself to use any force as he choked him. This was familiar. “Do you think you did me a favor!?”
Ivan sighed, averting his gaze. One of his hands rested on Till’s, tenderly stroking along the skin as he spoke. “I hoped I could.”
Till clenched his jaw. “You suck. You suck for thinking it would do me any good to see you die right in front of my eyes, in my goddamn place. ”
“You could handle it better than I could.”
“What, your death? You think I could handle your death well enough?! Who do you think I am!?”
Ivan pressed his lips together.
“You threw me off entirely!”, Till rambled on, the volume rising with every word slipping from his tongue. “You were my friend, Ivan, weren’t you?! How could you think I could ever handle your death well?!”
“You weren’t a friend to me, Till.”
Till rolled his eyes, eyebrows knitted together in anger. “Wow, thank you. Can’t say I’m surprised you say that after–”
“You were always so much more than that”, Ivan interrupted him, his voice so soft it made Till want to vomit all his emotions out. “I couldn’t have lived on without you. But I know you could. You know you could. I may have been your friend, but I was never important enough to stay alive in your place. And that’s okay, really.”
Till frowned. “You–”
“You didn’t go down without a fight, did you?”
“Stop interrupting me”, Till scowled, but he sounded much calmer than before. “...I almost won.”
Ivan smiled. Not the kind he put on every second of his life. No, it was the kind of smile he had gifted Till as he fell to the ground lifelessly, that sincere kind. “See? I couldn’t have done that if you had died instead of me.”
Till snorted, but there was no hint of anything like annoyance settled in his eyes. “It wasn’t easy for me, you know? They barely gave me a chance to even process your idiotic ass sacrifice or whatever before they pitched me up against Luka.” He hesitated before continuing. “He made me remember you, and I wanted nothing more than to give up at that moment. So quit pretending like your death did me any good.”
His hands finally released Ivan’s neck, slipping out from underneath the older’s touch.
“Is that why you lost?”, Ivan questioned quietly. Till shook his head.
“No. I already said I almost won, are you not paying attention? I lost because it was over before my score could catch up to Luka’s.”
Ivan didn’t need to ask why he managed to regain his strength. He could guess.
He slowly sat up, keeping Till on his lap as he did so. He wordlessly snaked his arms around Till’s waist and pulled him closer, burying his face in his shoulder.
“Hey, what the f–”
“I wish you weren’t here”, he whispered, his voice breaking on the last word. “But please, please don’t go.”
Till relaxed slightly, his anger subsiding greatly. With a small sigh, he patted Ivan’s head. “Fuckin’ baby. Stop crying.”
Ivan shook his head, only pressing closer. “Promise me.”
“Are you a child?”
Ivan looked up, and Till could feel himself gulping. Their faces were mere inches apart. This felt all too familiar.
Till looked away, unable to bear the memory of Ivan’s hands forcing their lips together harshly, unable to ignore the way his teeth had scraped them softly as they parted, to ignore the feeling of his hands pressing down on his neck just after.
“Look at me.”
Till didn’t.
“Please?”
Till did. “You’re annoying.”
Ivan grinned. “Is that bad?”
Till rolled his eyes. “Yes.” Silence.
Ivan’s dark eyes were fixed on Till’s intently, filled with the same tenderness as they were in that picture back at the museum. Till hated it. Maybe. Maybe not.
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“But you’re so nice to look at.”
“I won’t be if you keep doing it.”
He missed Ivan’s laugh. Not because he liked it, no, he never did. He missed it because he had never heard it before, not in the way he did now.
In silence, he inspected his face. “Why did you kiss me?” The words had left his throat before he could stop them, tumbling out against his will.
Ivan cocked his head to the side. “On impulse.”
Liar. “You love me.”
“Congratulations.”
Till frowned, slightly tensing up in the other’s hold. “I.. I don’t–”
Ivan put a finger on his lips. “I’m aware.”
Encircling his wrist, Till removed Ivan’s hand from his mouth. His head fell on his shoulder weakly. “No, no, you don’t get it.”
It was silent. Neither of them said a word, the only sound being the faint noises from outside and their breathing.
When Ivan swiftly cupped Till’s chin and guided his head to face him, Till let him. Still not giving a single sound from him, he leaned forward and placed his mouth over Till’s, who barely gasped at the contact. Not because he was surprised.
It was a stark contrast to the first time Ivan had kissed Till. Back then, it was harsh, and Till hated it. Until he dropped dead in front of him, he hated Ivan for it. And he believed that if anything like it would ever happen again, he would hate it just as much. But he knew better now. He could feel it, the way Ivan only kissed him because he loved him now. He didn’t before. He didn’t.
Till gently rested his hands on Ivan’s shoulders, pushing him away. “Ivan.”
Ivan didn’t respond, instead laying his head into the crook of Till’s neck. “I love you.”
“I kn–”
“I love you, Till.”
Till sighed. “I know. I know..”
Ivan’s hug tightened. “I don’t need you to love me back. I just want you to know. I love you.”
“I do know. I don’t mind.”
Ivan hummed, pressing a butterfly kiss against Till’s neck. “So much. Too much.”
“Mhm”, Till responded, hands gliding along Ivan’s back in careful motions.
Ivan moved up to kiss him again, and this time Till did him the favor of returning it. He even closed his eyes for him, tilting his head slightly as their lips moved against each other. He took his time savoring the way Ivan’s lips felt against his, the way he tasted. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t bad at all. He didn’t hate it. No, no, he didn’t hate it.
Only when he felt the warm wetness of Ivan’s tongue brushing along his bottom lip did he pull away.
“That’s enough, okay?”
Ivan hummed, kissing his cheek. “Okay.” Another. “Stay tonight?” Another.
“Okay.”
Their lips connected once more.
— fin.