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Grief is a form of love, a process that proves the heart longs for memories to relive. Memories taken for granted, as Till would think. Each day, he would remember the death of his friends haunting him. Each day had an impact that he could never forget, one that touched his soul deeply.
An immense feeling of hopelessness and yearning swirled in his eyes. He would take deep breaths to convince himself that he was strong. That he was capable of standing on his own, on a stage surrounded by aliens who saw him as mere entertainment. The very same stage that killed his found family. Sometimes, he looks far in the distance replaying memories that created his character, when he learned how to love—even if he wouldn't show it.
Because why would he? He was so focused on staying alive at that time. Taking friendships for granted, specifically, a boy that stood by his side since childhood: Ivan.
These memories restrained him in a way that made him stupidly believe he could see his figure in the distance—that he could feel his presence. It haunted him. Ivan haunted him.
For the longest time he had wished for peace, he tried to bury his feelings deep down and focused on the matter at hand. To write songs. To practice. To survive.
And even during the times he tried to bandage those wounds that scarred his soul, Ivan would show up. He didn't understand it at first. He couldn't, is the simplest answer he came to.
Ivan wouldn't leave him alone—he never did. He felt restless, as it felt like some sort of punishment. He was alone, he knew that, and he had to engrave it into his mind. The voices he heard when Ivan would always reach out to him? Felt, yet gone.
Till finally understood Mizi and Sua’s belief in the concept of gods. If all he can do as human is to believe, even if it feels so dumb to him, then he will. He will pray—”God, leave me alone. It hurts. It hurts so much.”
Everywhere he looks is a younger version of them where shadows of the past kept clinging onto him. It did. It restrained him, it felt like he was being chained until the very brink of his sanity. Until he would eventually die. Still, it was the kind of prison that he would remain in rather than playing disgusting games on stage; to win or to lose.
Soon, the only thing Till managed to do was to accept. Accept nights when he couldn't sleep because the ghost of Ivan haunted him. Ivan visited every night, although he never knew whether to consider him as a ghost or a saint.
It reached a point where the only thing he could see was Ivan. Sometimes, familiar touches would soothe his cheek. But he didn't dream.
He never did after his death.