Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I drew you.”

Beside him, Ivan peered in closer to his paper; a paper version of him stared back, sharing the same, inexpressive look he carried on his face. Ivan’s face lit up in a small smile.

“It’s great, Till.”

A slight pause came from Till. Then, he rolled his eyes and scoffed. “That’s what you always say. Don’t you have any actual advice for me?”

Ivan shook his head. Again, he stuck his head into Till’s arms, examining the sketch as if it were a masterpiece, deserving to be hung for the world to see. He’d said nothing else to Till but praisings of him. Funny, how their relationship fluctuated like that. Till rubbed his cheek, still a bit sore from Ivan’s punches from earlier. It was from another one of their petty fights—that Till always started.

“You don’t really deserve this,” Till muttered. He erased a few little details. “At least say thanks.”

Ivan paused to look up at him. “Thank you.” a quiet word of appreciation was what slipped from his tongue. Till hadn’t really expected him to say it; he didn’t show his surprise on his face, however. He then tore the page off his sketchbook and thrusted it at Ivan’s chest.

“Why did you do that?”

“You can have it if you want.” Till dropped it in Ivan’s lap without care. “I don’t really want it. I’m not keeping you in my book.” He did admit it was a nice drawing. Probably one of the best he’d ever drawn—he felt a little smug about it, but it disappeared when Ivan stretched over and returned the page back to him.

“No thank you.” Ivan fit it onto Till’s sketchbook again, matching up the uneven tears of the sketchbook and the page, piecing it back like it were a broken object. He gave a firm nod. “It’s a pretty drawing. You deserve it."

“It’s you." Till, frustrated, shoved Ivan and the page Till tore out away with a forceful hand. “Keep it. I don’t want it. Don’t you want a drawing of yourself? It would be cool.”

“I don’t deserve something that pretty,” Ivan mumbled. He looked at Till, eyes piercing his, a curious, lighthearted tone to his eyes. His smile was still bright on his dull face.

Ivan always told him to keep his drawings to himself. Even if they were drawings Ivan could admire for hours, he’d refuse to take them. A silent observer, not the kind to take from him. He always watched Till draw out in the field, away from the other kids in Anakt Garden. Sometimes he’d made little suggestions or changes (which often ended in a fistfight, more times than necessary). Sometimes quietly he’d peer at the paper, silently spectating. Sometimes, Till liked it.

The sun had started to set, yet Till still doodled with Ivan, his silent, unnoticeable presence still warming his side. Till wondered if there was any room for boredom in Ivan, or if Till was simply an exception. He wondered many things about Ivan, of course. That became a small wonder in a wide field of questions he’d never ask his friend.

His friend was silent, still, the type who’d never speak up. Yet he always stayed by Till’s side, like a parasite clinging to the nearest life form. Despite the fights they’d have over the flowers Ivan ate, despite those moments Ivan would hover near him to a point it became vexatious —these quiet moments rested above all those.

If their fates were the same, would Ivan still be by his side in the end?

Those times were behind Till now. He shook the last of that memory away, the red hue of the flowers fading from his brain's image. He gripped the steering wheel of the truck tighter, a ghost of a smile forming on his face -  "I'm not keeping you in my book." - ha. Where'd he remember that line from?

A boom sounded from the building behind them. Rubble stabbed Till in the chest; he dared himself not to look back and continued driving forward, across the stretch of bumpy road (and he could do without all the extra commands he was hearing from rebels left and right, thinking they knew better than him how to man an automobile). Hot wind whistled by as he shot down guards with his unoccupied arm. Jacob and Dewey ran past him, with Jacob carrying the unconscious contestant they'd saved over his shoulder. Outraged shouts came from aliens and humans alike, and ridiculously enough he couldn't tell the difference between the two. Till shot the last aliens above him, watching their corpses hit the ground and seeing the dust flying after.

They sped away the building swiftly with only Till’s shoulder bleeding. He didn’t think much of it. He just continued driving without a single glance back. He knew the Segyein were tailing him—too typical of them, of course. Till lost a few, but there were always others. Watching. Waiting. Just like in Anakt Garden, an alien every turn. A feeling of paranoia never shook off, even after a long time of running from the aliens. He heard the ticking timers of dynamite before they exploded, and Till muttered what a waste of resources it was. It never reached the other rebels' ears, and the aliens continued on following them further.

Still, he’d never get tired of outrunning those aliens.

“She lost the round,” Jacob informed, carrying the girl over his shoulder. “We found her in the sewer with her lower leg severed completely. She’s not dead, luckily. We could patch her up alright when we’re back.”

Their cars rolled across the sand, gusts of dust spitting from their tires. Till drove with his eyes on the road. He took a quick second to shake his hood and mask off, exposing his hair and mouth—and he took a breath of the fresh air. Then a groan, realizing he'd have to wash his clothes when he got back to base, covered in blood from both humans and aliens and the rubble from the explosion.

“What happened to the stage?” Dewey asked.

“It collapsed. Probably from the dynamite.”

They kept speeding across the earth, with sparse conversation going.

One more Alien Stage contestant they’d saved.

Till forced himself to glance back every once in a while, in every direction. He was used to it—it was a procedure he took every time they drove back. Fear kept him alive; one day without fear would be the day the aliens found them. And Till, driven with fear in the moment, accelerated the car, causing big clouds of dirt to form from the tires. He heard coughing from behind him.

“We didn’t manage to unlock any files,” Dewey reported. “Couldn’t. There were more guards than usual, and I think they were suspecting us judging by how fast they reacted. We destroyed some tunnels, but that’s about it.”

“Well, we’ve got one more human. She's the loser of the round as well. Less aliens tailing us, I suppose,” Jacob said.

“They’re still tailing us. I’m sure they are,” Till rebutted. The speed of the car slowed down a few notches. Till gritted his teeth, his heart racing. Behind him were the other cars with the other rebels in them. Some were injured, and some carried defeated expressions on their faces. All of them had made it out alive, luckily. (There would be a day when someone didn’t. Soon, came a thought.) Scenarios of dead rebels below aliens raced through his head. Till forcibly let those scenarios slip out of him, like blood from a wound, and they bled out onto the grass. Adding panic to his fear helped nothing. He had to focus there, in the present.

There, in the present, nothing else mattered but his own decisions.

He obliged himself not to glimpse back anymore, instead focusing straight ahead. He didn’t think about the aliens that would capture him or the drones secretly spying or the humans watching him, perhaps with a dark, emotionless gaze he knew all too well. Till let his suspicions flow to the steering wheel. He swerved the car violently off course as they arrived at their destination a few feet away; a club by the roadside. Till exited the car, and then Dewey, then Jacob.

“Good job today.” Jacob nodded to him quickly. “You took down more aliens than the rest of us combined! Impressive.” He looked at the unused bombs, resting on the backseats of the car. “Let’s bring those in.”

Till grabbed a few. He headed inside, bombs gripped firmly in his hands. The club’s cool atmosphere hit him, a huge relief compared to the hot, empty terrain. He followed Jacob to the heart of the rebellion, going deeper into the club building. Till still looked back every once in a while, as if someone had followed him inside, alien or human. Suspicions that had no mercy for him even in the shelter of the building. Like eyes that kept lingering on him. He was awfully paranoid in that moment. That meant he was trained well, at least. All those years of hiding and running whenever they could, with the threat of the aliens hanging above their heads heavy.

Sometimes his heart would slow its pace and his gaze would narrow; in some cases of his absent dwelling, he would imagine himself a contestant standing on stage, singing a song to the audience, desperately trying to win their favor. Because all he knew was to survive. And still, in the rebellion, that was all he knew. Survive and hopefully win. Was running any better than singing?

When they invaded Anakt Corp, he’d fall into these cycles of thinking, these traps of his mind, thoughts from the bottom of his brain. About what his life would really play out if he were there, if he was a contestant in Alien Stage instead of a rebel trying to save humanity. If Ivan and Mizi had stayed by his side. But they were probably both dead, and there couldn't have been anything more useless than wishing for dead humans.

The grenades were secured in their storage soon enough. Till took a few more moments to reload his gun for tomorrow, though they wouldn’t go on another mission to Anakt Corp for a while. Waiting a few months was alright for him. He unzipped his jacket. He let himself breathe a little more, inhaling the air, yet it still choked him. Maybe the club would help him loosen up a bit.

All he needed had been some drinks. The cycle his mind had spiraled through disappeared.

He shook the lingering memories off his mind. His eyes trailed to the door, and in a few steps he crossed the room. He left the door closed as he walked away.

Dewey and Jacob were in another room.

“—I think this leg is okay.” Jacob held an artificial leg made of metal in his hand. He fit it on the girl’s leg, now a stub, cut just below the knee. She had a trail of tears running down her cheek. Still in shock from the pain and from losing. An expression Till had seen many times before, and he'd known how to deal with them; a reassurance like a pat on the shoulder or a stroke on the back, then something comforting but false just to keep their spirits up. Till had done it many times before, yet he wondered if she needed it, too. He'd remember that from the first contestant he'd ever rescued, a saying from Jacob. He'd got to use that method often and it worked most of the time.

He entered the room. None of them lifted their heads up, busy helping the girl. They didn't seem to be comforting her at all. 

“You’ll keep that leg when you fight for us. You’re lucky we rescued you before the guards killed you—better to lose your legs than your life, though it would have been better to lose neither.” Jacob helped the girl up. She staggered to her feet slowly. They left, with the girl’s arm slung around Jacob’s shoulder, and Till wanted to ask her if she was alright, but by then she and Jacob had already left. He'd barely gotten to see her face, but he was sure he had a vague idea of who she was.

Only Dewey and Till remained, watching as they left.

“You’re performing again today, right?” Dewey’s question made Till flinch a little. He’d been too busy picking out the girl’s face from the brief flashes.

“Definitely. I'm performing tonight,” Till quickly followed up to Dewey's question. Till thought of the songs he’d perform. He hadn’t chosen one to perform yet, since he'd been so occupied with rescuing Hyuna that day. He’d do that later in the evening, when his drunk self decided for him.

"Great. Y'know, I'm really in the mood for rebellion songs today. But I'm surprised you're willing to play after today's mission."

“I always perform after invading Anakt Corp!”

“A rule you’ve stuck to. The only rule.”

“Ha…what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Can’t wait to see you perform tonight.” Dewey flashed him a smile. “You’re a great performer, as always.” 

He snapped the pieces of evidence together quickly.

Hyuna, 50th Anakt Garden class. Back in Anakt Garden, they saw each other passing by, never talking. From the far away stares, though, she seemed outgoing and a ball of energy, with two other boys constantly by her side. She was a year younger than him.

If Till had never left, would he even have lived to see Hyuna perform? Would there be a chance he would have been performing against her, had he not left? The questions began plaguing him as soon as he realized who she was.

Dewey was looking at the other side of the room, where Hyuna and Jacob had exited through. Till stared in the same direction. He wondered if Hyuna knew anything about his class. Anything about the friends he’d had in Anakt Garden. Anything about Mizi. If she was still alive, where she was…there were a million questions he could ask, but it was best to refrain. Yet everything that kept him awake at night were those same questions. Mostly about Mizi. Scenarios of her being shot and bleeding out on the floor when Till was helpless to do anything left a sour taste in his mouth. His mind went to the kind, perfect girl he’d hung out with in Anakt Garden. Was she still the same way?

Was Ivan still the same? The same, quiet boy he’d kept his eye on when he could…the same one he used to distract himself with and play with when the others weren't around? He'd want to know a lot of things about him, everything Ivan never got to tell him. Had he died on that stage, bleeding out like all the losers did?

Sometimes he’d clutch his heart so tightly he could practically rip the skin cruelly blocking him from the inside and pierce his heart. Often at night, when those scenarios would play. When he showed some weakness to let his fear fly free.

He did not run after Jacob and Hyuna. He did not demand those questions. He gave Dewey a farewell gesture and headed out the doors. He was performing. He should focus on performing, and not asking stupid questions to a former classmate he'd known in memories too easy to be forgotten. Possibly already forgotten by her.

When evening approached, Till was ready to perform for the rebels.

The rest of that night passed in a fast blur. The club was busy as usual; alcohol bottles were passed around the tables. Rebels, some from that day's mission and some who had stayed behind, sat around, chattering with volume. The stage was vacant, yet the spotlight pinpointed the mic, waiting for someone to step on and take the attention. That was Till. He swiped a bottle of whiskey and headed towards the stage.

As soon as he’d stepped onto the stage, he’d tapped the mic. All heads turned to him and a loud round of cheering and whistles came from the crowd, the same excitement that rose every time he’d stepped onstage. Till, their favorite performer. Till took a swig of alcohol and started singing. A repeat of a popular rebellion song, a favorite amongst the rebels. Several other voices joined in, and as his alcohol dosage increased, as his mind descended into bliss, that was when he felt the most alive. No worries about aliens, nothing plagued his mind except for the spotlight shining bright on his face. The times he never remembered were the happiest. He felt his voice hit a high note as applause reached its peak. His songs were vocal, loud, and he’d let it all out. Another night of partying: passed in a flurry.

After three encores, Till stumbled off the stage, alcohol taking its toll. Till was wasted. Everyone dispersed from the club in a matter of minutes.

Some nights ended with him remembering not a thing. He staggered to his room, hitting his head multiple times against walls. By the time he’d reached his bed, his head throbbed worse than a hangover. He collapsed onto his sheets drunkenly, panting, catching his breath in hurried breaths.

Despite having a killer headache, he felt euphoric.

Almost the best he’d ever felt. He glanced outside, through a small window just above his bed—stars dotted the sky. Usually he’d watch the outside until he fell asleep, scanning the stars for aliens. Today he stared, not with the intent to find aliens, but the stars himself—quietly staring at them, reminded of the nights he and Ivan had spent staring at those stars. Ivan… He thought a lot about Ivan today, strangely. A slight sneer came across his face. Too much about Ivan. He burrowed his face deep into the blanket, pain pulsing in his skull like a heartbeat. The rest of his body hung on the floor, in a kneeling position. He couldn’t bring himself to move his body even an inch.

He lay on the left side of his face, facing the window. As he lost consciousness, he only stared through the stars, at the inky blackness beyond.

Someone else stared at those exact stars.

He’d slept without much on his mind.

The next morning he woke up as expected; a painful migraine that had bound him to his bed for at least ten minutes. Then, he finally decided to rise from his position. His vision was painfully blurry. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, leaving colorful spots behind. He headed out of the room silently. Few other rebels were sleeping; he closed and opened the door as discreetly as he could. A part of his brain scolded him for drinking more than he could handle. (Believe him, his tolerance was high. He must've cost the club a good amount of alcohol supply.)

He barely remembered anything. Only the song he sang and stumbling to bed an hour later. Other than that, his mind was foggy. He pressed a hand to his temple, rubbing it in slow circles. He could only remember the mission during the earlier parts of the day, nothing else.

“Too much…” he muttered. He couldn't recall how many bottles he’d had. Maybe enough to kill him.

He walked into the planning room, the room the rebels gathered to plan, wait, and talk. Today he was not in much mood for planning for the days ahead. He clenched his teeth tight, trying to lessen the pain in his head. Another night wasted, another night of him going to sleep drunk.

“How’s Hyuna doing?” Dewey was asking Jacob.

“Isaac is looking after her—I asked him to help her get familiar,” Jacob replied. “It’s usually hard for contestants to adjust. But she’ll be part of our rebellion sooner or later. It’s always great to have another human on our team.”

Till stepped over to the detective board on the wall. Pins all interconnecting with red string, connections in Anakt Corp they’d need to know to overthrow the aliens. They were only missing a few key parts—enough members in their rebellion and a fully crafted plan. Just key elements. They were just steps away. No matter if they were dead, he’d go back to save all of them someday. A silent note he'd written for himself when he joined the rebels at first, still able to be repeated years later.

“Till!” Jacob called. Till turned to his left. Jacob and Dewey had noticed him. Till had not much choice except to go over and join them—he sat on a chair between the two of them; then, he exchanged looks with both of them, a tired, hungover look. Contrasting to his usual energy today, something he didn't do very often.

“You woke up later than usual; the sun has risen almost higher the buildings,” Jacob observed. “I think you’ve had too much to drink, Till. You know what I've said about drinking too much after days like yesterday.”

“I put on a good show, didn’t I?” Till scoffed, ignoring Jacob's advice.

Dewey gave him a smirk. “As always, like I said. Don’t doubt yourself.”

He did, somewhat. Dewey looked close to laughing. Jacob sat curious. Till reached for his pocket, only to realize he had his jacket taken off. He stood up to go get it, but before he could take even a step, Jacob said, “You don’t need your jacket now. In the afternoon, we’re going back to the city and potentially taking out some guards. Until then, I think we'd be better planning.”

“Planning? Anything new?”

Jacob shot Dewey a look. Then the answer was no.

“What else could there be to do, realistically?” asked Dewey.

Wait. Waiting was the killing feeling Till hated. Every moment he’d spent in this planning room just waiting, waiting for Jacob and other rebels to come back from the mission killed him. But it was all Till could do if he didn’t want to make wrong decisions that he often made in planning. Waiting was so easy, yet crushed him so. Planning or waiting; they were the only things he could do. Despite being a strong fighter, the best fighter, he still waited.

They knew there was nothing worse than waiting. But there were missions he could go on. He preferred those. “I’m visiting the city today. I’ll bring back some alien corpses.”

“It’s dangerous to leave in the early daylight.”

“I’m aware.” Till stood from his position at the chairs, and turned to leave. “I’m going to pack. Have as much fun as you can with planning.”

He reached the weapons room in no time. Boxes stuffed with weapons looked down at him. He had memorized where they put every weapon, having come back into this room for multiple occasions. The grenades were stored near the left; he took a handful out of the box.

What could he possibly need on a trip to the city? Maybe a few grenades, his gun, his jacket…he grabbed two grenades and held them firmly in his hand. The box of loaded pistols was empty. Grenades were alright, then. In a few minutes, he’d got his jacket, his grenades, and a pocket knife. Enough for a trip to the city; not enough to sneak into Anakt Corp. A little disappointed, he peered back into the box of loaded pistols; there was one pistol he’d missed, tucked in the corner. Only one loaded pistol. He grabbed it without a second thought.

He’d had to wait to leave, though. Combined with Jacob’s warning and his paranoia of aliens watching them, it was enough to make his impatience snap off. Better to be safe, he supposed.

He passed Hyuna’s room on his way back to the planning room. She sat on the bed, gaze pointed at her metal leg, staring in vacant disbelief. He stepped through the door, taking the opportunity to talk to her. Her head snapped to him.

“Hyuna, 50th Anakt Garden class?”

Hyuna looked at him. She nodded.

“I think I’ve seen you before.”

Hyuna scrunched her nose. She lowered her eyes to her metal leg again. “Everyone’s seen me before.” she gave a small chuckle.

“I’m Till, 49th Anakt Garden class. I saw you sometimes. Sometimes! You, your brother, and another boy.” Visiting the city helped Till get caught up with the alien news. The first time he’d seen the boy— Luka, on the billboard in the center of the city, Till had known he’d looked familiar. Then he’d realized; Luka was the same, blond-haired boy he’d seen with Hyuna often. Luka, with the fastest-selling album. The boy they proclaimed as a rising star, with his angelic looks and charming singing. “Luka,” he said.

Hyuna’s eyebrows quirked up. “Yes. Luka.”

“Are you feeling well?” Till asked. 

“What should my answer be?” Hyuna’s head cocked to the side, tired eyes still kept on her metal leg. She’d never let her eyes wander for more than three seconds from the leg.

They had never rescued anyone from the 49th Alien Stage season, and it was more like they were unable to. That was a few years ago; Till never got to see Ivan singing. But Hyuna, the girl he’d seen from far away, Till knew her somewhat. And she’d never looked this miserable, ever. If they ever rescued Mizi, just how miserable would she be?

There was still time to rescue Mizi. She would perform in a few days, possibly. That made Till have something worth hoping for.

“You look like you're in bad condition. That’s normal. Everyone else who comes here isn't the best of themselves at the start.”

Till needed to ask. He would ask. Actually, he had to. Questions swarmed his head, and the longer they did, the more they plagued him. The questions he wanted to ask spilled from his tongue.

“Was that your first round?”

“Yeah. Got eliminated in the very first round; how embarrassing for me, it is. But if I beat that round, and the round after, well…” Hyuna clutched her metal leg closer to her chest, refusing to elaborate. Till suspected it had something to do with one of the boys that accompanied her.

“What happened in the 49th Alien Stage season?” came from Till. “Could you tell me anything about that?”

“Didn’t know them too well. I thought you were performing.” Hyuna suddenly yawned. Her voice sounded tired, as if she’d stayed up all night. Then again, she seemed almost without hope, being taken by rebels and saved from death. She’d been spared a death so cruel, in front of all the eyes.

“Who won?”

Hyuna paused to think. “Why’d you ask me? I didn't watch the other Alien Stage seasons when I was in training. I guessed the boy with the dark hair and that tooth. The aliens talked about him a lot after the season.”

Oh.

Till didn’t know what to think—was he relieved? Scared? Overjoyed? He didn’t know. He’d wanted Ivan to win, but never thought his friend had stood a chance. He was always quiet, and often only watched him, eyes boring into paper.

“Do you think he won?”

“Good chance he did.”

A very good chance. After seasons, he’d heard aliens rattle on about certain humans. Sometimes they were winners, sometimes they were losers who had died in the last round. He let himself believe that Ivan had won, that he did not die. That did not make him feel any better.

Till exhaled. At least he’d gotten some information; better than none. “Thank you. Jacob will be coming soon to tend to you."

Hyuna muttered in agreement. Till turned away from her, heading out.

He'd ask more questions later. After all, she was still healing. Jacob had taught him better than to pester an Alien Stage contestant whilst they were still holding on to the memories of discipline and fear of death. But it could be a start—a start to figuring out what happened to his friends.

What happened to Mizi. And what happened to Ivan.

She was his best chance at finding out.

Chapter Text

They slipped through a small crack in the building, and their eyes met a wide grass field, no fences, no trees, just the orange of the sunset.

Stars fell from the sky. They glowed a vibrant red and orange color, hurtling past them like raindrops. Ivan glanced into the distance, across a wide expanse of earth. There was nothing on that wide horizon. It was their escape from Anakt Garden.

He pulled Till’s arm forward; they walked in sync, Till’s eyes starstruck, with Ivan slowly waiting for him, hands gently clasping Till’s. The stars shined bright as they fell, like they had shot down before they seized a chance to shine. The two boys watched them pass by, waving goodbye to them as they exited Anakt Garden and onto the grass field outside the fences.

Ivan took steps forward. Till lingered behind, unsure. Ivan could only stare at the stars in amazement; they were so much brighter than the stars he’d seen through the windows of his bunk room after curfew. Once they left Anakt Garden, they could stare at these dazzling stars however long they wanted to. Ivan wouldn’t mind it.

They could be free. Free from Anakt Garden’s restraints and the aliens they lived under.

“Come on,” he urged gently, stretching his hands out for Till. Till did not give his hands to him. His arms were tucked at his sides, and he only stayed still, eyes following the sky.

“Ivan, where are we going?” Till asked. He looked back from where they came from, worried.

“Follow me. We’re going to a better place. Even better than Anakt Garden.”

“But what about everyone else?” Till bit his lip. “What about our friends?...”

“We can come back for them!  Let’s go, you and me. Haven’t you always wondered what’s outside?”

Till stopped. “I don’t know about this. I really…”

Softly, Ivan reclaimed Till’s hand, their eyes locking. A silence filled the air as Ivan waited for Till to say something. Till, this time, did not retract his hand, but kept it in Ivan’s. A small sigh came from him.

“Don’t you trust me, Till?” questioned Ivan. 

“I do.”

“Follow me, then. I know where to go. We can escape and then we can do whatever we want without the aliens telling us what to do. We could do anything outside Anakt Garden.”

These reassurances did not sound convincing. Aliens had ruled over humans; the only things they’d see beyond Anakt Garden were more aliens waiting for them. Ivan found it hard to believe that, though. Outside Anakt Garden, they’d be able to do anything they wanted. That sounded pleasing enough to Ivan. He could be free, explore the city, with Till by his side. 

He only wanted Till to be by his side.

“That sounds…”

“Crazy?” Ivan looked backwards, but Till was not there. His voice had disappeared, all of a sudden. Till, whose hands he had been cupping, had gone, and he was left to cup the empty air. Ivan stood alone in the wide field, with shooting stars in the distance. Till was not there. Then he’d remembered something—Till was gone. Had been gone for a while.

Till had disappeared months ago. 

Ivan always dreamed of escaping, with Till by his side as they walked out, freedom embracing them. Ivan had escaped, now, but Till hadn’t.

Till…he needed to wait for Till.

No matter how long it took for Till to come back, he’d wait for him. And when Till returned, he’d show him the gap in the walls, and they run off into the open expanse of earth together, stars launching themselves down from the endless space above. They would give their final farewells to Anakt Garden, and then—they would escape.

They’d never look back again.

“I must be crazy,” Ivan muttered. A fool, even. Till would never come back. He gazed at the stars in front of him, plummeting so fast, rushing past him. Only he was there to see it.

Then, Ivan turned around and ran. The stars fell ahead of him. 

He was patient. He could wait for him. 

One thing about Ivan was the fact he’d always wait for Till. Only Till. And ‘till they were side by side again, Ivan would not leave Anakt Garden. Not even for the stars.

One thing about Ivan was the fact he did not wait for other people. He had no mercy for those lesser than him; pride was a prejudice he’d taken, like the price of an advantageous deal. On his first day of glory, blood had stained his shoes; the mic he had clenched tightly dropped and rolled across the ground; his points rose and rose, until they outmatched his opponent’s by a landslide. The said opponent bled out on the floor beside him, dead eyes boring into the ceiling. There were winners he’d heard of before, weak winners who still held themselves accountable for the deaths of their opponents. Survivor’s guilt, that was the name. Whatever that was, Ivan had none of it.

Ivan had risen quickly to the public’s favor. After years of surviving, doing the best he could to win the aliens’ trust, he had risen to the top. And it was all to survive.

He remembered the faces of his previous competitors; scared, shocked, as they were shot dead on the stage. Ivan had watched his points rise above the others with an expression on his face ready to accept death. A death that never came—lucky for him. Humans were shot dead right next to him on stage, all of those who had competed with him. They were the ones who surrendered to death, not him.

Now, cameras flashed in his face as he stared into the waves of aliens spectating the stage, their cameras pointed at him, their human pets looking down at him. He had won the 49th season. He was a favorite of the aliens’.

Great at singing. Great at performing. Great at a lot of things.

In truth, he’d done much for the aliens, besides being extraordinary at being a performer. Not all humans he saw shot dead were on stage; not all humans he saw that were taken away screaming and thrashing were on stage either. Some humans would glance at him with despair, eyes wide with questions, eyes that demanded ‘Why are you, a human, working for the aliens?’. They looked at him as if he were a monster among his own kind. He was.

He had killed humans for the aliens. Human who stepped out of line. These incidents all happened behind the scenes, of course. Now his face was on billboards, albums were being sold at fast speeds, and he had something to his name; Ivan, the winner of the 49th Alien Stage season.

Albums with his face on it were passed around like a prized treasure. He had only watched it all from his position on the stage, a small smile cracked onto his face. As if he were the one shot, relief like warm, sticky blood flooded over him. Instead of the shaking guilt he’d supposed to feel, it had felt liberating. He remembered the glimpse he took at the opponent dead next to him—a girl he had talked to some in Anakt Garden—and he had felt nothing but relief, fresh relief, like butterflies cascading from the insides of a bird cage, something erupted inside of him. Pride. Relief. The desperation had gone. He was not ‘so close’ to winning. He had won.

He survived. He survived. He survived. That was all that raced through his head at that moment. He’d made it. Ivan pleasantly smiled for the cameras as a good pet should do, the aliens reminded. He had to look good for his caretakers.

Instead of competing again, they took him away. In all his years of secret service for them, he’d at least risen enough to prove useful, not another playing card to place onstage and be forced to survive for entertainment. He’d been given an official title in society, and respect had come his way. Ivan was important. He was not disposable.

As months went on, he only climbed higher. With the need to survive, so did a need for power. He had a mindset fixed in place since the first day he’d stepped onto the stage as a rising competitor in the 49th Alien Stage season—try his hardest. Do whatever he could to be the best. Just to survive and be revered. In a world where aliens were superior, he had no room for weakness.

He learned their alien language to communicate. He acted well, never acted out. He became skilled in everything he did, so they wouldn’t have a reason to shame him. That had been his entire motivation. The fear of death struck heavy, and it stayed for a long time.

Unsha had been proud. Not as proud as a father to a son, but just proud. Happy, at least. He hadn’t seen his caretaker since he’d won, not that they let him see Unsha anyway. He wondered if Unsha had seen him on that day on the stage, praises and cheers going around the aliens. Alongside Unsha, the other aliens were amazed by him, his singing talents, his senses, his quiet obedience. He’d amazed everyone.

Working for the aliens wasn’t fun. Patrolling hallways and the area around the fortifications, watching humans and looking for rebels. He specialized in controlling humans—A task that aliens usually did. It was not as painful as he thought, as long as he suppressed his empathy for the humans. Empathy was a weakness that aliens didn’t have, according to one of the older aliens who’d decided to share their wisdom with him randomly. Only humans felt empathy. That empathy was the same weapon every human had within themselves; one that killed you from the inside.

So he became a monster of sorts. A cold, heartless monster who shot down humans trying to escape their caretakers, according to the prisoners he'd heard. He never reflected on his actions; even he amazed himself at how easily he slept at night, knowing he’d betrayed them all.

Empathy had nothing over survival. He simply knew how to survive, that was all.

Sometimes, besides lurking around the building, or entertaining the aliens with his songs, he’d chase rebels. In the vast, dead earth outside the main city, there were hideouts. Humans that had managed to slip through the aliens’ grip and hidden out, preparing for rebellion. He hated them—he was taught that he must. They seeked to bring the aliens to an end, as well as him. He didn’t want to die.

Chasing them was fun. Killing and capturing was better. Like today; he sat at the wheel of a car, eyes sharp. There was only sand, sand stretching for miles, and the bumpy road beneath him. He tilted his sunglasses down to stare at the road ahead. Nothing ahead, except for faint shapes. Above him, aliens followed in helicopters, watching him as he scanned the horizon. He sped ahead, glancing back once in a while.

This road was not familiar to him, since these rebel missions were rarely assigned to him. He passed by multiple buildings, rusty and in bad condition, unlike the buildings within the city. There were aliens in almost every building, staring out at him as he passed. These buildings were small and mostly filled with aliens; some that weren’t were the human pets, let out to socialize with other humans instead of being by their owner’s side. Even they stared as Ivan passed, wondering what one of their kind was doing driving a car only alien guards drove. He sped past them in a few seconds. Tilting his sunglasses up again, he continued on the road, eyes scanning every building for the signs of a rebellion group.

A few buildings remained in the distance; bright, party lights and loud chatter. If a regular alien were walking by, it would be nothing out of the ordinary; humans loved loud parties and drinking alcohol. There were windows, but they were tainted dark so it was hard to see the interior. This one was overshadowed by the buildings in front, as if they thought the aliens flying over wouldn’t notice. They clearly didn’t think about Ivan before planning their hideout. Ivan took his sunglasses off. He burrowed his lanyard deeper into his coat; then, fluffing his hair to hide his eyes, he stepped inside, acting haggard. Hopefully none of them knew who he was. They only saw a human in need of rebel service.

Ivan was greeted by a brunet man, with one scar running down his left eye. His curious look found Ivan. Multiple other curious stares were shot his way, but most of the rebels in the club were too drunk to care. He immediately approached Ivan.

“A human, looking for shelter?” the man smiled. “Are your caretakers in the city?’

“I just left.” his voice softened to a quieter tone. “I thought maybe someone out here would be willing to help me…my caretaker’s been doing me wrong. I’m not sure I could go back.” He forced a pleading look on his face. “Is anyone willing to help me?”

“Of course. What’s your name?” the man frowned with a pitiful look forming in his eyes.

“My caretaker never gave me one.”

“Oh. Well, my name’s Jacob! It’s nice to meet you, really nice.” He flashed him a smile that Ivan did not reciprocate. “We’ll find you a name soon, I’ll make sure of it. Right…would you like a drink?”

Jacob held out a cup of alcohol out to him. Ivan narrowed his eyes in suspicion at the liquid.

“I’m alright. I don’t drink that.” He didn’t know what alcohol did. From a quick look around the room, at the dizzy humans and the ones singing their heart out with full, unabashed confidence in offkey notes, alcohol did not seem like any good. It seemed like a drug.

Jacob nodded and downed the cup of alcohol Ivan had turned away. “So,” he said, wiping the remaining alcohol off his lips, “Could you tell me a little more about yourself?”

Ivan had forgotten to make a backstory. He crawled through his mind, quickly making up a story on the spot. It took him a few seconds before looking at Jacob again, the downtrodden expression on his face again.

“My caretaker treats me like a toy. Always pushing me around, never letting me go. Today I’d escaped. I ran out here as fast as I could…I heard of the rebellion from the posters around the city. I knew they would take me in. That’s why I’m here now.”

That was half the truth. The rebellion took in any willing human they could; they knew humans detested aliens, every single human did. Except Ivan.

“Joining us, then?” Jacob took another shot of alcohol. “That’s great! I’ll introduce you to the strongest fighters on our team. I think there’s one you’ll get along with very well! He performs a lot after missions. His performance skills are absolutely incredible, you’ve got to hear it for yourself.”

“I’d love to meet him,” Ivan said, though with a different enthusiasm than Jacob thought he held. A different motive behind his eagerness to greet the members of the team.

“Alright, then, we’ll head downstairs later. Don’t you want to stay upstairs and party a little bit? Maybe even put on a performance for us while you’re at it—are you good at singing?”

He excelled at it.

“Yes.”

“A very confident answer. I think you’d do great singing for us. One song and we’ll talk again?”

But Ivan shook his head. He didn’t want to risk them knowing a shred of his identity. Even out here beyond the confines of the city—risks were the small pebbles added to one side of a balanced scale, and if it tipped, they’d know who Ivan was. His cover would be blown. Jacob swirled the cup of alcohol in his hands; Ivan stared at it cautiously.

Jacob did not insist on him singing, luckily for Ivan. He drank another dosage of alcohol, then placed the cup on the table. “I think it’s time for you to meet our strongest rebels. Come on, follow me down.”

Jacob and Ivan stood from their places at Jacob’s table. Jacob walked him through the club, to a more secluded area leading down. Ivan subconsciously held a small smirk on his face. They’d been so foolish. Too foolish to let a person like him into their rebellion. From the corner of his eye, he saw helicopters landing down onto the road from a few yards away. Cars swerved off the road and onto the sand.

They were here.

In an instant, an explosion rattled the club. All at once, the sounds of panicked shouting and hurrying footsteps also came. Ivan ran back to the entrance of the club. Aliens stood in front of the building, guns pointed. Rebels had barely seconds to react before bullets rained on them. Blood splattered across the air, some hitting Ivan directly on the face and onto his clothes. Pity—he’d have to wash them again.

Jacob stood behind him, head darting around in a blind panic. “They’re here!” he shouted. He reached into his pocket for a weapon. Ivan could see the regret settle on his face as his hands rose up empty.

“How did they find us?” someone muttered behind him. 

Ivan felt his smirk increase in size. He faced the aliens outside, who were shooting everyone on sight except for him. Ivan let the bodies crumple to the ground around his feet, followed by the walls smashing abandoned alcohol bottles, sending glass and liquid across the room. Satisfaction had never been an extreme emotion. But to Ivan in this moment…satisfaction engulfed him. Like his first moments recognized as the winner of the 49th Alien Stage season and a phenomenal singer loved by every alien—satisfaction. Relief.

As the enemy forces were shot to the ground, Ivan craned his neck to look at Jacob.

“Hah, do you let just any human in?” Ivan asked Jacob. “Not a great mindset to have, is it?”

Jacob glanced at him in confusion, before his eyes widened. And the realization hit him. Before he could properly say anything, a bullet grazed his shoulder. He crumpled to the ground, eyes wide and still at Ivan.

“You…”

You are not one of us.

Ivan took his place with the aliens. His gun was pointed at a rebel. Their eyes locked, and the eyes that were filled with curiosity earlier, were the same eyes now shocked and angry. They studied him most of all, questioning how a human could work for the aliens. Why he even was willing to. He was a monster and traitor to his own kind.

As quickly as he’d come, he killed as many rebels as he could, landing shots square in the head, on the heart, anywhere they’d die the fastest. Some of the lucky ones had wormed away, escaping into the shadows. They wound up many of them. Ivan hoped at least one was one of the strong fighters Jacob had mentioned. The bound up rebels were thrown into helicopters or strung onto the skids of them. Ivan watched as every rebel cleared from the club.

A flash of gray hair appeared; Ivan peered back in that direction, but faced nothing. Funny. Must have been another rebel passing by. Another rebel with unorganized gray hair.

It seemed so familiar, and Ivan couldn’t shake that feeling off if he tried.

Ivan hopped back into the car. The aliens hopped into the helicopters, rebels carried in their arms, struggling to break free. Ivan hit the gas pedal and started to head back.

Once they’d arrived at the Anakt building, Ivan headed inside, hands behind his back. Rebels and aliens followed him. Some rebels walked by themselves, silently observing the interior; some were unconscious and bound, carried by aliens on their shoulders. He led the way towards the cells.

Once they reached the confinement rooms, each rebel was tossed into one roughly. Some shouted indignantly, pounding against the doors, shouting threats and promises to break free. Ivan regarded each with a brief look. Every one of them looked back, eyes filled with shock. Especially Jacob’s, at the end of the cells. Anger shone on Jacob’s face as he stared at Ivan. As if they’d known each other, like childhood best friends, but they were simply the same species. They thought all humans followed the same thinking.

Not all humans hated aliens. Not all aliens wanted humans as pets. There were always different ones in a species of alike minds. Ivan was one of very few, siding with the aliens. All of these rebels were…disappointed. Regretful. Negative emotions that Ivan had seen on every human’s face once they realized who Ivan really was. Everyone was disappointed.

Ivan wondered if Till would be as disappointed in him as they were.

They looked at him like he was from another world. A heartless monster who held no room in its heart for its own kind. They didn’t understand anything.

He walked out of the cell room, aliens surrounding him on all sides marching in unison. He adjusted his lanyard so his coat covered it again. He glanced across the halls, uninterested, to the aliens passing them by.

They’d captured more rebels and found the hiding place. The rebellion was collapsing. The Segyein made sure of it. Posters of rebels were hung on white walls, hooded rebels with a malicious flag in the background. The same flags he’d seen lining every poster in every hallway. He used to be genuinely scared for them, fearing the position they’d strip away if their numbers rose too quickly. That was what had scared him into volunteering at these rebel chasing missions. And in a way…he liked playing with power. Exercising fear to these inferior humans, like today. They’d captured more rebels than usual, and the sheer looks of terror on their faces was priceless. These rebels were not as scary as the posters made them out to be. They were only scared humans who’d made the mistake of running away from where they truly belonged. 

Now they paid the price for it.

He’d need to report the mission's success to the aliens later. He implanted a mental note into his brain. The aliens around him scattered to get to their other duties; Ivan kept going forward towards the balcony. The balcony outlooked the outside of the city, the vast earth he’d just driven across. He used to sit here multiple times when he could, overlooking the outside of the city boredly. Across the earth would be the rebels, still scrambling to recover from the invasion. The numbers Ivan had knocked down served as a warning of sorts—the rebels were a dead organization. Soon, every one of them would be gone.

Less for Ivan to worry about.

They all knew who he was, and the traitor he was to their species.

One day, a few weeks after Hyuna had arrived at their hideout, just when she had settled in and made some acquaintances—an explosion sounded whilst Till conversed with Hyuna in her bed. And the first thing that came to his mind? He knew the aliens had found them at last.

He'd been waiting for this time forever, and it was finally here. Ignoring everything he learned, he zipped up his jacket and bolted up in his chair.

“Shit!”

“What was that?” demanded Hyuna on the bed, her brows creased.

Till zipped up his jacket and threw on his hood. Hyuna was left in total confusion, but Till had no time to explain to her their circumstances. Shouts and explosions went off in rapid succession; like beats of music, explosions went off in rhythmic booms, each one hitting closer to Till.

“They found us.”

“Who’s they?”

He gave a quick dismissive wave to Hyuna, not replying to her question. He touched the gun in his pocket. The door closed behind him softly, then he took off sprinting as fast as he could.

They’d found them. How? Jacob wasn’t stupid enough to let anyone into the rebellion, was he?

Somebody had betrayed them for sure.

He made it up to the club with his breath running out. The club’s stage was dilapidated—one spotlight hung flickering, its purple light shining dimly. Tables were overturned as rebels fought against aliens, but slowly succumbed to exhaustion. In a swift motion, he took his gun from its holder and gripped it shakily.

Dust rolled across the front as rebels were knocked down—in a battle like this, Till knew one thing for sure. They lost.

Till pointed his gun at the aliens, but he’d been too slow. Rebels were being rounded up in ropes, some dead and some injured. Dust blinded them as rubble launched itself onto Till. In a panic, he raced after the rebels, trying to retrieve at least one of them. Bullets lodged themselves into his body as he shot out a useless hand to help the rebels being carried away.

Blood started to seep from his shoulder. Pain burst through him like a rapidly fired rocket. He was momentarily stunned; he watched as the bodies of several rebels were carelessly tossed into helicopters. His eyes widened. He shot at the helicopter, but the bullets ricocheted off of its metal. He took quick breaths, feeling his chest contract within itself. More bullets fired from his gun, but none of them landed a single hit. Panting, he withdrew his gun and could only watch.

Regrets swam through his mind. He should have been there with Jacob. Jacob was nowhere to be seen now; earlier Till had seen his terrified expression mirroring Till’s as he was being dragged away by aliens, bloody and defeated. Realization struck him like the edge of a knife.

Jacob, their leader, had been captured. Till could only freeze and glare at the helicopters flying away, with rebels dangling at its skids. Cars were loaded with rebels. And for a swift moment, he glanced at the driver’s seat, and saw black hair. It was a human. Not just any human—he could see eyes peering into the club he stood in. Eyes he recognized.

Was that Ivan?

There was little chance of Ivan being alive, let alone being a human that worked with the aliens. All humans hated aliens; who would work for them? Yet Till stood, watching the human drive away, aliens tailing behind him. In those long minutes, Till hadn’t done a thing. He’d only stayed rooted in his spot like a statue. Blood continued trickling down his pants. That human seemed so much like Ivan. Till closed his eyes, a grimace stretching his mouth. He held his shoulder, muffling the pain slightly.

They’d been found, and the rebels upstairs had all been rounded up. Not one of them was spared. Whoever that human was—he was a threat to the rebels.

Till felt a lump rising in his throat. He stared after the helicopters as they headed back to the city. With their rebels. He could only think of the horrors that the Segyein would put the rebels through. It scared him to think of them. In the city, the rebels were as good as dead. But they couldn't lose them, especially not Jacob.

That traitor human, the one with the black hair and eerily familiar eyes— who was he?

As dust cleared from the debris of the club, he found himself wandering through it. The once built stage had only a few working lights, and the few that worked had only a faint light shining from them. His blood mingled with the spilled alcohol on the floor, both a deep red color. Dots of liquid that were attached to large splatters of red spread across the floor; Till could not tell which ones were alcohol, and which ones were the spilled blood of the rebels.

Bleeding, right, he was bleeding. He cupped a hand over his wound. On his wrist was the red band he wore everywhere, completely soaked in blood. He attempted to brush some blood off, just so that the band wouldn’t be poisoned with a deeper red than the neon shade it had already held.

The band was what Ivan had given him. 

Compared to those eyes he’d seen earlier, with the same shade of red as his band…his suspicions about Ivan were increasing in number. But he wouldn’t assume it, not so soon. That couldn’t have been Ivan. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw for himself.

He brushed the last of the blood specks off his skin. Then he took a glance towards the sky again, now clear of helicopters. The road beneath it was also devoid of any cars cruising along it, as they had all headed into the city. 

He needed to go back to Anakt Corp soon. But not now. Not in his injured shape.

Soon, other rebels joined him in the debris of their hideout. Distressed talking filled the air around him. He heard their concerns, concerns about Jacob, concerns about their leader in place of Jacob, and everything they couldn’t solve. This couldn’t be their final day, but it seemed a lot like it. They still had rebels in other locations around them outside of the city, however the attack minutes ago had taken a number of rebels. Now they were left without a leader and a place to stay.

Into the club’s main floor came Hyuna, limping on her metal leg. She examined the debris with wide eyes. She didn’t appear as shocked as everyone else seemed, yet still shaken; the scene was disturbing for any human walking in, after all. Strange liquids and collapsed walls, and rebels trying to comfort each other while keeping an eye on the sky in case the aliens decided they weren’t done with them. 

The attack had happened all so fast. Some of them had not quite adapted to the situation yet.

Hyuna stopped behind him, planting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” she murmured, in an attempt to calm him. “At least…you’re still here?”

Her attempt at comforting did not work.

Till squinted his eyes, staring at the rubble hopelessly. He felt dizzier as he stood; a waterfall made of blood stained his outfit. He was rendered speechless. Even if he tried, he could not gag up words. The recent memories flipped through his mind, like a book he only skimmed through and did not take the time to carefully read. But the pages were not in his hands; they turned with the speed of a car, flipping through his mind over and over again. The rebels being captured by the aliens was a page burned deep into his memory. Them being bound by ropes, some already dead, and then the helicopter lifting off into the afternoon sky.

Who had exposed the rebels, was the question repeating itself in his mind. There were a few suspects, but he could only think of one person. That traitor human.

Jacob accepted every human lost and abused or had run away from their caretakers. Any human. Even strange ones that did not spill much about their backstories. That had to be the traitor human.

The black hair, those somewhat familiar eyes…the next time they snuck into the Anakt building to retrieve Jacob, he’d find him. A promise that caught fire, and then seared deeply into his heart. A promise he was sure not to break. He’d always hated the Segyein, and that anger was enough to drive him to kill all of them. He should have been up there with Jacob. He should have been the one to kill the traitor human, the one that painfully reminded him so much of Ivan.

His childhood best friend from Anakt Garden, someone he’d never been able to let go; and here he was to haunt him again, through the eyes of someone he did not know.

They could not be the same people.

Till shot Hyuna a glance. He looked at the rebels around him again. Most of them were silent now, letting the rays of the sun hit them as they picked apart the pieces of the walls. Some went downstairs to retrieve their things, knowing they’d have to relocate again.

From behind him came a few rebels. Till looked back and found Dewey and Isaac. A huge sigh escaped from him; he let out the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. They hadn’t been upstairs for the capture, but they certainly heard it. Till ran towards them.

“Dewey.” Till greeted them as they turned to him. “Isaac. What were you doing?”

“We had some planning left to do. When the explosions started, we stayed down here.” Dewey looked at Till’s bleeding body, guilt scribbled onto his face. “Jacob told us when explosions went off, we stayed underground…where is Jacob?”

From the sudden downcast bearing of Till, and the unusual emptiness of the air, the answer was spoken to them without a word uttered. Isaac’s eyes widened.

“Hell does that mean? Jacob’s gone?” Isaac muttered, voice quivering a bit at the last word.

“Taken by the helicopters. He’s not dead yet.”

Isaac’s face morphed into a blank, wide-eyed one. The gun in his hand plopped to the ground.

“We have to get him back. Where did they take him? Which direction?” asked Dewey.

“All aliens go back to the city, dimwits,” Hyuna interjected, head tilted. “So  they’re probably in the Anakt building or wherever close to there. That seems like the most likely place since most of these rebels were taken from Alien Stage rounds, right?”

Till nodded with her. “We’ll look there tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Laughable. They know we’ll be coming for those rebels. Extra security will probably be added.” Isaac’s voice was bitter. “We should go in a few days. Jacob can’t die.”

Whatever horrors they’d perform on Jacob in the city—they weren’t afraid to kill him. He just hoped they wouldn’t kill Jacob so soon. That fear lingered longer the more his mind took turns down a scenario that was likely to happen—the aliens torturing Jacob until he died, forcing him to spill his secrets to that traitor human. He shut his thought train down quickly.

“Would a little planning be helpful?” Till questioned.

“Yeah, but I’ve got to look after those kids we took from Anakt Garden,” said Dewey.

“I don’t think planning would be the best for me,” Isaac simply uttered.

To that, Till gave Isaac a sympathetic look. “We’ll get your brother back soon—hopefully before next week.”

Isaac and Dewey headed downstairs slowly. Till stayed among the debris alone as Hyuna returned to her room, walking a little better on her metal leg. Till looked towards the sky—still noon, though it felt like hours since the attack. It had only been minutes.

Rebels around him followed Hyuna downstairs, some with tears gathering in their eyes, some with stone faces but hidden trauma brewing behind that empty look. 

From his bullet wounds, an intense burning, enough to make him thrash around in agony, started to crawl under his skin. He landed on his knees in the rubble. The blood from his bullet wounds were drying. One stained his jacket in a large, dried pool and one painted his leg red. It burned badly…so, so badly…the pain of those wounds hadn’t hit him until now. And when they did, he felt as if someone were ripping out his stomach slowly, watching with sick pleasure as he received every hit of pain from it.

Oh. He’d lost so much blood.

“Till.”

A voice like Ivan’s rang out in his mind. But Ivan was not here beside him, not like in Anakt Garden. The rebels had become leaderless. He tried to keep his eyes open to no avail. Dizziness consumed him until his surroundings became only a dull blur and his mind could not work. He tried to turn to the stairs leading down, attempting to crawl to his bed before he lost his grip on consciousness. Fog clouded his brain. His vision blurred until the ground below him became two. Before he lost consciousness, he fell forward, landing onto the rubble.

“Till…”

Ivan’s voice ran across his head again, in a brief millisecond, before he hit a piece of the rubble underneath him. Black filled his vision as consciousness slipped from him.

Chapter Text

He cracked open his eyes.

Till woke with bandages wrapping around his shoulder, his stomach, and his leg. Cold liquid pressed against his back. When he shifted himself to see what it was, he found a large pool of dried, purple-red liquid staining his bedsheets. The bandage on his stomach dripped with red blood. He immediately darted out of his bed, and ignoring how badly his body shivered, he tossed aside his blanket to find traces of dried blood on the mattress as well.

How much blood had he lost? He pressed a hand to his temple. The bed in front of him started to swirl.

Shit. That probably wasn’t a good thing, right? Till shut his eyes and shook his head rapidly. When he glanced back at his bed, it was stationary again. He sighed.

He placed a hand on his bedpost and the other on his stomach. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he raised his head to look around, preparing to leave the bunk room. Other rebels were asleep in their beds. The sun had not graced the day yet—stars were still shining above them. Till walked towards the door, ignoring how hard it was to take each step forward. Each step rocked the ground, shaking his world. As torturous as it was to walk, Jacob could be going through worse.

If only Till had been more careful. He’d never lost that much blood before, not so much that it stained his bedsheets in its entirety. Each second that passed, each step he took, fatigue patted at his eyelids. The rooms ahead of him became blurry. Blobs of color stood in place of what should have been a regular room. Past stairs, past wooden boards, his hands dragged along walls, making sure he didn’t topple forward and end up hurting himself more. This feeling of weakness persisted as he made it to his destination.

Till collapsed onto a chair in the planning room, rubbing his forehead weakly. His eyes focused and unfocused as he stared at the table in front of him. Sprawled on the table was a giant map sketched messily. On the Anakt building was an X, drawn with a red marker. Notes were scribbled besides buildings, labeling them with names. Till studied the map in silence, reading through the notes. Through the darkness, the words on the map faded in and out of his vision. He could barely walk, let alone see—he couldn’t do much with his wounds. He clenched his hand over his stomach, trying to get rid of an uneasy feeling. He hated feeling weak . 

Till gave up on reading and leaned back in the chair. Faint chatter came from rooms down the hall; the voice of Hyuna streamed through the air. Then, the loud crashing of a box sounded, startling Till. He didn’t hear the footsteps of another coming his way.

With the room dark, he turned to the source of the footsteps. He couldn’t see anything either way. Whoever it was saw him—and rushed over.

“What are you doing here so early in the morning?” he heard in Dewey’s voice. So Dewey it was. “And injured, too,” the voice added.

Till glanced back at the map; Dewey’s presence next to him seeked the nearest chair, and Dewey plopped onto it. Till sat with his head propped by his two hands, staring at the map intently. He did not say much to Dewey, except for a faint “I’m fine” in response to his question. He felt the map shift on the table; Dewey turned it around to face him.

“Did you write anything on the map?”

“No—I don’t have a pen.”

Dewey proceeded to check for himself despite Till’s answer. A prolonged pause was put into place. Next, Dewey took a pen from his pocket and scribbled a quick note under one of the buildings.

Dewey's voice sounded casual, with a hint of grief to it, not the completely morose sound Till thought he’d have after what happened yesterday. It was as if the day were another morning of them planning and raiding alien habitats. Till watched him scribble, trying to make out his face through the shadows. Unlike the days before, when Dewey was quick with his pen strokes, he slowly drew the lines of an alien habitat, the lines shakier. Till beside him watched as he sketched another building, shaky straight lines and small windows drawn out to make a shape resembling a skyscraper.

As if Dewey had seen him staring, he said, “You need to get some rest. You got shot like, three times.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Till snapped. He instantly shut his mouth at that. Dewey looked back to the map and finished scribbling a note, then went back to studying the map. The map originally was used to mark the hideouts other than theirs, but  after yesterday, there was a giant X covering the Anakt building now, and several notes, all in different handwriting, resided under it. Till read over those small notes. They were little suggestions and ideas for their rescue plan to retrieve Jacob. Till ran a hand through his hair; the suggestions didn’t seem very well thought out, rushed little ideas that would fail immediately. The rebels had someone who planned rescues, but he was in a cell now in Anakt building, waiting for death. He was the one being rescued.

Till stayed there for two minutes; Dewey didn’t disturb him—today, Dewey was unusually quieter and less cheery than the days before. The answer to why, of course, was obvious. 

By the time two minutes was up (or when Till’s eyes closed for a little too long and his head nearly hit the table) Till rose out of his chair. Dizziness shot through his head, almost knocking him over. Dewey, concerned, rose from his chair as well.

“Where are you going, Till?”

“Going back to my bunk.” A screech sounded as Till pushed away his chair. “Like you said, I could get some rest.”

“Are you sure , definitely sure you can walk with that heavy bandaging though?” Dewey inquired.

“It’s not the first time I’ve been shot.” Till clutched his stomach. The blood from his wound was heavy; it soaked even through the thick plaster covering his wound. His dizziness still hadn’t left him, as colorful lines stretched across his vision and blurriness was an unfriendly presence. 

“Yeah, but being shot three times could kill you.” Dewey sounded forlorn. “We can’t lose another rebel.”

“You’re worrying too much; and like I said, I feel fine.” Fine was far from what Till felt. In truth, he felt pain spark from his wounds whenever he moved. Dizziness had a grip on his brain—he swore he could feel the floor under him tilting. He felt kind of sick. As they sat in the planning room, planning Jacob’s rescue, Till found it hard to listen. Strings of words would float into his ears and then disappear. Yet, besides his wounds being an absolute thorn in his side, Jacob’s absence was a bigger problem to worry about than his health. There was no deadline to retrieve Jacob, yet the knowledge that he could be killed at any moment weighed heavy above their heads, striking fear. 

Footsteps came from down the hall; with the squeaking and clunking of metal in place of a foot, they immediately knew who it was.

“Maybe I’m stronger than the two of you,” commented Hyuna loudly as she walked by carrying boxes of weapons, her eyes focused on the boxes towering above her, “Or maybe both of you are too busy gossiping to help load things.”

Especially in a time like this, being dizzy was disadvantageous. Till was excused from carrying weapons (against his will) because of his current condition. Several others were as well, so Hyuna took it upon herself to carry as many as possible in place of those excused. Till was a bit perturbed about the strain of carrying three boxes loaded fully with guns, but did not voice his concerns to Hyuna.

“This early?” Dewey said in disbelief. “How could you see out there?”

Hyuna shrugged. “The stars give light.” She disappeared down the hall.

Since the attack yesterday, things had been quiet in the club. Most rebels, it seemed, had sobered up and realized the danger they were in, as well as the fact most of the rebellion had been in disarray since Jacob had been captured. They had started to pack their things and haul them to the cars—Till could hear zipping and grunting as boxes were moved. Relocating, Till realized, they were relocating to another location—after the aliens had raided their club, they were all moving to a new hideout spot.

Till traced the outlines of buildings on the map. He didn’t recognize most of them, since he’d rarely stopped to observe them. What use, anyway? They were all dilapidated old things invaded by aliens. When he drove past them on missions, they were just dots in the distance, staring at him as he and the other rebels snuck into the Anakt building. But if they had to relocate to one of these areas—perhaps it would be best for him to get a little familiar. He’d go today, if they weren’t planning on getting Jacob back yet. His fingers finished tracing one of the buildings, and he moved on to another.

The buildings were sketched pretty accurately, at least. He remembered a building distinctly the same shape as the one he traced under his hand. The other rebels knew their way around, and Till still didn’t . He was completely useless to decide where they would relocate.

Useless— huh . He’d never described himself as that.

“We should add some buildings located in the city,” noted Dewey. “That way we'll find it easier to navigate around. Till, you know the city pretty well.”

“Hmm?” Till peeped up at him, halting himself from tracing.

“I said , you know the city pretty well. Do you want to help me map the city?”

The city was not a place Till remembered well. He remembered being in Anakt Garden; he remembered sneaking into the city for a rebel mission, and not being able to find his way around under the large skyscrapers and the big crowds of aliens and humans alike; he remembered…nothing. Except for tall skyscrapers and a bustling city, and a vague sense of fear when he glanced at an alien. Other than that…his mind drew a blank.

“I don’t remember it in that detail,” Till admitted. Nothing grand showed itself inside the city walls, anyway. Rows and rows of buildings around every turn. Alien drones patrolling the city. Other than that, nothing else interesting popped up in his mind.

“Then you could go back for a mission!” Dewey suggested. “Think of it as one; you could bring your radio with you and you could describe the city to us.”

“I’m sure you remember it better than me.”

“You were born in the city, Till!”

“I’m not going.” at Dewey’s questioning look, he added, “And it’s not like we’ll explore the city while looking for Jacob. He’s in the Anakt building.”

Dewey was silent. He went back to studying the map, though Till was sure he’d already studied it a hundred times before. Till stood from his chair, dizziness slightly alleviating, then headed upstairs, away from the planning room behind him.

The club had rebels sitting amongst the chairs of the club, but none of them were drunk, partying or singing. Their solemn expressions gave Till enough of a reminder about their missing leader. Though the stars were still lit the sky, many of the rebels had their items packed and carried into boxes. One of the advantages of living sparsely—it didn’t take long for the rebels to pack up. Till had nothing of use to him. He didn’t care for the mattress or the blanket on his bed. He didn’t have anything that belonged to him.

From the bartending area he grabbed a bottle of alcohol. Then, he headed outside, aware of the rebels’ curious glances on him. He shut the door gently behind him, sliding down onto the ground with the wall pressed firmly against his back. Stars above twinkled, yet nothing about them radiated true brightness. Perhaps Till’s world was just a little too dull—or these mornings were nothing to look forward to anymore. He uncapped the bottle of alcohol and took a sip. Not a big sip, just a small one. He continued staring at the stars, listening to the sound of boxes being loaded onto cars.

More sips of alcohol made their way down his throat. He capped the bottle of alcohol. Till felt a migraine coming on as he viewed the stars and the city underneath it.

“Drinking is your solution now?” a voice behind him demanded. Till turned around to be met with Isaac, a gloomy look befalling his face. Till quickly pushed the bottle of alcohol away from him.

Isaac’s voice appeared as usual, a snappy, commanding tone, but it had dulled, as if his will to live on had diminished along with Jacob’s disappearance. Jacob’s disappearance had been hard on all of them, especially Isaac. The mental toll it had taken on Isaac was visible physically.

“Well—no.”

Isaac gave him a small sneer as a response. He leaned against the outer walls of the club, watching Till with a gaze like disdain. He looked at Till as if Till had wronged him personally—in a time like this, there was no use for sitting around and drinking. Till did so anyway; he was still useless to them in his condition.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Anything to help us. I told everyone else in the rebellion—we have to do everything to get Jacob back. Planning, packing, waiting for the perfect time, instead of moping outside trying to get drunk.”

He wasn’t moping . Sitting outside with his hands around his knees and with a bottle of alcohol in his hands wasn’t considered moping, was it? Till tucked his knees in and propped his arms on top of them. 

“I’m hurt. I got shot three times.”

“Don’t state the obvious. And there’s things you could be doing wounded. Things that benefit all of us, that don’t include sitting around and brooding.” A sharp edge to Isaac’s statement. 

Till forced himself to stand. His wounds sparked with pain as he stood straight, but at Isaac’s statement—Isaac suffered the loss heavier than anyone else, as Jacob’s younger brother. Of course he would want to do anything to get him back. Till looked at the club inside.

“I’ll help Dewey load weapons. Is that good for you?”

“As long as you aren’t sitting miserably out here like a kicked animal.” Isaac’s brow furrowed as a bitter expression unraveling on his face. “We need Jacob back. I need my brother back .”

Isaac had never sounded so grave.

“I’m not miserable. You could have just said yes.” Till brushed past him as he headed back inside. The glow of the stars was seared brightly into his vision.

He carried his alcohol bottle with him, clenched tightly in his hand with the bottle cap missing; whatever. He’d discard it later either way. Dizziness pricked at him from both sides, swallowing him as he went down the stairs. When he landed on flat ground, his world shook, then returned to normal. Till rubbed his head to calm the migraine brewing on.

He arrived downstairs again to help load weapons, a little regretful he hadn’t decided to sleep for the entire night.

But, Till reminded himself, it was for Jacob. 

They walked with grace—practically parading around each other, as if afraid of touching. Their singing was great, great for a human trained by Anakt Garden. The scores were perfectly tied, and even as the timer’s numbers dwindled down, the scores were unchanging. On both of their faces were desperation; a need to survive and win. Ivan had made that same look. During the first rounds, when he’d been too full of confidence.

Seconds were left. They sang in high voices, hitting every note. He noticed the competitor on the left, a boy with short brown hair, had sung the note slightly shorter than the girl on the right. His score sank down a little. As seconds passed them by, the competitor on the left carried a hysterical expression, trying hard to gain his points back. Too hard.

When the timer ran out, blood sprayed across the stage; the boy with the brown hair fell to the ground, convulsing as blood spilled out of both his chest and mouth. A round of applause rose. The girl looked towards the loser of the round, trauma like the shade of a tree befalling her face, shadowing it with a canopy of emotions. Then, a collar, blinking a red color, was strapped around her neck. In an instant, she was dragged away, her screams of pure grief fading as she disappeared. Ivan only watched from the stage, watching as the stage was cleared for a new human to step on and entertain the aliens.

Sometimes during these stages, he’d wonder what it would have been like to be the one shot dead on stage if his singing had been inadequate. His eyes went after the dead boy’s body as alien guards hauled him away. From the screen facing the audience, the boy’s eyes were glazed over, and his face was downturned into a permanent frown.

Ivan imagined himself in that position. Carried away from the stage as his opponent stood victorious. Shot in the neck, or the shoulder, or the stomach–anywhere they’d shoot that killed him. Now he lived without a gun pointed at him and freedom to think for himself. To think another could have stolen this from him, if he hadn’t used all his confidence during his time as an Alien Stage contestant—he’d be another dead human, a loss mourned for too shortly.

During these times, when he looked at the pools of blood dripping on the stage, he felt a strong tightness on his chest. Which was weird…he wasn’t ill. But every time he gazed at the pools of blood on stage, and the dead opponent being dragged away, he would only see his face plastered on the dead contestant, eyes glazed and blood leaking from his mouth.

He saw his own dead body in the place of the opponents’. There rose an increased dryness in his throat he’d never felt before. Then afterwards, he checked if he had caught an illness—none. Human illness included a sore throat, a running nose, and an increased body temperature, none of which Ivan had. Dryness of throat, tightness of chest, and seeing himself as the dead opponent being dragged away didn’t sound like an illness he knew. He might have forgotten to drink water today.

He spotted the girl quietly crying in the pod, tears flowing from her face, falling onto her pants. He recognized what she felt—sadness. Sadness from empathy. Most contestants cried like that, still losing even after they won. Ivan watched her dully as sobs racked her body. 

After that unpleasant experience of watching the stage clear, and as the next human entertainer stepped onto the stage, he spared only a quick glance towards the next human entertainer. Ivan waited out the next few minutes staring vacantly ahead, alert, yet, not so.

As the rounds of applause died down, he vacated his seat along with the other alien guards sitting beside him. He headed out of the theater. After heading out, it took a few moments for his chest to revert to its normal, working form. He’d have to find a way to cure that unhelpful feeling.The feeling of constriction, and watching himself disappear from under the stage lights. An illness nobody but him had, apparently.

After he headed out, he paced around the white hallways, letting floating aliens pass him by. He hadn’t exchanged words with anyone today. Ivan kept wandering the halls without a purpose, until his autopilot had led him upon the door leading into his room. He twisted the doorknob and opened it.

He sat on the stool, facing his vanity table. A note lay on his table, delivered to his room when he was at the theater. His schedule, he realized. A hand slid under the note to pick it up.

Ivan’s schedule each week was repetitive: a modelling show. A performance. A performance. A performance. A patrol shift. A performance. And, his schedule, ever so unpredictable— Another performance . He glared at the paper, hand clenching it too tight. Ivan then folded the paper neatly in front of his vanity mirror.

Repetitiveness was expected when Ivan first started to work for the Segyein. He was a human working amongst the Segyein; free roam had always been for aliens. He worked with his limited jobs around Anakt Corp, making no fuss about it unless he wanted to cause trouble for himself.

He could ask the aliens to place him in another capture mission, and be able to drive freely in the desert again, feeling as air whipped around him like bouts of freedom hitting his lungs—yet he’d gone through enough difficulty to convince the aliens to let him on a capture mission the last time. The aliens were hell-bent on only letting their species go on capture missions. Prejudice against human capabilities was still extremely rampant.

So, another week of staying in Anakt and endlessly performing and patrolling the building. Grabbing his lanyard and his coat, the door of the room shut behind him as Ivan headed out. 

Trying to distract himself from the monotonous schedule he’d been given, Ivan then spent the rest of his entire morning exploring the building, even going to visit Anakt Garden.

He headed out to the Anakt Garden building, following the sewer system until he saw the crown of the garden’s roof. The sand he walked across connected to the outside of the city walls, connecting to the rebel hideouts.

From afar, Anakt Garden seemed cheerful. Children sat around in a circle as aliens instructed their music learning. The familiar sounds of xylophones and drums echoed through the field. Flowers, small red ones, were spread across the field. He peered at them yards from the fence; after a round of music learning, the children scattered and played in the fields, rolling across the grass and playing happily. Laughter, a rich melody rolling off the childrens’ tongues, sounded throughout the field. Joyful shouts could be heard, and comprehended even from where Ivan stood.

Ivan remembered his childhood very clearly.

Everybody he saw on the stage, shot dead after a round he won, he remembered as a child singing, sitting on the green grass. There were other little things, like the texture and the taste of the flowers he’d sometimes hold in his hands. He remembered a lot. More than he was sure other children did.

And he could never forget Till. Till, the ghost of his life. A presence he felt but when he turned around, no one was there. Till, his childhood best friend who’d disappeared when they were children.

Those days were far behind.

Till was dead. Yet, across the stretch of rolling green hills, down to the river flowing across flat terrain—Ivan suspected that Till could pop up at any moment, plopping down next to him, sketching Ivan’s face onto his sketchbook. Till died everywhere else, but in Anakt Garden, he lived .

That’s where he always lived, in Ivan’s mind.

To him, Till was still living, in Anakt Garden, in his memories. Ivan wondered what it was like if he were still alive; maybe Ivan and Till would be friends like they always were; maybe they’d be foes, maybe Till would call him a traitor to humankind and leave him wanting him back.

Questions about Till.

Questions to ask nobody.

He hated not knowing what should be known, what could have been known if Ivan had escaped with Till all those years back, before Till disappeared mysteriously, probably slaughtered by an alien.

When Till disappeared, Ivan felt nothing but hollow in his chest. Till was, or, had been his best friend. He’d gotten attached to him, and then it was all taken away by an alien. The days after Till had gone, he had spent those days searching for Till, waiting for him; and then he came to the late revelation. The aliens were, of course, furious. Some of the other children cried, having been somewhat close to Till, but not as close as Ivan had been.

While they cried, Ivan only stared. Tears didn’t well up in his eyes, though they seemed to in the other childrens’. His face didn’t scrunch up and he didn’t dissolve into a sobbing mess. Emptiness had always been evident in his chest.

He stopped caring for him. Till was another ghost left behind in his life. But when he stared at the hills of Anakt Garden, he’d always be reminded of the boisterous child named Till.

“You’re the human from that day,” came the surprised whisper from Jacob’s mouth. As if his voice were a sudden barrier springing in front of Ivan, making him bounce back, Ivan took a step back to stare at the rebel, a small smile on his face. There were hints of violence smeared over Jacob’s face, blood still dripping from his skin fresh, similar to raindrops trickling down a wall. A glare upwards at Ivan, the best he could do to show his anger. At least he was aware of the danger the Segyein was, since he didn’t try doing anything. Evident his face were bruises, purple spots on his cheek. From the day Ivan had seen him at the club, when the only visible scar he held was down one eye, to now, when the scar on his face no longer stood alone.

Ivan peered into his cell with a look resembling cheeriness, though he felt none of his own. “Nice job recognizing me.”

Ivan expected a kick his way, but none ever came. Jacob only stared wide-eyed, silent, observing him with an incomprehensible emotion on his face. This rebel did not fight, this rebel did not scream. Simply, this rebel had nothing to say to him, unlike most rebels in the cells. Then again, his face was evidence the aliens had weakened him. And from the regret shining clear in his eyes—Jacob feared . Feared him, feared the Segyein.

Good.

“You may die here.” Ivan leaned against the cell door as Jacob sat silently, facing his feet. Prisoners acted violent and defensive at first, then as they were beaten down, they became silent, agreeable, obedient. Then they’d be killed—either by accident, if an alien slammed one against the wall too hard, or when the aliens simply got tired of playing with a certain prisoner. Humans who disobeyed alien law were no better than laughingstock.

“Will you watch me die?” Jacob inquired.

Ivan pressed a hand to his chin. “I don’t know…it depends. Will you talk?”

Jacob understood what he meant immediately.

“I’m not—I don’t want to tell you anything. You can hurt me however many times you want—you could even kill me. I’d prefer that, but you can’t hurt the rebels.” Jacob paused, eyes laced with despair. “I shouldn’t have let you in, but I didn’t know humans would work for rebels, ever . I was badly mistaken, and that mistake led me here…so it’s my fault, and I’ll die with only me at fault. You won’t get anything from me.”

Ivan gave him a cold chuckle. “That’s only because you aren’t in pain right now. Pain makes anyone talk.” Prisoners of their word always cracked under the right amount of torture and starvation. Inhumane as it was, threats to the alien society were intolerable. A day without dinner would be a good start for Jacob.

He stared into Jacob’s cell. The faint light of day shone like a blanket onto Jacob, huddling the rebel as he sat slouched on the ground, miserable.

Now and then, he sometimes conversed with the rebels in the cells, often mocking them for their capture—and Ivan took all the delight in watching them get defensive about their friends, about people that wouldn’t care a year after they disappeared. Many rebels died, and some still rotted in their cells, eyes glazed, almost dead, and death was the angel waiting for their last breaths to release them from their cruel punishment. Other than Jacob, the other rebels were still somewhat nosy, banging against cells now and then, threats strewn from their mouths.

When he passed these cells, he would hear Jacob talking to the other rebels. Planning, wishing—but these walls, thick, white ones, heard everything it touched, trapping them in like a cage with its key lost. Their plans were only to entertain their fantasies. In two weeks, Ivan would be dragging his dead body away.

“I’m not going to spill any secrets,” Jacob said determinedly, though the light in his eyes was fading. “The rebels…they…they would be in so much danger if I did.” Some shame became noticeable in his voice. “I thought you were a nice human. I thought I could see potential in you as a recruit, but that potential is all for the aliens. You’re just betraying your kind.”

Traitor was the right word to describe what Jacob thought of him. The same old word he’d heard from the mouths of other people. Ivan simply faced away from the cell, gazing into the wall opposing Jacob’s cell.

“The aliens are horrible…merciless, empty, and with no empathy for our kind…all of us are going to die without names to our faces once we’re dead.” It was more of a mutter under Jacob’s breath, yet he knew exactly what Jacob played at. Ivan slid his fingers into his pocket, reaching for the gun, then stopped when Jacob exhaled. Not yet, not now . It would be no fun silencing Jacob with a bullet. It had to be gradual, like breaking bits of his sanity off, piece by piece, a biscuit to be savored in small bites. Then, when they’d consumed all of his sanity, he’d beg for death to pay him a visit, a visit which would come slowly. Death was the only privilege the prisoners got.

Jacob peeked at him through the window in the cell door. “Do you care for the humans getting slaughtered by the aliens? Do you help them slaughter humankind?”

An immediate yes rose from Ivan’s throat. “I’ve killed a lot of humans. Is that strange?”

“You don’t ever wonder? Every human has a story, something that makes them special. To you, they’re just nothing ? You don’t wonder about the people—”

“I don’t wonder anything.” Ivan didn’t ponder about these questions when he finished off a prisoner. Empathetic, these rebels were. “I don’t care.”

Jacob snapped his mouth shut, yet through his eyes alone, trampled by guilt and everything sinister. He rubbed his cheek softly, though the restraints on his wrist limited his hand movements. The chains rattled with Jacob’s every movement, slow and limited. The sight was pitiful; Jacob had given up so early, with no will to fight left.

“Nobody’s going to save you. There’s no use hanging onto that belief.”

“Nobody could save you from this fate, working with the aliens and capturing humans,” Jacob mumbled.

He needed to learn to keep his muttering quieter.

There was a certain tone to this cell the others didn’t have; if misery had a smell, it would have stunk Jacob’s cell like a perfume. And the cell did smell faintly. A metallic scent, probably blood, were light, barely noticeable smells, but Ivan could smell them. Jacob had sat in despair for the entire day, refusing meals even when aliens offered it.

Jacob was going to die the soonest.

He’d die in that cell, the guilt and pent up hysterics following him, and silence would take its place as a janitor, cleaning out his presence from that cell.

“Everyone eventually breaks,” Ivan remarked. “You aren’t an exception to that.”

He walked from the cell area to the main interior. Scanning the hallways, he did not find an alien in sight. He calmly strolled out.

Ivan’s brain drifted back to his schedule for the next few days, the shows and performances he’d have to put on, and the shifts he’d have to patrol around and capture missing humans. Jacob’s words echoed in his mind—he thought every human had something special. But none of them were; they were only animals raised for entertainment, to be servants. Nothing special about that.

The sun was high above him; the sign that it was already noon. Ivan walked through the hallways, unusually silent this time. He was heading back to his room. The conversation Ivan and Jacob had slipped through the cracks of his mind and dissolved into thin air. He had an upcoming show later tonight; something he wasn’t too thrilled about.

As he arrived at his room’s door, Ivan found teal eyes gazing at him—yet without a trace, they were gone again, as if he had imagined them.

Strange.

Chapter Text

A week and a half had passed since Jacob’s disappearance. 

It passed them by too slowly, an agonizing fate that was equivalent to physical torture. For Isaac, it was like a slow death, at least, that’s what Till presumed from afar. Isaac grew more reserved, fearing day by day. So did Dewey. So did everyone. Till observed many things about many people in many places. He didn’t speak of them out loud, yet he knew what they were all suffering from.

Regret. Grief. Sorrow.

A tone unspoken but already known around the rebels. They’d spent the last week planning, mapping, taking turns observing alien schedules, finding time windows where they could sneak in undetected. All careful planning that led to the rescue of Jacob. Till spent his days mapping, visiting buildings near their hideout, drowning himself in alcohol (despite Isaac’s wishes prior). A cycle, too repetitive for his liking, yet choice was not a privilege in their situation.

Now Till stood outside, his back leaning against the outside of the club, examining Dewey as his hands left the bag beneath him, stuffed to the brim with weapons. Till tapped his feet in the rhythm of a song he performed on stage. He took glimpses back inside the club every few minutes. Then finally, finally , an hour after being pushed outside to help Dewey, Dewey turned to him, the bag left on the ground beside him.

“Have I got all the weapons I need?” Dewey questioned.

Till recounted the things Dewey had listed off; a gun, some knives, grenades, dynamite…yes, he had enough. Too much, in fact.

“Too much.”

To that, Dewey laughed, patting the bag beside him. “I don’t think there’s never too much. There might be aliens who need their heads blown off.”

They’d done that before. A faint memory brewed in Till’s head, back to a time when he was younger. When Jacob was still there by their side, raiding an alien building.

Dewey checked the weapons inside the box one more time, and Till, peeking into the bag as well, only saw grenades, lots of them. Well, Dewey could pack whatever he needed to; Till couldn’t say he didn’t have qualms about the excessive weapons Dewey carried, though. 

“Could you help me toss this into the trunk?”

Both Till and Dewey’s hands supported the bag’s weight, and in a synchronized motion, they tied the bag again and tossed it onto the trunk of the car, it landing with a resounding thud.

“Well. Thanks for watching me.” Dewey put his palm on the crook of his neck awkwardly. “Must’ve been a little boring for you. I could handle it fine myself.”

“A little boring? You could’ve asked me to do at least something.”

A chortle bubbled from Dewey. “Sorry.” Then, his expression fell to a more serious one. “We’re heading out in a few minutes. Some of the other rebels are joining me,” Dewey stated.

“Am I coming?”

“I don’t think you have to—there are already enough people.”

Till let out a little sigh, sounding disappointed. He’d wanted to go back and hopefully watch another round of the current Alien Stage season; he wanted to see somebody there.

He wanted to see Mizi there. 

If she was still alive—Mizi, the girl from those afternoons he had spent staring from behind a tree, watching her and her friend play with each other, feeling a little burn where his heart was. Mizi was beautiful. Everytime Till stared at Mizi, his heart leaped at her beauty. And she was so nice to him, too—he remembered it clearly, so clearly. He wanted to see her smile again. After all these years…he still liked Mizi somewhat.

She was going to be in the 50th Alien Stage season. He hoped she made it out alive.

His mind pushed her away again, as his eyes focused back onto Dewey. He finished dusting off his pants from kneeling on the ground, trying to sort his weapons in the order in which he needed them most.

“Jacob’s going to be back in a few hours,” Dewey assured to himself, like he couldn’t believe it. “We’re going to get him back.”

Cold relief, though it was like ice cold water dumped on you in the cold of the early morning. Till had a bad feeling that they should have done more planning, should have rescued him earlier. Till could only imagine the state Jacob would be in. There were a thousand ways Jacob could die—and there was only one way he could live, and that singular pathway seemed unlikely.

Dewey patted his hands, dusting them off, and then followed Till in suit as they headed back into the club. From outside, the darkness of the club was alleviated by only the sun rays, and through those windows they could make out Hyuna sitting near the corner of the club. Inside, the flame of a lighter flickered in rapid heartbeats, pressing a cigarette butt. When the two stepped in, Hyuna turned her gaze up.

“Hmm?” Hyuna grunted, mouth holding a cigarette.

“Have the other rebels come by yet?” Dewey questioned.

From the dark, Hyuna nodded her head. The flame stopped flickering, and in a few seconds, smoke puffed from Hyuna’s lips, as an ashy smell rose.

“Okay.” Dewey took a glance outside, then his eyes locked with Till’s. “We’re leaving in a few minutes. Hyuna says she wants you to perform with her tonight, when Jacob gets back.”

Hyuna’s performing skills were absolutely amazing, even comparable to Till’s. At first, he felt some jealousy, but from an Alien Stage contestant, her skills should have been expected. Of course, they had all trained to be great singers. Till still held the skills he learned before he joined the rebellion—it made him a good singer, but not as great as Hyuna.

“Going so soon? Not going to eat?”

“The sooner, the better.”

“The other rebels have had lunch already.” Hyuna took a look at her lunch—a sad bowl of soup sitting on the other side of the table, a mysterious liquid with mysterious chunks of meat in it. Bought from one of those alien stores, it appeared to be. “Why don’t you have a sip of this…” Hyuna lifted her spoon from the soup, letting the liquid drip back into the bowl.

“I’d prefer starving,” said Dewey, staring at the soup. “And there is no time to waste.”

Till watched him exit the doors of the club and hop into the car. Other cars drove up from behind Dewey, filled with rebels. Strangely, Isaac was not one of these rebels, though Till had expected him to be eager to save his brother.

“See you!” Till called out to Dewey.

Dewey stayed behind for a few minutes, conversing with the other rebels, making sure his weapons were intact, and overall making extra sure their plan was reviewed and understood multiple times. Then, dust flew against the windows, as the cars’ engines started. Within two seconds, they sped away, down the road, then disappearing. Till and Hyuna’s eyes were glued to the vehicles, glued until they were only dots in the distance, off to save their leader. Till semi-wished they let him come along.

The ashy smell rose again; Till coughed. Hyuna had lit another cigarette.

“Couldn’t you smoke outside?” Till requested.

“Not a bad smell,” Hyuna replied. She blew another cloud of smoke out from her mouth, then discarded the cigarette onto the table, using it as her ashtray. Three cigarettes lay on the table, butts crushed.

Till waved goodbye to Hyuna quickly before disappearing downstairs. There was nothing much to do except waiting, and though he hated doing so, his chest gnawed with questions. Questions about Jacob, if he was alive or not. 

When Jacob returned, he would ask him every question nagging him.

Till passed the planning room, where the map still sat on the table. The map of the city was filled in a little more, buildings where there had only been empty space, notes covering the paper. Most of those buildings had been drawn by him. He wondered if the map of the city had come into use yet.

He entered the bunker room, greeted the rebels that sat there, waiting like him; waiting for the hour the news would strike. Till found his bunk, traces of bloodstains still visible across the surface from an earlier time. He flopped onto the bed. He shed his jacket off of him, and he lay on his stomach with his hand propping up his head, and his eyes directed towards the window above his bed, watching the sun dip from its place in the middle of the sky. He was waiting for Jacob to return.

He forced himself not to fall asleep as he lay, listening to the conversations buzzing behind him. And he started his long time staring.

The moon graced the sky when the gasps erupted inside the club.

Till, having spent the last few hours wasting bullets, shooting holes into sandbags as a means of entertainment—from when the sun was almost down to when the first rays of moonlight shined through the windows, he’d gone through a total of twenty sandbags, bags destroyed and sand leaking from them. It was rather fun, actually. He should start shooting sandbags to pass time more.

Till had been reloading his gun when cars whizzed past him, multiple at a time. He craned his neck to stare at the cars. Till gathered up his torn sandbags and headed back, heart pounding.

Was Jacob still alive? Were they back to normal again? Till prepared for the worst.

With sand flowing down his arms, Till rushed over to the cars, raking over the rebels to try to find Jacob. In his mind, he hoped Jacob was healthy, perhaps with some minor injuries. Gasps and cheers alike came from the rebels gathered around the front of the club. Till stopped when he saw Dewey with Jacob slung over his shoulder. Jacob was unconscious.

Was he dead?

“Jacob!” Isaac rushed to his side in a panic. Everyone rushed to assist the leader to bed. Till only took one look at Jacob’s face.

And his stomach sank.

If he could use only one word to describe Jacob, it would be unrecognizable .

Jacob seemed to have aged a hundred years, bags under his eyes and hair ripped out; bruises and scars criss-crossed on his face, and an empty look haunted his eyes. His clothes were tattered and ripped, underneath a collection of bruises and discolored skin, skin that covered his bony body. He hadn’t died. Yet he was so close.

“Wait!” Till took into a jog, chasing after the rebels already downstairs.

He hurried down the stairs. They were headed for the bunk room, the rebels all like a colony of ants, gathered around in a large group huddled with each other. Till stopped in his tracks as they lowered Jacob onto the bed, in the worst condition Till had ever seen him in. In a state where consciousness warred against death, and it fought a losing battle. Jacob had turned into a mere husk.

“Everyone, step out.” Isaac’s voice rang over.

Everyone, save for Isaac, stepped behind the door frame as the door locked in front of them. Till, with a sense of foreboding, stared at the doorknob. Soft sobbing came from some of the rebels; even Hyuna, the newest member, seemed shaken by Jacob’s hopeless appearance. Murmuring from inside the room between Isaac and Jacob was audible. The words were incomprehensible, but Till could hear Jacob’s rasping voice, muffled through the door.

Till didn’t know how long he stood there. How many minutes he spent looking at the door, trying to block the sounds of sorrowful whispering behind him. Hyuna leaning against the doorway, examining the crowd of rebels. She looked at him once every minute that ticked by. She had done that enough times for him to recognize the pattern.

Which meant it had been around ten minutes. Ten minutes had passed since they stood. Some disappeared upstairs, grief overwhelming them. Grief should have hit him. Jacob’s appearance back, ruined by the aliens—it should have made him feel something like suffocating sadness. Everyone else had eyes turned towards the floor, or teary eyes, or was full on sobbing upstairs. He only froze.

It would have been better if they brought Jacob back long dead. This crushing feeling of hope only persisted with each breath Jacob took. Fake hope that Jacob would survive, when he knew by those wounds, that wouldn't happen.

Till hated hoping. Till hated any forms of waiting.

Jacob had returned in the worst condition possible. Till knew he would die, so why did he keep hoping?

Jacob, please don’t die.

Then, the door opened, causing Till and the others behind him to take a step back. Isaac appeared, eyes mourning. Till looked back at the rebels that remained behind the doors, waiting for Isaac to open the door so they could send their farewells to Jacob before he left them, this time, permanently.

“He’s not in the best state.” Isaac’s brittle voice announced. “You all can come in, just don’t get too close.”

As they filed in, Till saw Jacob on the bed, a blanket covering his body. Rebels gushed to his side, all bombarding him with concern, and Jacob answered back in a quiet voice, comforting every rebel that fell by his side. Till stood at the bedpost, fists pressed against the cold metal, staring at Jacob, finding it difficult to swallow. Unease settled into his face as if it were at home.

Till didn't say anything to Jacob. What could he say? If he wanted to, he’d stay by Jacob’s side for hours, evicting every piece of Jacob he held in his heart through his mouth, pouring his heart out to Jacob until Jacob’s grip on his hand was stiff.

He didn’t know what to feel.

One week. One week without Jacob had been numb and excruciating. Now Jacob was back, but it didn’t feel the same. Because he shouldn’t have been the one to die.

Till clenched his fists tighter.

It was that traitor human.

That traitor human—that one, who’d led Jacob to his death. The one whom he’d only seen by the eyes, but held so much hatred it was as if they were sworn enemies, with years of animosity standing between them. He’d do what that traitor did to Jacob, every bruise he’d inflicted, every word he’d uttered to make Jacob break .

He hated the Segyein. He hated that traitor human that looked a little too similar to Ivan, his childhood friend from Anakt Garden. Till didn't want…no. Till couldn’t look at Jacob any longer. He turned, breath shuddering, then disappeared from the room. The moon, its rays previously shining into the windows of the downstairs, was covered by the clouds, leaving only darkness across the night sky. The halls were silent when he trudged through them, heart heavy in his chest.

He passed the planning room, then halfway passing it, he stopped. He landed his gaze on the map, obscured by the darkness, like a consuming fog.  Dread peered back at him from the dark, then lunged for him, hitting him with realization.

Jacob was going to die.

Wasn’t he going to say a few words?

He pictured Jacob, the Jacob that Till always knew, before being taken by the aliens. And the Jacob now, robbed of his life because he decided to trust everyone he met. Jacob was brilliant, a smart rebellion leader. There was just one belief he held onto too strongly that cost him everything.

Because of that traitor human. Everyone else seemed to have forgotten about the aliens involved in the attack, everyone except for him.

More rebels passed by his standing form, sucked into their own despair. Isaac and Jacob exchanged words again privately as the door closed, blocking entry. Hyuna leaned against the wall a few feet away from Till, unnerved eyes boring into the locked door. Though she didn’t suffer the same loss as everyone else who’d been beside Jacob for a majority of their lives, something about the way he was cruelly punished made her fear. As did it make Till.

A reminder of the aliens hovering above them in status, too powerful and too dangerous. And somehow, a mere human had managed to rise with them in the ranks, the same status as high aliens got in society.

When the day came and he could have an excuse for going back to Anakt Corp, he’d find that traitor human first, through every hallway and every alien he encountered, Till would find him, no matter the consequence. No matter who he was—Till would make him suffer. Jacob was close to dead (as good as dead), and the traitor human had watched without a morsel of remorse.

Only Hyuna had her eyes on him as he disappeared into the darkness of the planning room.

“ What are all of you so down for ?” Microphone feedback screeched across the club, previously quiet. Hyuna gave a deep chuckle into the microphone, letting it ring through the club. She’d captured the attention of everyone in the club.

“ All I’ve gotten is exhaustion—doesn’t anyone have a pinch of hope in this Anakt-forsaken place?”

Till sat with a drained shot of liquor in his hand, the fifth… err …seventh one? He couldn’t tell at that point.

His mind still hadn’t fogged over yet. It took an immeasurable amount of liquor for him to start to fog over, and he’d only had half a bottle. There weren’t enough alcohol bottles for him to fully cope with Jacob’s return.

After her short speech (was it meant to be motivational?), Hyuna took a deep breath then started to sing, letting her voice flow through the club with perfect ease, the song vibrant and catchy. A few rebels were cheerily singing along, a drastic shift in mood from earlier. They encouraged a few others to hum a melancholy tone, unchanging from their heartbroken demeanors. Their attention was focused solely on Hyuna, watching her liveliness from all parts of the room.

Till joined in singing, though it was quiet and unlike his usual loud singing on the stage. It was a quiet muttering of the song lyrics. He pressed his head against the table, hand rubbing his forehead, blurred vision when he stared at his shot glass. Hyuna’s music reverberated in his ears, the catchy tune catching in his throat. More singing came from the rebels around him, the tone of the club slightly shifting.

Hyuna’s singing was great. It reminded him of the nights where he sang his heart out for the rebels, who were once an energetic group, singing along with him loudly. Now most fell silent, Jacob’s worsening condition having silenced them all with the grief it bought. Till sang a little louder.

One minute later, half the club was singing quietly along. Then, the song ended, and Hyuna placed the microphone on the stand. Applause came from everyone in the audience.

To everyone’s surprise, Hyuna picked up immediately on another song even when the applause had not finished. This song was more intense, more energetic. Till was stunned how many of these songs she remembered. And, to Till’s own surprise, a large portion of the rebels had started singing along. Hyuna did several repeats of the chorus before she reached the bridge, singing in a lower tone.

Till was jolted back to reality when his name rang across the room.

“Till! Yeah, you, Till. Get up your ass up here and sing!”

Till walked up to the stage, unsure. When the purple spotlights finally graced him, the familiar wooden boards of the stage became the ground below his feet, a small round of applause sounded for him; Hyuna and him shared the microphone, jamming it between their faces.

“Let’s sing this last chorus together,” ordered Hyuna. 

“My guitar—”

“All you need is your voice.” A microphone was shoved into his face. Hyuna began to sing, but left volume for Till to join her.

He first joined her slowly and quietly, then their voices rose until they were a duo singing. Till’s musical confidence soared a step higher; they went back and forth, sharing words in the chorus, getting everybody to join them in singing.

It felt lively, but not the same, high lively as before. Yet their singing reached a peak, and cheers sprouted. They sang the chorus multiple times, between Hyuna’s confident looks his way, before she held her hand high in the air, the hand with the microphone in it, signalling the end of their song. Rounds of applause for their song were a little louder.

As the night progressed, as Hyuna and Till sang their share of songs to the audience, the night ended on a somewhat wistful note. Their night had been lively, but the bitter regret still hung. Of course it did; one night wouldn’t change everything. But it was enough to lift the rebels’ spirit for one time. Then they’d fallen again, but not as low as before.

Hope bloomed from the abyss. Spirits had risen a little bit. They stepped offstage, enough for the night. The spotlights were dimmed as everybody headed downstairs to the bunks, some congratulating their singing as they descended down. Till and Hyuna lingered, until the club was cleared and the spotlights were shut off completely.

Till gave one look at the club in front of him; a lost feeling of hopelessness returned again, as he stared at the club now devoid of its members. He spotted his own table, the liquor and shot glass in the position Till had left them in.

He didn’t feel any more joyful than he had been. His spirits were still flattened completely, and one night of singing didn’t change much. Hyuna waited for him patiently to get down the stairs.

“Uh—” Hyuna cleared her throat. “I liked your singing. We should definitely duet sometime. But you have to admit, I do sing better than you.” A smirk streaked across her face.

“As if,” Till scoffed. “I’m the best singer.”

“Really? You believe that?”

“I know so.”

They headed downstairs, silence between them. Though it wasn’t a heavy kind of silence, just silence.

They passed by the planning room. The room, now fully engulfed in darkness, when the corners of the map paper was no longer visible. When the seats and tables were just dark shadows. Outside, the clouds had parted a little for the moonlight to shine through. A singular ray, stretching across the room to hit Till. Hyuna skimmed her hand across the white pillar in front of her, as they spotted the bunk room feet away.

“I haven’t even known you that long.” Hyuna scrunched her face as she paused. “You’re a great singer, the greatest one outside of the city. Well, actually, you’re the only one I know outside the city.” She shook her head. “I didn’t think rebels could be good at singing. They don’t have any special Anakt Garden training or…oh, right.” She seemed to have remembered who he was.

“I don’t remember my Anakt training. I just learned by hearing songs over and over again. There wasn’t a technique to it, unlike the Anakt Garden training. Maybe I’m just naturally gifted .” A slight snark.

“You could have…you could have won Alien Stage. You could have competed with me.”

He could have won the 49th season. 

Till remembered Ivan briefly.

If he stayed at Anakt Garden, Till could have seen Ivan die from afar, watching as he was bested by another student in the Alien Stage 49th class. Or Ivan could have died right in front of him, bleeding out on the floor because Till’s points were higher.

Or it could have been the other way around. Till, bleeding out on the floor, his last moments spent with an arm extended to Ivan, whose hand never touched his. Till wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t to the rebels. If it weren’t for Jacob .

Then, swift as a mouse, Hyuna disappeared into the bunk room, leaving him a bit dazed. Moonlight started to fill up the room. Then, he reached for the light on the other side, following her into the room.

He goggled at the light shining from the bunk room. Little chatter sounded from the bunks. It wasn’t cheery talk, in fact, somewhat somber. He plopped down onto his bed. Exhaustion softened his body, letting him melt into the sheets.

He drifted to sleep, slightly uneasy, and the blank facade he kept up all night shattered. As he faded out of consciousness, his woe began to grip his heart tight, invading his mind like an insect.

Till’s dreams were plagued with Jacob and that traitor human. Especially that traitor human. Only his eyes were visible through the mask he wore, those same red pupils he’d seen in the middle of the raid. Photographic, they stared at him, cold, unforgiving. But hidden under that mask was a human. A human just like them.

Till hoped to tear that mask down someday. He figured if he did, he wouldn’t forgive the traitor in the end. Till would kill him like he killed Jacob. That traitor human was a fool to work with beings that did not care for his species. He was just a human who had made the wrong mistake; and then, he would have to pay for it.

The night passed with his eyes in Till’s dreams.

When the light of day greeted Till, he had his blankets tossed away, and he was laying on his sides with an uneasy look glued onto his sleeping face; sunlight hit him like a late alarm.

The first thing he was welcomed by was the sight of Hyuna and Jacob. Hyuna quietly talked with Jacob, eyes lit with concern. Till rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. Somebody had taken off his jacket for him and laid it on the ground next to his bunk. He rolled down to put it on.

Sunlight was hot against his face, batting away his fatigue. After zipping his jacket up a little, he emerged from the kneeling position on the ground. He exited without so much as a glance at Jacob, letting Hyuna continue her time with him. 

Suddenly, he stopped as Hyuna hurried past him, brushing past him as she ran out the door. He looked after her—her jacket roughly zipped up, slowing down to a jog when she reached the other end of the hallway.

Till hesitantly turned to Jacob.

“Are you okay?” Till queried. He forced himself to sit next to Jacob, ignoring his hammering heart.

Jacob gave him a weak smile. Jacob still stayed in the rough shape he had been in yesterday; his eyes were nearly closed, his hair disheveled and torn out, and…Till didn’t meet Jacob’s eyes.

“I’m alright,” was Jacob’s answer. It was so unbelievably false Till had to laugh.

Till stayed by his side, his hands folded in his lap, tapping his feet in the rhythm of a song he’d performed. that rhythm of his feet slowed and slowed, like a fading heartbeat. They sat in silence, Jacob catching shallow breaths.

“I don’t think you’re alright.” Till awkwardly scooted in closer. “Jacob, what did they do to you?”

Jacob could not answer clearly. He turned to his side, rasping breaths struggling to be heard.

“They…They did many things. I was foolish.” Jacob smiled weakly. “I trusted too much…but you, Till, you wouldn’t have made the same mistake I did.”

A few rebels came to hear Jacob speak, concerned faces peering at Jacob beside Till. Even though Jacob had not said it, the pages were open. Torture, starvation, all the worst forms of punishment. Handled like a toy by the aliens.

“Till, you wouldn’t have made the same mistake,” repeated Jacob.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It isn’t.”

Till rose from his chair, letting another rebel take his spot.

“Have a good rest, Jacob.” Till gave him one last farewell, then headed out the door. Jacob stared after him, nothing but promise in his mind.

Jacob thought so highly of him.

The sun greeted him warmly. Daylight was here again; the first day since they had gotten Jacob back. The rebels were quietly mourning, so nobody was in the planning room sketching or pinning red threads. He continued forward out of the club, where the club seemed empty and the alcohol stash was gone.

Once outside, he turned to the left.

He stopped in front of the cars, inhaling deep breaths of air from the outside. Rebels were absent. Half the rebels had left when he awoke, where, he did not know. He would have thought Isaac wanted to stay back to help his brother, but his presence was now gone. 

The sand under him slightly shifted as he leaned onto a car. The sun burned into his eyes, but he did not turn away.

His head snapped to the vast sky every once in a while when he’d have a sudden suspicion of watchers watching down—but no alien planes ever appeared in the sky. Just in case, he threw his hood over his hair to feel safer.

Jacob thought he wouldn’t make the same mistake. But what if that traitor human—the human that had looked so alike to Ivan, was Ivan? There would be no hesitation. Till would have let him in, all too curious to care if he worked for the Segyein or not. Ivan was his weakness.

During the 49th Alien Stage season, Till had refused to look towards Anakt building. He stayed outside the city, never going in. He didn’t want to find out if Ivan had died competing. Some things felt better as mysteries. But if Ivan was really alive—would Till have been able to turn him away? Ivan, having escaped Alien Stage after winning, deciding to seek refuge with the rebels, and they’d meet each other after almost a lifetime of separation. 

Till wouldn’t have been reluctant to let him in.

And that traitor human with his ominous eyes—from the eyes alone, he knew it was Ivan. It had to be.

Chapter Text

Blood splattered over his thoughts, just as he exited his room.

He’d been in his room, reading, writing, waiting—and when he stepped out, Ivan was greeted with blood beneath his feet and on the corridor walls. Gunshots rang out from the other room; the cell room, Ivan realized. With his gun in his hands, he aimed it forward as he ran towards the cell room, not knowing what to expect. There was blood, warm red blood, small in quantity but fresh on the walls. The rebels were here, in the cell room a hallway down, disrupting his quiet thoughts, coming in without any sense of stealth.

He made it to the cell room.

Alien guards fought against rebels, bullets flying from both their guns—Ivan saw Jacob slung over the shoulder of a rebel trying to escape. Blood, rebel blood, was all over the floor. Dead prisoners lay on the ground, and the rebels were without an adequate time to mourn. Though some crouched over the bodies and disregarded the alien guards trying to kill them off.

“Bring them back, all of you!” came a woman’s voice. Gunshots ricocheted off the metal walls.

“What about you?” said another voice. “You're not fending all of them off by yourself!”

More blood splattered. Ivan spectated behind a corner, hoping to get a glimpse of what he could be barreling into. His eyes followed a rebel with long brown hair, their hood hiding their face from view. They fended off multiple rebels at once; Ivan decided to wait for a few more seconds…

“I’m handling it fine. Bring Jacob back first and then the other rebels.” The woman turned to Ivan’s side of the room as he launched forward, gun pointed at her face.

Her eyes widened when they locked eyes—she continued fighting, but started at him slightly dumbstruck. “You’re…”

A human, right? “You’re a human.”

She ran back in to get the rest of the rebels scattered over the floor, her and two other rebels. Ivan took off in a sprint, but was halted by other rebels blocking their way. Just how many were there? Ivan, annoyed, reloaded his gun swiftly, aiming it at the nearest rebel. He had never encountered so many rebels in one location at a time; it didn’t seem to work out great in their favor, as the floor was patterned nicely with rebel blood. Too cramped for them all to fit.

A short parting in the rebel wall. More than enough time for Ivan to run through.

Ivan pushed through the rebels, and the three rebels carrying bodies turned around, met with the firing of bullets. By now Ivan’s gun was smoking hot from all the bullets he’d fired.

Ivan shot the first rebel in the shoulder when he had meant to aim for the heart. She hissed in pain, gave him a final glare, then took off running out of the window. Ivan watched her hang onto the side of the Anakt building, eyes sharp as her vision immediately went back to him.

A bullet whizzed past him. Right, there were rebels still standing. Ivan turned back, fired bullets in their direction, surprised as none of them landed a hit. The rebels were fast in their movements. Ivan fired again. This time, the bullets landed.

“We should’ve brought Till…”

Ivan froze.

Till?

…Till?

That, of course, stunned him momentarily. Yet, he watched them diverge paths as the rebels’ bodies were carried away, heading out from the holes they’d blasted off of the cells, an entrance out from the building. Ivan was left in the middle facing the cells, his back towards the rebels who were busy fighting the alien guards.

Rebel blood, everywhere on the ground. His blood too, Ivan realized, when he stared down and saw a wound on his leg trickling with blood. The rebels fighting the aliens had escaped and managed to wriggle out alive. They had jumped out of the windows, into the cars at least ten yards below them. Soon enough, they sped away, every single one of them, in more cars than Ivan possibly could have counted. Though as he stared after the brown-haired rebel from earlier trying to patch Jacob up, there was one thing Ivan knew.

They had ruined Jacob during his time in his cell. Ivan had watched Jacob deteriorate in every way—he would be almost dead by the end of the week. A week was all it took for Ivan to torture some information out of him.

And, like that, they would have inflicted a wound deep into the rebellion by killing off their leader.

Ivan stood over the alien guards’ bodies, guns knocked out of their hands and robot armor fizzing with sparks. The rebels had decided to spare him. Maybe that was the case; or, maybe they simply forgot to finish the job. Ivan dropped his gun onto the floor.

“We should’ve brought Till…” 

Ivan remembered it in a mutter under one of the rebel’s breaths, not intended for Ivan to hear. The sentence was short and meaningless, yet for Ivan, it meant everything.

Maybe the rebels hadn’t said Till, but another name that sounded deceivingly close. He hadn’t heard it clearly as Ivan had been busy-minded fighting the rebels, trying not to let them catch him off-guard for more than a second. All he knew was that he had heard the name Till. Yet could he be sure it was the same person?

The same Till with silver hair and aquamarine eyes, the artist who loved to draw, the kid that always picked fights with Ivan over stupid things?

Ivan’s fingers closed in around his palm. Then, eventually, he relaxed, eyes fixated onto a puddle of red blood.

Ivan could have misheard.

The sun, bright as ever, streamed through the open hallway. All the chatter of aliens had gone elsewhere, leaving the hallway’s only whispers to be the buzzing of a hologram. Everything else was silent.

Ivan couldn't forget, even if he wanted to.

His fingers traced the border, boredly watching as his shadow flickered over the hologram. The hologram displayed the brackets. Next round’s contestants shined the brightest. Ivan stood alone in the hallway, after everyone else had filed out of the Anakt building, gazing at the brackets. Out of the two of them, there was only one he recognized.

Luka, 50th Anakt Garden class. Blond hair, pale complexion, an angelic appearance the angels went crazy for. He heard Luka being talked about often, by aliens passing him in the halls, by the city beyond the building. Aliens talked about Luka more than they did him. They talked of him as if he were some sort of rising prodigy, a contestant with potential. That was from the appearance alone; they hadn't even heard him sing yet. Though they said he was made to be special. Made to be the perfect human . Ivan knew Anakt Corp ran human experiments to make humans compatible for singing; he had never thought one of those experiments might actually work.

Yet there was one in front of him.

He stared into Luka’s eyes. They looked inhumane, unbreakable, pupils staring up from his eyelashes with a cold look. His hand fell. The round would be happening in a few hours, just after Ivan had his performance.

Ivan remembered looking the same way.

After the first round ended, Ivan had walked out without a bullet through his chest, with blood under his feet that didn’t belong to him. He then had rushed to the brackets to find his contestant’s face dimmed, left in the shadow, as Ivan’s own face moved up a spot. The same hard expression as Luka’s, only his had a ray of positivity. He asked himself how long it would go on, how much longer his hardened face would stay brightened in the brackets.

It would be dimmed in the final round, Ivan had guessed.

Only it never did.

Each time he won a round, blood under his feet, Ivan would make his way to the brackets to see his face shine back up at him. Screaming, but his mouth was shut. Losing, but living. His confidence grew higher with each round, yet so did his need to win.

And again, each round, he asked himself how long it would go on. How long he could be good for until he expired.

And Luka—the boy he saw from afar, sitting with his friend, quiet as their boisterous talk filled the garden—gazed up with determination. A strong look for someone who’d die before they reach the final round. It would be fun to see that face, so full of self-confidence while peering up at him, dim in the end.

Though he found himself seeing something akin to himself in Luka, they were very much different. Ivan lived. Luka would not.

Outside, the sun reached the midpoint, rays shining into his eyes, and Ivan faced them silently recounting the time. Noon, with time before his performance, before the next round of Alien Stage.

There wasn’t a lot Ivan could do. He had very few meetings to attend, and most of them weren’t important anyway. Ivan could visit Anakt Garden again, checking its conditions and watching the children. There weren’t many cases of disobedient humans, not since the first few months Ivan had started officially working with the Segyein.

He lifted his hand to block the sun from his view, though rays still peeked through, smiling at him.

Ivan would visit the city. Wouldn’t that be something that would pass time?

He gave Luka one last gander. Then, Ivan, hand touching his gun through his pocket and directions to the center of the city mapped out in his head, he headed out of the building through the elevator.

A road that replaced the distance between him and the city stood out in front of Ivan; the Anakt building was a stretch from the bustling city. He began his walk towards the clump of buildings, maintaining his path on the side of the road, the colored lights of the place ahead smudging his vision—Ivan’s silhouette was visible in the high sun, against the heat of the wasteland. The city would be ten minutes away for him if he walked fast enough.

His mind traveled back to Luka. The contestant he would see later today, when the sun fell off the midpoint, descending slightly lower. Ivan carried on forwards into the city. He still had time to explore before his performance and the next round of Alien Stage.

Once inside the city, he lowered his head. Ivan let his hair fall over his eyes, covering them from view, so he looked like another human on the street and not Ivan , the Ivan prone to paparazzi—Aliens who thought he was cute, swarmed him with cameras and photos, asking him to pose for the camera a little longer so they could capture just a moment of his attention. Surprisingly, nobody in the city recognized him with his head lowered.

The city itself was nothing new. Same buildings reaching the clouds, with aliens weaving between them, pet humans following them meekly. The few humans that didn’t follow aliens were humans given time to explore about by their owners. Ivan made a backstory up on the spot in case anyone asked about an owner.

Ivan only visited the city for recent news. Things to catch up on in the city, humans to watch out for and new alien products to decorate pets with—things that didn’t reach the Anakt building. Sometimes he went on these trips to report, sometimes he went just out of curiosity. Thankfully, Ivan was mostly up to date with alien news. Nothing new or interesting popped up.

Ivan sidestepped a few posters blowing on the ground. His face, plastered over the paper, smiled back at him keenly. He picked the magazine up. Words were skimmed as Ivan turned the pages, flipping through reports and photos of him.

They’d managed to gather quite an insider’s perspective on Ivan’s life, despite Ivan giving minimal information about what he did besides his public work. No descriptions of his work for the Segyein. They kept that a close secret. Everything else—in the article, they’d described him monitoring the children at Anakt Garden, performing, modeling, painting him in a positive light for the aliens.

Ivan continued walking through the streets, dropping the magazine, letting it blow away. Light rainfall touched the surface of his hood. Aliens strolled past him, though some gave him a second glance, as though they had recognized a celebrity ambling through the streets alone (they had , but through the rainfall and rising fog, it was hard to tell). The humans sticking close to those aliens tended to stare at Ivan as they followed their owners, curious eyes trained on him.

The streets reflected the skyscrapers above them through puddles. Ivan saw his own shadowed face in a puddle. The skyscraper above him looked familiar—yet every skyscraper here looked familiar. A mirror after mirror of the past.

He remembered being all the way on top of one of those skyscrapers dangling off the edge, held by an alien instructor. Then, he’d seen the stars pass him by—bright, vibrant white stars falling as the city, thousands of feet below him, waited to catch Ivan.

The stars captivated. They were one of the things in Ivan’s life that had brought him inexplicable warmth. It reminded him of the day he almost escaped Anakt Garden, and the day he sat beside another’s bed staring at the flame of a candle stuck into a dry muffin, with the words Happy Birthday, Till etched onto it with a toothpick. But no stars passed him in the daytime sky when he looked up. The sky was a dark gray, a contrast to the orange he wished to see. It was raining heavily, drops of water prickling Ivan’s clothes, a wide expanse of rain puddles forming.

The rest of the time exploring passed in a short period.

Aside from an escaped human desperately scrabbling at Ivan’s feet before being shot dead, and a couple of aliens scrutinizing Ivan too closely, the city was the same. No interesting news to report back. All the rebel attacks had been targeted mainly towards Anakt Corp for now.

Ivan decided to head back. Later than he had expected, actually. Through the rain clouds, Ivan saw the sun past midpoint already, almost time for his performance.

He should come back when the stars start to fall.

Till’s hands hovered over the strings of the guitar. Outside, rain started to fall. Clouds gathered for the first time in a long time. He sat on the surface of a table facing the windows of the club, which was located in the very back of the building. He had grown a habit of staying away from windows, an awfully strange preference Till recently developed.

The new hideout seemed similar to their old one; a club for the cover, and then weapons located in a different storage space. It didn’t take long for Till to settle in. Even though he had settled in, he didn’t feel much at ease with their new spot out in the city. The assumption was that he just missed the familiarity that the old club had brought him—everyone did, including Till. There were times when they’d go downstairs and there wouldn’t be a weapons room at the end of a hallway, waiting for them after they planned their missions. There were times when Till would reach for the window above his bed, only to find there was no sunlight streaming down on them, no window in sight. Everything was so similar, yet some things were so different.

Hyuna sat a few spots away, legs kicked up onto the table, watching Till strum his guitar. Till’s fingers paused. He put the guitar pick onto the table, and let the guitar rest untouched in his arms. Till reran through the notes of a rebellion song mentally. He memorized every song they sang, the lyrics and the guitar notes.

“What’re you gonna play?” Hyuna asked. Her hands were propped below her chin, looking at Till and his guitar intently. 

He turned to her. “What should I play?”

Hyuna gave him a shrug. “Anything to lighten the mood.”

Till began to tune his guitar. Rain pattered loud on the windows, and then subdued, and then rose to a volume again. He tried to drown out the people talking downstairs. It was easy to, when the rain pattered against the windows and the sound of his guitar filled his ears.

He needed a break from all that had happened. Till didn’t need to worry about Jacob. On days when Isaac stayed kneeled by Jacob’s side for hours beside their dying leader, Till only could pretend Jacob was away on a forever mission.

“The other rebels are gone,” Hyuna muttered. “I saw them drive away earlier. They always leave us to do the boring shit.” Hyuna folded her arms as she leaned back on the chair, which was now balancing on only two legs.

Another few moments passed without usage of a voice, except for that of the guitar, reverberating around the nearly empty club. Then came the sound of footsteps up the stairs. Dewey, with his hands neatly folded behind his back, surveyed the two of them sitting facing the window. His eyebrows were pinched and his mouth, a thin line.

“It’s raining,” Dewey observed.

“You tend to make a lot of observations,” Hyuna said dryly.

Dewey took a seat at a table near the staircase going downstairs. He seemed extremely unsettled. His gaze flickered back towards the stairs as he sat, buried in guitar notes and the song the rain gently hummed. Till couldn’t recall how long Dewey had been downstairs—though he knows that Dewey had been downstairs for quite a while, tending to Jacob and staying by Isaac’s side. Till awaited him to say something—to say that Jacob was finally dead, and they were without a leader. Yet he did not say anything.

It was the waiting part Till hated. Waiting for Jacob to die, so at least he wouldn’t fear the day when he did.

“Jacob is okay,” Dewey said. It sounded despondent, so Till was sure that was not the entire truth. Jacob had been in unfixable condition for the entire time he’d stayed with them, going in and out of consciousness, his wounds never healing.

“Oh,” was all Till said. He did not voice his concerns; what use would they be, anyway?

“Isaac says anyone can visit Jacob, for now.” Dewey puts both of his arms out on the table, staring at Hyuna and Till. “I hope it won’t be long until he recovers.”

Dewey was certainly the optimist.

Till began a play through of one of the rebellion songs he knew they all liked, and he heard Hyuna lightly humming along, though her voice was lost in the rain as it dramatically increased in its volume.

“It looks as if it’s going to thunder,” Till commented, pausing his guitar playing. “Is that something to look forward to?”

“I guess, but it’s going to drown out your guitar,” Dewey replied.

“Thunder? A special day today. I haven’t heard thunder in like, ages. Unless you count Till breaking his guitar.”

“I don’t break my guitar that often,” Till snapped back. His grip on the guitar nearly slid hearing Hyuna’s statement, earning a cackle from her.

As Hyuna continued with her hysterics, Dewey got up from his chair and walked over to Till, hands still hidden behind his back. He wore a brand new grin on his face.

“Speaking of special days!” Dewey leaned in closer to Till, smacking his guitar rudely to the side, prompting a disgruntled noise from Till.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for the entire week.”

“What?” Till murmured. “Do you want my guitar?”

“Till, did you forget already?”

Suddenly, a dessert was shoved into his face. Till’s reflexes tell him to jerk his body violently away, nearing toppling the table he sat on. He cursed loudly. Another howl of laughter came from Hyuna. When Till, slightly embarrassed with a pink tinge in his cheeks, took the dessert in his hands, he examined it. 

It was a small brownie with a candle stuck on top, and a little paper note stuck into the brownie, reading Happy Birthday, Till!

“It’s your birthday.”

Till blinked.

Oh. He had forgotten .

He stared at the flickering candle burning into his eyes. Hyuna and Dewey closed in, waiting for a reaction.

It had been a few years since he had had a proper birthday celebration. Years ago, when Jacob had gotten him a few desserts for his birthday, apologizing for not putting proper effort into his celebration. The next few years, Till had been too busy training to care about his birthday.

Till touched the brownie. Stale. Brown crumbs fell off the brownie into his palm. He took the note off of the brownie, putting it aside.

His first birthday celebration in years.

Till didn’t know if he was happy or not.

“Uhh…where did you get this?”

“Went into the city and decided to buy something for you—this time we haven’t forgotten your birthday.”

Till studied it skeptically. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Just blow it out, loser,” Hyuna scoffed, tossing an arm around Dewey’s shoulder. 

Dewey’s eyes shone in the candlelight. “Happy Birthday.”

Till blew the candle out, watching the flame die in front of him. His breathing felt shaky for some reason as he looked at the brownie. 

“What do you do after the candle is blown out, again?” Dewey said to Hyuna.

“Make a wish! Like money, or a good life, or something new. A new leg, maybe?” Hyuna nodded at him, and Till leaned in.

He didn’t know what to wish for.

But he closed his eyes and muttered something inaudible, then took a bite of the brownie. A chocolate flavor, dulled by the staleness of it. Still good nonetheless.

Dewey and Hyuna sang a quiet birthday song to him, surrounding him as he finished his brownie. It was quiet. It was small. It was his birthday—one that he had forgotten. Till clutched the candle close to his chest.

The last words of the birthday song were sung by Hyuna, Dewey, and Till collectively. Quiet applause came from Till. He put the candle back down on the table, spirits shifting.

“Happy Birthday!” Hyuna exclaimed, raising her sunglasses high in the air. “We should set off fireworks.”

“We don’t have fireworks,” Till answered.

“They don’t have to be fireworks. Did we bring dynamite?”

As Hyuna and Dewey headed downstairs, Till sat where he was on the table, his gaze on the candle. Purple and yellow striped candle, wax melting from it.

And instantly, Till puts a name to a feeling he has never embraced.

Ivan sat beside him. In his hands was a small dessert he had snatched from the kitchens, on top, a purple and yellow candle flickering dimly. A sight to behold when he greeted Till beside his bed in the middle of the night. Till cracked open his eyes, and then jumped when he saw fire.

“Ivan—”

“Shh.” Ivan pressed a finger against Till’s lips, holding the small dessert stably in his hands. Through the dark broken by the candle, Till only saw Ivan’s smiling face lit by the candle, his eyes glinting in the candlelight.

“Till,” Ivan whispered through the darkness, “I brought you something.”

“I can see that,” Till muttered, rubbing his eyes. His bleary eyes came into focus and found Ivan staring at him, a smile wide on his face, dessert cupped in his hands.

“It’s the middle of the night, Ivan. Go sleep first.”

“Sorry, I should have come later. But I’m here now, and I’ve got something to give to you.” Ivan placed the dessert on the floor. Till crawled down, sitting criss-cross next to Ivan, a questioning look shot to him.

“Why’s there a candle on it?” Till laughed. “Are we burning the place down?”

“I think…” Ivan pressed a finger to his chin, carefully scrutinizing the candle, trying hard to remember something. “You’re supposed to blow it out and then say your birthday wish. Oh, and, Happy Birthday, Till.”

Oh.

Till had almost forgotten his birthday until Ivan had reminded him. And the dolt had decided to wake up in the middle of the night to steal something for Till.

The smack was quiet. Ivan then held his cheek, staring at Till with confusion. Till, wide-eyed, lowered his fist again.

“Sorry.” Till swallowed hard, then glowered at Ivan. “You’re so stupid! What if the aliens found you and killed you, huh? That’s…” Till hadn’t considered that Ivan had gotten this gift. For him. In the middle of the night, when all the other children were sleeping. Till bit his tongue. “Thank you,” he murmured finally.

“I wanted to be the first to celebrate your birthday.”

“No one celebrates my birthday, anyway. I didn’t know you even remembered.” 

Ivan glanced at the candle. “Make a wish, Till. It’s just you and me.”

Till held the dessert up to his lips and blew the candle out, leaving both of them engulfed in the darkness yet again. He didn’t know what to wish for.

New sets of clothes? Mizi to notice him? There were endless things to wish for, endless possibilities he wished were true—but in this confined garden, where his only future was to sing, he couldn’t wish for anything major. Just something small.

“I wish…” Till paused.

Well, there was one thing he could wish for.

“I wish you’d keep celebrating my birthdays like this.” Till leaned on Ivan’s shoulder, taking a bite out of the muffin. “It makes me feel a little better.”

“A little?” Ivan plucked the candle from the muffin, observing its melted figure.

It didn’t make him feel a little better. It made him feel like he could forget the days to come. He could stay beside Ivan forever, sitting in the dark, chewing in the stale muffin that Ivan snagged from the kitchens. Nothing special, but Ivan had remembered his birthday. Ivan thought he was special.

In the dark, with the muffin wrapper in Till’s arms and a warm shoulder pressing against Till’s side, he felt like he could stay there for the rest of time.

“Will you fulfill my wish?” Till asked.

Ivan looked at him for a moment. Then, he nodded. “Of course. It’s your birthday wish, so it’s special.”

Till didn’t think his birthday was anything special. Just another day of Anakt classes and watching the sunset, of eating alien food and trying to cause mayhem. Here, in the quiet of the room, years after his birth, the first time he had something special for his birthday. Plain, but so extravagant at the same time.

Immediately, Ivan pushed Till onto his bed as he scrambled into the covers. Ivan curled into a ball under the blanket, leaving Till to sit askew on his bed, muffin wrapper spilling crumbs everywhere. Till’s face was illuminated by the light of the hallway as the door creaked open, and an alien peeked in. After ten seconds of surveillance, the alien left, closing the door. The crack of light disappeared.

They had almost been caught. Till breathed a sigh of relief; on the ground was the candle Ivan hadn’t picked up. Till put the candle in the wrapper and held both of them tightly. Ivan looked up from the blanket.

“That was really close.” Ivan flipped the blankets off of him and sat upright. “I think they saw me earlier.”

Till’s face scrunched up a little less pleasantly. “You’re dumb. I could get a muffin in five minutes.”

“I know. You’re better than me,” Ivan replied. Then, he glanced towards the closed window to the left of Till’s bed, concern taking over his face.

“Off. It’s my bed,” Till demanded, flopping onto the covers. Ivan darted to the bed on the other side of the room.

They laid there for what felt like hours, talking, giggling, conversating—mostly on Till’s side. Ivan only listened.

Birthdays were special to Till. He found that perhaps it was not the day itself, the day he was born into this world, a shining gem to be dulled by the turmoil of life, but the people who made it special.

And there was only one person who had made his birthday shine on the calendar. Ivan.

The candle reminded him of Ivan. 

He glanced at his red wristband, a souvenir of his time with Ivan, and the purple and yellow candle.

A generic candle bought off of a store in the city, but so special, like a personally crafted candle—just for him. Maybe it was the memories.

As Till headed outside into the rain, his eyes still not leaving the candle, he gazed at it for some time. Till held it close to the chest, like something to be cherished.

Then—

Then he chucked it into the distance, watching it disappear from his sight.

Chapter Text

It was expected.

Till remembered kneeling by Jacob’s side, watching him take his last rasping breaths in his bed. Hyuna stood back, eyes averted from Jacob’s form, beside Isaac quietly quaking. Till felt the corners of his eyes damp and his throat hurting, but he kept his gaze on Jacob. He did not want his gaze to leave him, not in his final moments. Till held Jacob’s hand—cold and stiffening, unlike the warmth Till had been given before—and he held it unyielding.

Jacob had suffered for too long. They kept him alive just for him to be in constant pain—but the rebels had promised the pain to end soon. And the pain would end. None of them had expected it to be death, but they were glad Jacob’s pain would finally cease.

“Isaac…” Jacob coughed, a dry, quiet one. His breaths came short, and with every heave, his chest fell lower and lower. “Till…Hyuna…” Jacob’s foggy eyes then saw everyone present in the room, and a tentative smile appeared on his face. “Forgive yourselves…”

Till held onto his hand as his chest stopped rising noticeably. Jacob’s hand had stiffened. His eyes had then closed, an eternal sleep ahead of him, and his last breath was short-lived. Isaac had cried out in grief, in pain, pain that sliced his heart like a bullet. Hyuna stood vacantly, eyes watering. Tears streamed down the side of Till’s face, yet they were not as grief-stricken as Till had thought they would have been.

Jacob was gone. Free from the pain of being a rebel, free from responsibility forever—now, he rested with Anakt. Till pressed Jacob’s cold hand against his head, murmuring soft wishes for him after death. After his silent prayer, he stood up, and seeing Isaac’s absolutely devastated state, Till and Hyuna looked towards each other, and they both decided to leave Jacob for Isaac.

Both of them had tears sloppily running down their faces. They began to head upstairs, where the rest of the rebels were quietly mourning after saying their last words to Jacob. Isaac would be the last person to leave Jacob’s room, spending the most time he could with his brother before he had to be separated.

“Till,” began Hyuna unexpectedly. Her voice was quieter, more defeated than usual. She approached him with a hesitancy in her eyes, and a thinned mouth, a determination to do something set clearly in her gaze.

Till felt as if he were choked with grief; he couldn’t say anything. His throat hurt and there were tear tracks on the sides of his face. But he looked towards Hyuna questioningly, letting her speak.

“I want to continue what he left off.”

What Jacob had left off. His goals for humanity and for the rebels; Jacob, who thought he would have lived to see the humans finally free.

Till only chuckled sadly. “That’s so stupid,” he croaked.

“We’re stupid people.”

Hyuna turned to the door behind them, locked, with only the sounds of Isaac’s muffled talking.

“I want to go on with his plan. The dream of rebellion.” Hyuna gave him a smile. She fixed the bandage on her lip, making sure it didn’t fall. Till realized how rough she looked, injuries on her face, and over her arms. Another late night mission, Till realized. She didn’t go on those very often, but the recent days that came by, she started going on more and more, in the place of Jacob.

She was taking Jacob’s place. Slowly and slowly.

“I think I’ll be ready for that position.”

She would be a great leader.

That was Till’s belief about her then.

When Isaac had left the room, shutting the door behind him, defeated gaze boring into the floor empty without much hope left; Hyuna greeted him with a slight smile.

“Isaac.” Isaac faced Hyuna, face full of muffled sorrow.

“I’m going to continue with Jacob’s plan—I think I can.” Hyuna had stretched a hand to the sunlight, blocking its rays from her vision, though her hand then folded into a fist, hovering directly over the sun, a promise to be made. “It won’t be that hard to lead rebels, right?”

Isaac, from under his cap said nothing at first, face boiling in misery, blinking at Hyuna vacantly. A silence uncomfortably settled in between them, then Isaac’s face split into a small smile, as if disbelieving.

“Stupid.”

Hyuna burst out into laughter, pointing towards Till. “That’s what he said!”

And it was sort of stupid to think anyone could replace Jacob, ever.

Within the next week, Hyuna had officially become leader—by the end of the week, she knew every rebel’s name. She had the right mindset to be a leader—Till fully believed she would be a great one.

There was still an emptiness to be filled that was Jacob’s presence, however.

Now, a few days later, as they entered the unfamiliar club, a wave of cheers erupted, all eyes on them. Till and Hyuna hopped onto stage, Till’s guitar on his chest and Hyuna’s microphone in hand. Now they were at a remote rebel hideout, with faces they did not recognize by name, but only afar from the missions they went on; Hyuna’s attention darted from person to person, anxiety giving itself away in her face subtly. She turned to Till, and nodded, a confirmation to start their duet.

“The name’s Hyuna, and our guitarist tonight is Till,” Hyuna introduced. She continued on with a brief few words.

“We’re here from another camp to bring music! By the end of the night, I will know every single one of your names!” Hyuna declared, pointing a bold finger at the crowd. “Till, start the music!” Then, her finger directed towards Till, and he strummed his guitar, beginning the lively beat to their song.

Hyuna sang her verse first as notes from Till’s guitar sounded throughout the club. Throughout the song, they took turns singing. It was as if Till had fallen back in his rhythm of performing and singing for a crowd again, as liveliness powered him with every note passing by. Applause occasionally came from the crowd, short bouts but loud ones; their eyes were pinned on the both of them, watching every sway, every chug they took out of their liquor bottles. Eagerly, as one song ended, encores were demanded. Till could feel himself doing this all night.

It was sensational. Brilliant. Till hadn’t felt himself become this energetic in a while. He wished it could be this forever, singing to a crowd, drinking, no worries.

Till sang with the most voice he had ever used. It was the best performance he had done probably ever—he heard whistles and shouts louder than the music. He sang through choruses, letting his energy drive him for as long as it could. Till’s face pressed against Hyuna’s, singing at the same time, notes of a guitar filling the gaps.

Till could feel his head pounding and despite it, he continued his song, too hyped to be brought down by a headache. As the songs finally drew to an end, despite the shouting for encores from the crowd, Hyuna dropped the microphone, and they walked down from the stage, receiving applause from the rebels. Loud applause for them and their rounds as they stepped down from the stage. Hyuna high-fived a couple of rebels in the crowd, her lively spirit carrying her through the crowd. Till stayed quiet, but he acknowledged the compliments for his guitar playing he received, nods and few words as they headed for a place to sit.

After their performances, Till and Hyuna walked about the club, conversing with rebels and hearing their stories of missions and freedom, so far-fetched that they could have been mere fantasies. Their stories and missions were similar to Till and Hyuna’s—some had come from Anakt Garden at a young age, some taken off of the stage before they could be killed, or some simply ran away. They mostly talked of their mission plans—most that Till didn’t care much for.

Till let Hyuna converse and get friendly with the rebels, then he jumped in a little later, discussing marginal topics.

The conversations were short. Semi-formal. Till wasn’t in the mood for long conversations, so as Hyuna spoke, he regarded the club warily, staring at the unfamiliar people.

“Is Jacob here with you two today?” A rebel piped from behind where Hyuna and Till sat.

Till flinched at the topic change. Hyuna, voice neutral, replied: “He’s busy with a mission—said he can’t come. I’m sure he would have loved to, though.” It seemed none of them were comfortable sharing the truth; Till could feel his stomach churn uneasily being reminded by Jacob.

“It’s been so long since Jacob visited us,” another rebel said, “Was starting to think he forgot to visit our camp.”

“Yeah, well, maybe he did.” Hyuna ignored the rebels’ mildly surprised reactions. She shifted around to face the rebel behind her. “Ehh…what was your name again?”

“Encore! Encore! Encore!”

Till suddenly felt himself being pushed up the stage by the hands of rebels behind him; he and Hyuna were both pushed to the front, as chants started to rise. They ascended onto the stage again, capturing all attention.

Till had never performed this many encores before, never heard so many cheers before. He felt almost giddy; for the second time that night, he took his pocketed guitar pick and strummed the guitar on his chest hard, the beginning note of their song.

“Final encore!” Hyuna boomed through the microphone, finger at the audience, slightly stumbling from the alcohol she’d chugged down that night. “And, our final song!”

Till strummed the guitar again, as Hyuna began her singing. Their final song. Till could feel energy pooling back into his veins.

After their final song ended, they descended from the stage and received applause again, loud and vibrant as ever. Till and Hyuna both waved their farewells before they exited, disappearing from the club into their car. Till scanned the horizon around him. It was night, and not much time had passed since they had entered the club. Hyuna leaned against the club door, pulling out a lighter and a cigarette pack.

“We should do that more often,” Hyuna commented.

“Sure.” Till’s gaze fell over the city, its buildings outlined against the sky. Among them, Anakt Corp was visible.

Hyuna started the car and they sped away from the rebel camp. Till sat on the passenger side, viewing the city as they headed back to their hideout.

“How is it being leader?” asked Till absentmindedly.

Beside him, Hyuna’s eyes darted to his form leaning on the door of the car, hair waving in the wind. She took a sudden sharp turn to the left, following the rest of the road.

“For a first couple of days? Alright.” Hyuna’s eyes went back on the road, driving a little faster. “Didn’t get much help.”

“Mission tomorrow?”

She cocked her head to the side. “We’re visiting the city tomorrow—blow up some aliens, like we usually do. You should stay back.”

Till scrunched his nose in confusion. Hyuna added quickly, “You didn’t talk much in the club, in fact, not much at all. I thought you were sick.”

Of course he’d been pondering too much. There was something that occupied his mind terribly, an infestation almost. Ever since the day Jacob had died, he found himself staring at the city for too long, or even drowning himself in alcohol and the notes of his guitar. Small things that had changed when Jacob left them.

“Jacob is dead,” Till muttered.

“Oh.” Hyuna swerved to the right.

Their car screeched to a halt in front of their hideout. It was dim, abandoned by the lights. As it were all the other nights that Till had gone out late—this time, however, there was no chatter faintly coming from the inside now. It was dead silent.

“You go in first,” Hyuna suggested, backing up the car. “I’ll park.”

Till opened the door and stepped out of the car. He proceeded to walk inside, as Hyuna and the car drove out. The interior gave Till a sense of unease. Something still felt off about the hideout. Now that Jacob had gone, it had never been the same.

He stood holding the door open for a minute. Familiarizing himself held no real purpose; without Jacob, he felt strangely isolated. His grip on the door’s edge tightened as he scanned the empty club around him. Till felt so out of place. It was an emotion he could not accurately describe; he felt as if days passed by and he stayed alive for the rebellion, clinging onto Jacob’s words. And he wasn’t sure if it was mere grief that hit him hard or something else.

Jacob was dead.

He reminded that to himself, from time to time. A choice he didn’t make, but his mind did.

Jacob was dead, and he knew whose fault it was.

He slunked to the planning room, head spinning as he plodded over. He waved a greeting to Dewey, who had his arms pinning the map they had sketched in the old hideout. Isaac sat on a chair behind Dewey, observing him from under his hat. He had no words to speak.

“Hey, we’re back!” Hyuna exclaimed, startling them. She barged in from a different entrance, holding up Till’s guitar.

“How was it?” asked Dewey.

“Alright. We sang a few songs then left.” Hyuna plodded down next to Isaac, slinging her arms over the edge of the couch. “We should go out singing to the rebel folk more, and the two of you should join us,” Hyuna said. She dropped Till’s guitar onto the couch for him to pick up.

Dewey thumbtacked the map onto the wall. He took a step back, looking at the map in all its glory. Of course, the dim lighting was no help, yet Till could just trace where the city began and ended on that map.

“We buried Jacob’s body,” mentioned Dewey. 

Till’s eyebrows raised. “Where?”

“Near the camp somewhere.” Dewey gave Isaac a graver look. “This one wasn’t going to eat until we dragged him away.”

“We can exclude him from missions temporarily until he’s ready.” Hyuna looked to Jacob, who still sat with a solemn expression, an air of grief still hanging over him. “Good with that, Jacob’s brother?” She took his silence as a yes.

“I think we are almost complete with mission planning. We’ve just got to test a few things and…” Dewey trailed off, gazing at the map again.

“Okay—then I think that’s enough for today. We can sleep!” Hyuna declared, pointing to their bunk rooms.

“Wait, we aren’t going to…?” Plan?

“It’s the middle of the night, Till,” Hyuna said. “All of us are tired. These two have been grieving for the entire day—and we’ve been driving around visting rebel camps. Come on, bedtime.”

Till stood near the map, on the opposite side of the room, facing the door to the bunks. Hyuna disappeared into the lit room, and the door shut, leaving Till shrouded in darkness.

He couldn’t just sleep now.

The entire day was spent going out, partying, drinking…he hadn’t done any planning. Not that he needed to—he compelled himself to.

Gripping the map, sensing it swinging under his fingertips, he searched for the Anakt building drawn on the map. He found it when he squinted his eyes, and the blurred lines pieced together to form a shape. The shape of Anakt Corp was visible now; he kept his hand hovering over it in case he lost it to the dark again.

That was where the traitor human resided.

No matter what Hyuna planned in a few hours when the sunlight emerged, he would be gone before then, seeking revenge. Through the darkness, he perceived two ruby eyes staring at him. Then, they disappeared, as if it were just one of his illusions. But they were very real—Till saw them. Till knew.

Till needed to find the owner of those eyes before he could kill another human.

Staring at the map was oddly calming. Like he had a sense of knowing what went on. His nail dug into Anakt Corp with a hatred he hadn’t known he had kept locked inside his chest. Till thought about the careless days he would spend partying and drinking when that traitor human still walked free, thinking of Jacob as another human to defeat, an unimportant bug to squash. If Till planned something sooner—

Maybe that traitor human would be dead by now. Maybe Till would be dead trying to kill him. He didn’t care that much—he wanted the traitor human to see him. To feel something, let it be apprehension or fear.

Till stared for hours at the sketch of Anakt Corp. Hours that he didn’t even know were passing. Half of the time he spent there awake he sat, back pressed against the wall, knees tucked under his arms, wallowing in the fantasy of the traitor human dead below him. Till had forgotten he had even existed, blending into the darkness of an absence of light, lost in his wonderings.

He hated him.

He still didn’t know why he hated him so much.

Till could rip up papers into shreds; he could fire bullets at sandbags for hours; he could throw dynamite at an alien habitat, and yet, none of those would calm his anger.

He wanted the traitor to feel pain. The same kind that he had put every human through—pain that could reduce him to tears or make him feel his heart aching in his chest, wishing he had never worked with the aliens.

Time passed him faster than alien drones. He let his grasp on it slip, but he could only tell it was dawn when the sun peeked through the horizon, waving a hello to the world, to the aliens in the city. Till felt sunlight caress his face warmly. Shutting his eyes, he stood up and faced the opposite way. 

Till would pay a visit to Anakt Corp the next morning. The traitor human would be dead before the sun set.

Till heard Hyuna’s laughter before he heard the footsteps. He had his gun in his hand, bullets not yet loaded, back slumped against a chair. Till was ready, almost ready, at least. Till had half of a plan formed in his mind; barge into Anakt Corp, find the traitor, and start shooting. Or he’d bring him back as a prisoner, like the rebels sometimes captured aliens. Not a decent plan, but Till ran on time and not effort. He wanted the traitor human dead before tomorrow. Perhaps then finally the grief would subdue.

He heard the laughter of two children blossom, following Hyuna’s. Till took a peek at what they were doing in the other room. Hyuna was being tailed by two children, blinking green collars around their necks, and a white shirt draped on them.

Anakt Garden children. Two children from Anakt in their hideout, without a clue where they were, except for the fact that they were someplace better.

That was how they had convinced Till. That he would be in a better place, without aliens telling him where to go and what to do and nobody would chain him up for trying to get a late night snack in the kitchens. It seemed promising, very so. Forgetting Mizi and Ivan, he had left with the rebels. He didn’t regret his decision, however…

Sometimes they rescued children from Anakt Garden when they took trips to the city. One at a time, they recruited new children, like taking crumbs off of a cookie. These two Anakt children looked new.

“I think you’ll like it here,” Hyuna said to the little children. “I can introduce you to the other children we shelter, if you wanna see them!”

“Other children?” came a childish voice.

“Yeah.”

Till ducked back behind the wall, loading his gun. Ammo rested in his jacket pocket in case he needed more; he doubted that one pack of bullets was enough. The chatter between Hyuna and the two children faded down the hall as they left Till’s proximity. Till waited for a few more seconds, before he concluded that he would take another exit out of the hideout, just so no one would see him.

Hyuna would question where he had gone. Then, she would maybe search for him around the hideout, around the camps, anywhere she presumed he would be. Hopefully Till would be back with the blood of the traitor human on his hands before she sent out search parties for him. He didn’t need any of them worrying for him; it was his lone mission, and they would be thankful in the end. He would do Jacob a favor.

It was Till’s debt to Jacob for all those years working under his protection; killing the traitor human would be avenging the man who had led him out of Anakt Garden and trained him to be something greater.

He exited the hideout. Out in the early morning sun, heading towards one of their cars hidden from alien sight. Till ignored the excitement beginning to bubble up.

He drove out onto the road in a matter of minutes, gun loaded, prepared to kill a certain someone.

Chapter Text

Till was almost there. With the hideout quickly disappearing behind him, he kept driving on forward. Till threw on his hood and zipped his jacket up, hiding his hair and his mouth, leaving his eyes to scan the horizon. Alone in the vast wasteland, the buildings disappeared, becoming scarcer as he headed towards the buildings in the city. He took his gun out of his pocket, ready to aim it at anything.

He was so close to paying his debt to Jacob, a debt not by Jacob’s words, but by his own. He found that Jacob had not expected much from him, when Till should have owed him his life for everything Jacob had done for him.

Killing Ivan would avenge Jacob.

Till thought of the eyes too familiar to be unfamiliar, belonging to the traitor human that had stood before Jacob renitent. Thick eyebrows, thick black eyes, an impenetrable shield to the owner’s true emotions. Like a gaze he had seen before, burning into his eyes everytime. Yet, he couldn’t put a distant childhood friend over his leader, his savior from the aliens. Ivan had to die.

The sights of the city then came into view; through a giant projection above Anakt Corp, Till could see the next two contestants for the next round. His driving slowed when he recognized those faces.

Mizi and a blond-haired boy Till could not recall, with the name Luka under his picture.

Mizi.

Mizi was competing.

Till screeched to a halt on the side of the road, eyes on the pink-haired girl.

He should have told the other rebels. He didn’t have smoke grenades or enough skill to rescue Mizi while trying to evade the alien guards at the same time. That was why they rescued contestants with multiple rebels—each had a different role, a meticulously planned rescue that required an entire day to lay out. Till was alone, no plan, no weapons but a gun.

He couldn’t rescue Mizi. He thought of the girl he followed in his childhood, how she would look when a bullet struck her chest, killing her instantly as the blond-haired boy—Luka was his name—won. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, teeth gritted. That mental image was hard to keep.

Unfortunately, revenge was more important. Till, taking an extra longer look at Mizi, swallowing down regrets, finally started the car up again. He sped forward without a glance back, forgetting her and Luka, instead focusing on his original plan.

He couldn’t focus on Mizi when he had a bigger problem to deal with. The skyscrapers became clear, glass reflecting off the rest of the city, and the talking of aliens and humans became heard, but incomprehensible. Anakt Corp was now only yards away.

Till found the entrance of Anakt building. He parked the car discreetly, a bend behind the stone walls, making the car hidden from view. Running over to the entrance, he felt exposed to the city, becoming cautious of the alien drones, but he did not care. Once nearing the entrance, he held his breath and faced the steel doors bigger than him. Surprisingly, it was unguarded, but he knew it would not be for long. When the doors did not budge after Till pulled hard on them, he let out a disappointed sigh. There wasn’t a way in.

In a few minutes he would find himself haphazardly hanging from a window, watching the theater inside. The spotlights were on, aliens were spectating the stage, and singing echoed across the space. He crawled through the window, paranoia too heavy to be ignored. Somebody had seen him for sure. He hung in the darkness of the theater, his gun in his shaky hands. He kicked the window closed behind him.

He took a peek at the people onstage.

Mizi was already performing.

From the dark of the shadows, he saw Mizi singing to the crowd in desperation, wearing an all white gown, mirroring the one that her opponent had, which was a white shirt instead of a dress. Then, in a second, Luka pressed his face close to hers, a smirk stretching across his face. Mizi fell into a daze after being pushed away, shaken as she held the microphone.

That bastard.

With a plummeting realization, Till saw Luka’s score shoot higher than Mizi’s. Their scores were uneven, and it seemed likely Mizi would be the one to lose. Till’s eyes traveled to the timer—only a few minutes left of their song. Luka leaned in to Mizi, whispering words into her ear, spinning her around, cutting off her singing voice. And she only stared, enticed. The grip on Till’s gun contracted.

He wanted to jump on stage, save Mizi, and kill every alien in that building—however, he could die trying for nothing, and then how would Mizi see him? A pathetic rebel trying to drag her out of the building, before succumbing to the bullets. Or they would die together, hand in hand, like one of Till’s dreams. Together, bleeding out, Till hugging Mizi, feeling her skin against his, as Till joined Jacob.

He wondered if Ivan would watch him die.

He wondered if Ivan remembered him, even.

Till wandered through a door, jumping back as aliens exited from it, hiding in the shadows. With his heart pounding fast, he took a glimpse through the doors, and all he saw was white. A long, white hallway, stretching without an end in sight. It reminded him faintly of the halls he would run through in Anakt Garden, with Mizi by his side, hiding from alien watchers. Except this hallway went on and on, without an end to be seen. Till darted through the doorway to the white hallway.

He barreled into one of the closets on the right of the hallway, breath held. Till didn’t dare look back. When the song drew to an end, he would hear a bullet ring, and then see Mizi’s dead body onstage, a pool of blood that belonged to her forming under her dead self. Till couldn’t let that happen to Mizi.

Till would rescue Mizi, or die trying. Or watch her get killed in front of his eyes onstage, when he could have saved her.

Ivan flashed through his mind, his black eyes and smile the brightest. People changed with age, when the inconveniences of the world wore them down and they no longer held their innocence. Jacob had told him so—once, they had all been different. Ivan had been different. No longer the child who loved to creepily stare at Till and examine him, or the child who followed him almost everywhere, like a duck to its mother. Ivan returned a monster, a traitor to their kind. That was not something to be forgiven easily—and he had killed Jacob. Years of childhood were nothing. They meant nothing anymore. Ivan was not his friend.

He would let Ivan be smug in his high and mighty position for a little while—he would save Mizi first. Till waited for another minute, heart pounding, knowing death would approach him in a couple of minutes. A suicide or a rescue, Till still had no idea; he thought about what Hyuna would think if she found him dead onstage, trying to heroically rescue Mizi, but died trying. What Isaac, what Dewey, what the rest of the rebels would think. Perhaps he would go down like a fool trying to rescue a childhood friend.

How much more foolish could Till get?

We’re a bunch of stupid people.

And Till was the most stupid, sacrificing himself for Mizi.

When the timer hit zero, Till ran out of the hallway, throwing himself forward onto the stage as gasps from the crowd rang out, embracing death as he faced alien guards with their guns cocked. He hugged Mizi tight in his arms—

Then he started to fire.

Ivan started to fire.

He aimed it at the rogue rebel, but they moved far too swiftly. Alien guards sprinted after the rebel as they swept Mizi off the stage, attempting to make a run for the exit.

The rebel fought with determination; Ivan stopped in his tracks, watching the rebel dodge guns aimed their way, firing bullets frantically.

And in another second, smoke billowed across the stage, as dozens more rebels with guns raised and masks over their faces invaded the building. Alien guards were shot down, guns clacking across the floors. Ivan bolted after the stray rebel carrying the contestant away, aiming his gun straight at their head.

“Hey!” a familiar voice shouted—the female rebel who had rescued Jacob days earlier, Ivan realized. “You’re not supposed to be here!” her accusatory tone was directed at the lone rebel, and they turned around to face her—

Till?

Dull teal eyes.

Silver gray hair.

His suspicions were confirmed when the hood flew off of his head, and a face Ivan only saw in childhood faced him.

Till.

Till .

He was alive.

There was something that had changed—the length of his hair? the loss of a sparkle in his eyes?— but Ivan recognized him as the same child in Anakt Garden, sketchbook in his hands, glaring at Ivan from the shade of a tree.

Ivan, before he could react, dashed to Till, gun pointed at his chest.

No. He was supposed to forget about Till, yet here he was, alive. 

He wouldn’t let Till stun his true purpose.

He fired a bullet, and it struck Till clean in the shoulder, making the rebel stumble back as the bullet impacted with skin.

“What— Till! ”

The woman rushed to Till’s side, fear written on her face as she pressed her hand over the bullet wound. Blood began to trickle, and Ivan felt an unease stir up inside of him as he glanced at Till lying on the floor, bleeding.

“Hyuna…Hyuna, ‘s alright…” Till pushed her away, coughing. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Though Hyuna backed away, giving Till one last look, then ran to help her other rebels.

Ivan towered above Till, his gaze boring into Till’s, whose eyes widened at the sight of him.

“Ivan…” he chuckled humorlessly, eyes almost closing, the bright teal of his pupils fading. “You’re that traitor.”

Till had called him a traitor.

Till was no different from any other rebel Ivan chained up and locked away; they all stared at him in disbelief, like a trick of light, before they accepted the truth bitterly, animosity towards Ivan when he merely did his job. A traitor to his own kind—he silently looked at Till lying on the floor, bleeding out, losing consciousness.

He leaned in and brushed a lock of hair off of Till’s face, feeling his warm skin under Ivan’s nails. Till didn’t try to fight back. He glared at Ivan, face shadowed. His breathing grew shallow.

As Till’s eyes closed, breathing jagged, Ivan leered at him from above. 

“You’re wrong, Till.”

As the rebels fled with Mizi following them, Luka walked away from the stage, back facing Ivan, accompanied by two aliens. He gave the stage behind him one last look, but did not catch Ivan’s eye. The theater had cleared out; It was just him and Till, basking in the lit spotlights on the stage.

He unzipped Till’s jacket, letting the mask covering his face drop. Ivan wiped some blood off of his wound, licking it. He examined Till for a while, eyes boring into his unconscious body.

Till looked almost the same as ever.

It was like a scene from their childhood. When Till fell asleep under the shade of the sun during one of the alien instructors’ lessons, and Ivan hovered above him, prodding his cheek, trying to wake him up. Under the sunlight, on warm green grass—here, in the theater, cold platform beneath them, meeting for the first time in years—

Ivan hadn’t expected it to be like this . So familiar, yet he had never felt this memory touch him before. Like a forgotten past suddenly rising up; reliving the memories they had promised to bury.

Now kneeling above Till, he could stare for hours, recounting every bit of their childhood from the day he had met Till to the day Till had left him. Every memory of Till was engraved deep in his mind, like an unhealthy obsession.

He would not let those memories overtake him.

Soon, Ivan found himself pulling Till by the arm, letting his body drag on the floor as they made their way to the cells. They had exited through the backstage, where every worker had cleared after the rebels came in. Ivan had led him through dark halls, until Ivan approached a cell, hand gripping Till’s wrist tight, eyes anywhere but Till. He placed Till on the floor of the cell albeit somewhat aggressively. Blood from Till’s shoulder seeped onto the floor, tainting the floor into a deep red. Ivan crouched down next to him, glueing his hand to the bullet wound near his collarbone.

He didn’t want Till to die yet. He propped him up against the wall, Till’s closed eyes facing Ivan’s open ones, and Ivan stared at his face, as if hoping he would wake up. Like those days he spent studying Till’s face while he slept, the childhood days where he went any time watching Till. Now Till was back, and old habits were still habits, Ivan realized, as he squeezed Till’s hands with his.

Ivan remembered this position, where Till sat unconscious and he kneeled before him—a day years ago, when Till had been gagged by a white collar, bound together by thick white ropes, tossed into a claustrophobic, circular room, and Ivan had stood outside, trying to untie those ropes. One of the alien punishments, Ivan had figured. Now there were no white ropes. No white collar. No aliens to fear, for Ivan, at least. Every waking moment Ivan and Till’s presences collided, it was a flash of their past, flying by like a curse, every time Ivan touched Till.

It was fascinating.

Ivan wanted to stay like this, staring at Till’s unconscious form. But he had elsewhere to go, duties to perform. No time for a human he knew all too well from the deepest pits of his heart.

Perhaps Ivan was becoming sentimental, having such human attachments to another. Ivan grabbed two shackles lying near him. His hands lingered above Till’s ankles. There was little time to stop and ponder—Ivan had never been hesitant to chain a rebel to the cell, yet for Till… His hands remained still above Till, furrowing his eyebrows, staring at Till for seconds too long.

Something too human stirred inside of him.

He started to chain Till to the ground, locking the shackles and pocketing the key. Till lay on the floor of the cell, bleeding out, shackles around his ankles.

Till was a traitor to the aliens. He was no better than Jacob, or Hyuna, or any of those other rebels. Eyeing the red wristband on Till’s wrist, Ivan got up and stepped behind the doors. He would see Till in two hours, when he revisited him, or more if Ivan decided he would wait for Till to wake up first. Scenarios of Till shouting at him, calling him a traitor, or even sitting in the corner of the cell ignoring him, seeing what he had become.

One hour. Ivan would see him in one hour.

He locked the door to the cell. Ivan walked out of the cell room with no regrets, except a heavy stone weighing down his chest he seemed to be unable to get rid of. Ivan kept walking, straightening his coat.

Ivan thought Till was dead . But now, he knew Till was as good as dead, after being captured by the aliens.

He returned to the theater for his unfinished business.

“Psst.”

No response audible.

“Hey.”

Ivan prodded Till’s cheek, wide-eyed. A second passed, then he poked Till’s face once more, hoping to wake him up.

“Till.”

He kneeled above him, frustration written on his face. Till laid motionless below him, composition sheets scattered with the highlighters uncapped. The room was dark, so Ivan could barely make out Till’s face; though he could hear Till’s evened out snoring, quiet but heard in the room. Another shiver ran through Ivan in the cold air of the classroom.

“Wake up. Wake up.”

He had repeated it multiple times over two minutes; again, he stabbed his finger into Till’s cheek, hoping that would wake him up. Footsteps of aliens passed them by, and Ivan shrunk down, then crawled onto Till, frowning as he was faced with his sleeping form. He could make out Till’s peaceful expression, with slight drool coming from his lips. Ivan kept poking him vehemently on the cheek, near his jaw.

“We have to go to our room. Urak is going to get mad at you again for sleeping through class, like he did last time, remember?” Ivan stopped his poking. “You slept through recess, too.”

Their classroom was silent. Only Ivan and Till stayed in its freezing atmosphere. Ivan pierced Till’s cheek with his nail, digging in desperately. He waited for Till, who only tossed and turned in his sleep but never opened his eyes.

“Till,” Ivan called when ten minutes had passed. “It’s almost bedtime.”

A red liquid started to drip from Till’s cheek; Ivan pulled back, seeing the liquid flow from his nails to his palm. He leaned in and tasted it. A new taste formed in his tongue—unfamiliar and slightly sweet. The red liquid seeped from a cut on Till’s cheek. Blood, he came to realize.

“You’re bleeding!” Ivan whisper-exclaimed, shaking Till. “Wake up!”

Till did not respond.

The composition papers lay on the floor, untouched, coldness enveloping them in the empty room. Till lay on top of them, sprawled out messily.

“Why won’t you wake up?”

The floor was freezing cold. The ceiling extended far above the two of them. A single ceiling light dangled from the ceiling, dim.

Ivan curled up beside Till, watching him sleep, tracing the cut he bore on the side of his cheek.

“I’m not leaving until you leave with me,” Ivan firmly stated. 

He held that position on the floor, all until Ivan’s eyes could no longer stay open, and he fell asleep next to Till’s sleeping form, hands intertwined.

“ Luka! Luka! Luka! ”

He passed the national television as he walked the hallway. Aliens chanted Luka’s name with enthusiasm, and Luka stood in the center, peering up at the cameras from under his blond eyelashes. Cameras flashed in his face, the same way they flashed in Ivan’s. He gave the television a dazzling smile. He did everything just like Ivan. As if they were mirroring each other—Ivan remembered his first win, nothing short of glory and big promises.

Across the screen flashed the name LUKA in large silver. More shots of Luka showed in different poses, a wall of white behind him.

Luka’s face disappeared, replaced by Ivan’s own, staring back at him with pride, a photo from his latest performance. His bright eyes shone down at him, as the name IVAN flashed in silver—the same size and color as Luka.

Ah.

He had a new competitor.

Ivan headed into the theater, finding the path beneath his feet riddled with blood. Guns and stray bullets lay everywhere, more than Ivan expected. Alien guards had returned to clean the stage of its blood and debris that the rebels had left behind—he lowered his head walking through the rows of seats.

He needed to get as far away from Till as possible.

Ivan could try to occupy himself with his duties, yet nothing occupied his mind more than Till. He took a seat at one of the front row seats, watching the alien crew clean the theater with a boredness evident in his eyes. Across the stage was blood, not Mizi’s, but blood of the rebels and Till. Right. Till’s blood stained that stage. Ivan sat alone, hands tucked on top of his legs, eyes following the alien crew as their clean-up session started to draw to an end. Faint blood stains were left onstage, as did small bullets that had been ignored. The clean-up crew were not very brilliant at their jobs.

During the round, Ivan had seen Till jump out from a door, fling himself at Mizi and start shooting. So sudden that Ivan had barely realized what was happening. Even now, he didn’t fully know what was happening.

Till came back. Years, the uncounted years that Ivan had spent without Till, training to be the best, sitting alone in the dark with no one left to follow. Too many of those nameless years flew by, and now, Till was back.

Alive , undoubtedly.

Ivan still had time to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

The spotlights flickered to a close in front of him; now he was left completely in the dark, thoughts disturbed by the sudden emptiness. The theater’s chilly atmosphere pricked at his skin, now that no one else but him occupied it. He stared ahead, gaze unbroken, boring into the stage in front of him.

Then, white lights flared to life on top of the walkway beside Ivan. Ivan turned to see a human walking through it, his blonde hair neatly combed and eyes scanning the stage. Once his eyes fell upon Ivan, he immediately glanced away, headed towards the stage.

“Luka, is it?” Ivan piped from the darkness. He could recognize that blond hair easily under the lights.

Luka nodded. Ivan strided towards him, head tilted forward. He stopped just five inches from Luka. 

Luka held an emotionless air around him. The tips of his fingers were discolored—a blueish color instead of matching his skin—as he combed his hair again. Ivan examined his outfit. A tailored white suit, ruffs for sleeves, and black pants.

Not too bad for an Alien Stage competitor. He was attractive for the cameras— aliens went crazy for him, did they not? —and Luka carried a certain grace, almost delicate.

“Who are you?” His voice was quiet when he spoke.

“I won’t mention that now.” Luka blinked at his vague response. Ivan merely smiled, and then continued with, “Your performance was good today.”

“Oh. Well, thank you. I already know that.” A slight laugh. “They told me…they told me I was born for the stage. My performance was great.”

Luka, despite his quiet demeanor, had quite an ego. Ivan nodded swiftly.

Luka added, “How come you’re still alive? Are you a pet?”

Ivan laughed hard .

Him, a pet? Didn’t Luka know assumptions would only get him killed faster? At Luka’s confused look, Ivan replied with, “I’m something special.”

Luka didn’t pry any further. He looked back towards the stage wordlessly. “Then a performer. I heard they get killed off within a couple of years.” A slight mocking tone in his voice, or had Ivan misread his tone? Either way, Ivan felt himself stiffen at Luka’s remark. Earlier, Luka’s pictures had flashed before Ivan’s—a sign that Luka was taking the public’s interest, and Ivan had started his journey to the edge of the cliff. He was in a losing competition.

“Yes.” Ivan stepped backwards. “It must be nice to have all the attention.”

An alien called for Luka behind the pathway. Luka turned away from Ivam, shouted a “Coming!”, and darted out through the door out of the theater. Even when he moved fast, he moved with grace. Luka screamed perfection, drowning out Ivan. 

For the first time, he felt something cold suck out his insides. Something humans like to call… feeling threatened . Is that what it was? When he imagined Luka racing to fame, and then him watching Luka being adored by fans while Ivan was cornered by aliens holding loaded guns, ready to exterminate him?

Ivan fiddled with his coat to find his lanyard, then rested it on top of his coat.

Thank goodness he wasn’t just a performer.

An hour later, he’d stopped by Till’s cell, watching over him as he stayed suspended in his slumber, the words of Luka still swimming in the deep end of Ivan’s brain.

Till seemed tranquil in his sleep. His bullet wound was patched up with bandages Ivan had managed to sneak from one of the alien facilities. Blood seeped through the bandage, though it dribbled down his jacket in lesser quantity. Ivan ran his fingers through Till’s hair, sensation almost like soft blades of grass. His hair’s texture felt matted and untamed, dry hair in pretty bad condition. His face, on a closer inspection, appeared to have little scratches across his face, some fading, some fresh. To be honest, Till didn’t smell the best, either—like a dog left outside to starve for days, scuttling around aimlessly. Till was in terrible condition.

Didn’t the rebels have any decency? Ivan unzipped Till’s jacket, revealing a sleeveless black shirt underneath, stained with blood. Till murmured something in his sleep as Ivan pressed his hand against his chest. Something about alcohol, Ivan assumed from the small string of words he plucked out.

He gripped Till’s wrists, his grip tight on Till’s red wristband; the same one he had gifted Till all those years back.

Traveling down Till’s body, he found a gun, some loose change, a glass shard, and a box of ammunition. He set the miscellaneous object to his side. Till certainly couldn’t have a gun on him—if Ivan had decided to check on Till a little later, it might have been the end for him. He tucked the gun into his pocket. He had two guns, one his own, one Till’s. He wasn’t sure he was going to need both…but better to have two.

Ivan watched Till sleep, watched him sometimes squeeze his eyes, then turn to the side, murmuring some nonsense. He watched his chest rise up and down, a steady rhythm of breathing he fell into. He heard light snores from Till as he dozed off; he observed Till closely, gun in his hand just in case Till awoke and had to be kept calm.

“ Jacob…no… ”

Jacob, right. He wondered what condition Jacob fell into at the rebels’ base. He recalled watching Hyuna drive away with Jacob in the rebel’s car, in sickly condition. Death seemed like the only possible route he could take.

As he stared into Till, he pictured him seeing Ivan for the first time, siding with the aliens, hauling away rebels to capture or to kill.

“ Jacob… ”

There came Jacob’s name again. Ivan felt slightly irritated. Who was Jacob to him?

Ivan touched the cold shackles restraining Till’s movement. The chain was attached to the wall beside Ivan, making sure the prisoner couldn’t step more than three feet out of the cell.

Ivan stood up after kneeling for minutes on end. His legs hurt, kneeling for that long. He looked at Till’s sleeping self—it wouldn’t hurt to wake him up.

“Till?” Ivan tried. Till stirred in his sleep, but did not respond.

“Till.”

Still nothing from Till.

“Wake up.”

Till was silent. His eyes did not open, he did not sit up; he stayed sleeping. Ivan would see him later when he awoke, then. He would listen for angry bangs against the cell and indignant shouting, the tell-tale signs when a rebel woke up after their capture.

“It’s really you, then,” Ivan muttered to the air, the only thing that would listen. “Being a rebel is something I should have expected from you.”

Ivan placed his hands behind his back, turning away from Till. He turned towards the cell door and headed out. He locked the door behind him, taking one last peek at Till until the door closed in front of him.

He had to report Till to the aliens. They loved to toy with captured rebels or disobedient pet humans, particularly using them as stress relief, especially after Jacob and the other prisoners had all been rescued. He remembered what they had done to Jacob; Ivan was in the same room when the aliens had tossed him around like a toy.

The aliens had held no mercy for Jacob, throwing himself against walls, starving him, just pure torture. Then the aliens sent Ivan to step up with a knife, and—

Perhaps it wasn’t best to relay that memory in his mind.

He didn’t want Till to suffer Jacob’s unfortunate fate so soon. After all, they were childhood friends —great ones, even. Ivan had never felt empathy towards anyone. He shouldn’t care if Till lived or died, but he did.

He didn’t want Till to die so soon.

It would stir an unease within him too obnoxious to get rid of. When he imagined Till taking his final breath as he dove into a slumber forever—it didn’t feel right.

Till couldn’t die. Not so soon.

Ivan walked until the cell room had disappeared from his sight. He leaned against a wall watching the sun in the sky, shining through the clouds with its still bright sun rays.

Why didn’t he want Till to die?

Their childhood friendship? Ivan grasped his fingers, eyebrows lightly lowered. It was too good of a question not to answer.

“A performer. I heard they get killed off within a couple of years.”

Luka’s words reverberated in his mind.

If Till were to die, would Ivan join him?

Chapter Text

He could only hear a shallow layer of Ivan’s words. He didn’t know if it was really Ivan, crouching over him, bandaging up his wounds, but he did not want to get rid of the delusion that Ivan was there with him by his side.

Till picked out certain words that Ivan muttered to him from time to time. Something about the rebellion…something about his childhood…

Occasional snippets. He couldn’t seem to open his eyes or, really, know where the fuck he was. Ivan’s words flew through his mind, and Till had no clue if it were only a dream, or if Ivan had really spoken to him in reality.

He felt himself stuck in a state between consciousness and a dream-like state, until Till finally opened his eyes.

The room was dark. Till had no recollection of what had happened to land him here. He remembered barging into the theater to plan on killing Ivan—then he’d seen Mizi, and his plans took a plunge off of a cliff. Then, all at once, the memories struck him like a speeding bullet. 

Till recalled jumping on stage, hugging Mizi tight, then starting to shoot. He recalled Hyuna and the other rebels jumping in, smoke starting to fill the room as they shot down alien guards. Then, he remembered— he remembered Ivan.

Ivan pointing a gun at him, and firing. Towering above him mockingly, watching him faint. And there was only one possible explanation for where Till was.

On his ankles were shackles, chaining him to the floor. He maneuvered himself to stand up, minimizing the sounds of his shackles. No light shined through the window above him; through the darkness he could make out where the chains of his shackles touched the wall. He crouched down, toying with the chains, feeling the cold metal against his fingers.

He was in a cell room.

Till ran a hand through his hair. He had never been caught before. Not in his entire time with the rebellion. Till had been careful, making sure he had emergency exits to dart out every time he visited Anakt Corp. And yet, he had been led here by Ivan, then Till had seen Mizi, and he’d completely thrown away any sense of caution without a second thought. Till’s knees hit the floor.

He tried banging against the door.

He knew that in a cell, in the dark, hammering against his door did nothing but annoy the aliens—that was better than nothing. Perhaps he could get an alien or two to come, and he would kick their asses that way. Or Ivan would pay him a visit, and Till would get some satisfaction out of revenge. He stood up and slammed his fists as hard as he could against the cold metal. Pain erupts in his flesh; he dug his nails into his palm more with every hammer on the door. It hurt.

He felt helpless to do anything. Like he had told himself once before—he was practically useless. Why did he think it was a good idea to kill Ivan with so many aliens around? Perhaps the grief from Jacob’s death had hit him too hard. He’d rushed in with no real planning, no other plan. He tried kicking the door, wincing as his foot collided with the metal. But Till would keep whacking his limbs against these doors until they were bloody, if it meant Ivan would check up on him again, if it meant that coward would show his face. He needed to have a few words with the traitor.

Soon enough, he stumbled back as two aliens barged in. He stared at them, head lowered, glaring.

“What is this?” came the growl from one of the aliens.

“It must have been captured.”

“By the human?”

Speaking of the human.

A human pushed through the two aliens—black hair that almost covered his eyes entirely, a long coat wrapping his figure, a lanyard dangling from his neck, and a cold air around him. Till stared up from where he was knocked down.

He had seen this exact human on the stage, kneeling above him, as if in a mockery.

Ivan was here.

Ivan dismissed the other two aliens outside with a wave of his hand, then knelt down to meet Till’s eyes. His eyes were a void black, a glimmer absent in them.

“Till.”

His voice wasn’t so different from what Till had expected. Almost the same as the one he had heard as a child. Much more mature, as if he had seen things Till could never. He placed his hand on Till’s cheek.

“You’re a rebel now.”

A true statement. And Ivan was newly working amongst the aliens. Till let Ivan’s hand touch his cheek, caressing the clammy skin, until—

Ivan was thrown across the room.

In a sudden flurry, he watched Ivan tumble across the room, taken by surprise. He quickly regained his balance and stood up.

“Don’t touch me!” came the outburst from Till as Ivan began to approach. Till grabbed Ivan’s hand and thrust it away, glowering. Ivan received a kick to his shin soon after. Then, a slap across Ivan’s cheek. Ivan glanced up at Till as he rubbed his face, catching the fist about to be hurled his way.

Till felt his skull collide with the wall behind him. 

Pain echoed through his head like a ripple across the surface of a pond; Colors swirled in his vision, until they calmed, and Till lay on the floor, the shock from the collision leaving him motionless. Ivan held both of his hands above him. Till could see a red mark on Ivan’s face where he had been slapped as he kneeled above him, emotionless. 

“Stop.”

Till jerked to the side, swinging Ivan’s hands off of his wrists. He truly stopped when Ivan loaded a gun and pointed it at his head. Till looked at the gun in his peripheral vision, completely frozen.

He was not going to die while Ivan was here.

“Hey, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Till laughed, feeling his voice run hoarse.

Ivan’s eyes darted to the side. Till waited, breath baited, watching Ivan’s finger on the trigger with a pounding heart. Then, Ivan lowered his gun, and let Till sit up. Till rubbed the back of his skull (he was sure he had cracked it). Ivan stared at him, head cocked, intently examining him.

“You’re very different now. But, again, I expected this for you.”

Expected?

“What does that mean?” Till scoffed.

Ivan did not put his sentence into clearer words. He grabbed Till by the ankles, despite his protests, and inspected the shackles on his feet wordlessly. His fingers ran along the chain connecting to the wall, from there to his shackles, a slow, aggravating motion, as if Ivan had any sense of ownership over him. It was infuriating—Till hated the gaze that kept flicking back up to him.

“You’re still alive. It is you, Till.” Ivan leaned closer to him, examining his face. Eventually, Ivan’s hands found Till’s hair. He breathed his sentence, like a mutter, like he couldn’t truly believe it.

“You act the same. You look the same.” A small smile. “The world has not crushed you yet, it seems. You still have a slimmer of hope with you.”

Till let him comb his matted hair. A sneer came over his face at Ivan’s assumptions. “I thought you were dead at first. I didn’t think you were very good at singing,” Till snarled.

The hand in his hair paused, and then retracted.

“Well, you were wrong then. I am alive, still. Is that something you don’t like?”

If Ivan was still dead, Till was sure he could have moved on from him now. When the 49th season had started, Till had made himself believe Ivan died. He had forgotten him for a little while. It didn’t feel great to forget, however it hurt too much to remember. 

Yet sometimes…just sometimes, he needed Ivan to remind him he had someone once. Sometimes he remembered Ivan and Mizi late at night. Every corner he passed he thought he could see Ivan’s gaze; everytime he looked back, Mizi’s pink hair seemed to disappear down a hallway.

It haunted him. Ivan, Mizi, Anakt Garden, everything he tried to shove in a closet that was too small. He didn’t know if it was a good thing Ivan was by his side, very much alive. 

They could not be friends anymore, the years of memories having to be buried. Both of them stayed loyal to their own sides; the memories were a weakness to the loyalty they held, a tie they could not undo.

Two childhood friends on opposing sides.

Till blew out a breath.

“I thought you were dead, too. I wish you were,” Ivan admitted. “Harsh, isn’t it?”

“Not really. I wish you were dead too.”

Ivan silently stared into his eyes, making Till somewhat uncomfortable under his heavy gaze. Then he stood up, head risen.

“Then it’s mutual. However, I find that my wishes will be fulfilled first, as long as you're here.” A snark in his comment was audible. From where Till sat on the floor, he saw Ivan heading towards the cell door, then putting his grip on the handle. Though he did not open the cell door and exit; Ivan simply spectated the outside through the small window on the top of the cell door, as if he were chained to this small room as well. He took his gun out of his coat again. Till stiffened at the sight of it.

He could not die here.

He would not suffer Jacob’s fate.

Without thinking, Till grabbed Ivan’s gun, panic forcing his heart to beat fast. Ivan took a glimpse down at him.

“Death is not something you can control.” Ivan shook Till off of him. “I’m not going to kill you, not yet.”

“How long will I wait for death, then?” Till snapped. “If you weren’t such a coward, you’d have me dead by now.”

Till was provoking Ivan. Maybe he would die on the cold floor of his cell, with his blood on Ivan’s hands instead of the opposite. Then would Ivan even feel a drop of remorse for him? He saw Ivan’s hand squeeze the handle, containing his rage.

“I’ll make you suffer. Do you know that?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise.”

In a flash, Ivan dodged Till’s punch at his shin. Ivan then aimed his gun at Till’s head, and a gunshot rang through the cell room not long after.

The wall beside Till had a new bullet through it. 

Ivan had almost killed him.

“There. That’s your first warning,” Ivan proclaimed. “Next time I won’t miss.”

Till’s heart had dropped. He relaxed and lowered his head. Ivan pocketed his gun, staring down at Till emotionlessly from above. Till rubbed his forehead, regretting every decision he had made that led him to getting trapped in a cell.

“How about something to eat?”

Till lowered at him. “No thank you. Go fuck off.”

Something smacked Till in the face hard. It crinkled as it fell onto his lap; Till glanced down to see a cookie on his lap.

He wasn’t hungry, and he certainly wasn’t eating with Ivan right in front of him. Till let the cookie sit in his lap, ignoring Ivan patiently watching from above.

“You should eat.” Ivan stood stiffly, his eyes on Till. “I insist that you do.”

“Why? Like you care if I starve or not.”

Ivan bent down, placing his arms on his knees, to face Till without expression on his face. Ivan was hard to read, voice neutral and not letting anything slip beyond it. Ivan grabbed the cookie and ripped open the wrapper, then, he handed him the cookie inside, crumbs falling onto Till’s lap. He pressed it against Till’s mouth.

“Open your mouth.”

Till’s mouth stayed closed.

“You don’t have a choice.”

Till being the utter idiot he was, opened his mouth to say something, and proceeded to get choked by the cookie shoved down his throat. The taste was stale, dehydrating; he chewed slowly, grimacing. He hid his face from view, and a hand landed on the arms winded around his face. Till forced himself to swallow the cookie—it wasn’t half bad. A slight sweet flavor rested in his mouth. He did admit he was a tad hungry.

Very hungry. Till was practically starving.

“I snuck it from the kitchens,” Ivan mentioned.

Till took in Ivan’s words. 

Then, he wheezed, burrowing his face deeper into his arms. 

He remembered this. 

A memory from Anakt Garden, set on his birthday, a muffin instead of a cookie, playfulness instead of coldness. In the middle of the night, when Ivan had woken up and snuck into the kitchens to retrieve a small muffin, a birthday present for Till. He remembered Ivan’s words. And Ivan seemed to remember it too. But none of them shared that sweet sentiment anymore, but for a moment, they could have been old friends, reflecting back on their Anakt Garden days.

He hated remembering these moments.

Surprisingly, when he lifted his head back up, there was a slight tone of mirth in Ivan’s eyes.

“You remember.”

A short silence between the two of them, a little awkward in its nature. Because they weren’t supposed to remember—in spite of the opposite sides they were on, happy memories were a barrier between them, a forced promise of peace. None of them could hurt the other without feeling a shred of guilt—they were both somewhat human.

“I don’t want to remember.”

Ivan did not argue with that. He took out of his pocket another cookie and shoved it down Till’s throat. The second time Till did not protest; only after he’d swallowed the last cookie did he realize how hungry he was. Till expected the cookies to be filled with some kind of poison, and he knew he had already started bracing for death—but the cookies were completely normal. Stale and hard to chew, yet it was food nevertheless.

“One more?”

“No thank you.”

“Then that is all you’re getting today.” Ivan’s knees straightened as he got up from his crouching position. “It’s better to accept the gratitude as it is. You’re going to starve to death by the end of the week if you keep refusing.”

Would that be better than having to deal with Ivan again?

Ivan’s words were colder now, devoid of the subtle amusement from earlier. A brief flash of memories had been enough to crack the ice, but not break it. There was still a frozen layer between them, built by the years of hiding away and the betrayals that both of them had made, be it towards the aliens or towards their own species. Ivan showed little mercy, and it was almost as if they were strangers who had met on only one occasion.

Still, offering Till cookies was generous of Ivan. Perhaps it was pity that obliged him to do so—pity for Till, for the death that was to come for him. Till parted his mouth to ask if Ivan offered everyone cookies like he did to Till, if it was only their past that kept them civil—then he decided against it.

It was stupid to think that Ivan still cared about their past when he was what he was.

“Your bed's over there,” stated Ivan, pointing to a cold slab of marble chained up to a wall, just feet from Till. He was able to make it out in the fading darkness. Then as the sun began to peek through the windows, a crack of shimmering light hit Till in the shoulder. He could see the slab a little clearer—it wasn’t a bed at all. Just a piece of stone.

“Not even a bedsheet?”

“The Segyein don’t think you or your runaways deserve that.” Ivan inspected the chains of the “bed”. “It’s the security they’re worried about, anyway, not your comfort.”

Till decided he would sleep on the floor for the time being. 

Beside the bed was a pot and above it was a small window, the window from which sunlight entered. That was it in the room—the door was guarded and locked securely, with just a small space carved at the bottom where food could be slid through. There was nothing provided except the cold metal walls of the cell. Till would be alone with his thoughts, and there was a limit to just how many times he could repeat thought trains before he spiraled to insanity. He skimmed the room, trying to find anything that could be broken, but it was all too well fortified.

He wondered how long it would take Hyuna to come and rescue him. He wondered if it would be a repeat of Jacob; him clinging onto the edge of life, gasping for one breath of air, and seeing Hyuna for the last time as he joined Jacob, already resting in peace with Anakt.

If Till ever made it back alive, he hoped he would see Mizi one last time. Did Mizi still care for him, even after years of separation? Did she sometimes question if he was still alive or not in her free time, like he did? He still held Mizi dear to him, a presence he wished was next to him when he wanted comfort.

“Uhh. Thanks for the cookies, I suppose,” Till said.

“Don’t expect anything like this in the next week to come,” came the response from Ivan, “This was a mere act of mercy for you. Nothing else.”

Mercy.

Ivan did not seem like the type to be so merciful, but then again, Till couldn’t think of a clear memory that didn’t involve Ivan tailing him like an alien drone.

Mercy for Till. He wanted to know if Ivan was merciful towards anyone else, or if they were different, if Ivan wasn’t so ready to walk him up to death’s doorstep yet.

“A mere act of mercy,” parroted Till. He tried to meet Ivan’s eyes. Ivan faced the cell door, which was waiting to be pushed open as Ivan’s knuckles brushed against it, only his dark hair visible to Till. Till could not see his eyes.

“I will see you tomorrow, Till.”

Till scoffed. “Is it fun to watch me suffer in this cell?”

The cell door opened. Ivan took a step out of the cell, letting the door rest against his fingertips as he held it open.

“Maybe it is.” 

Ivan liked watching him a lot.

“You’re a traitor,” mumbled Till. “I think everyone thinks that of you.”

That was the last sentence. Ivan let his fingers fall, and the cell door closed behind him, leaving Till in the dark, abandoned by the other voice. 

Till crossed his arms and let his skull hit the wall behind him.

Ivan was a traitor.

He couldn’t imagine Ivan standing with the aliens, his gun pointed at a contestant onstage, ready to aim. It was such a cold reality, but it was reality. If Mizi had lost the round, would Ivan have been there, ready to kill her without hesitation? Had he forgotten his childhood?

What kind of monster did they form out of Ivan?

It would have been better if Ivan had died. Perhaps it was better to look at the stars and envision Ivan among them, instead of wishing Ivan had headed down a better fate, wishing that there was still some heart in him so that he wouldn’t kill Till without a second thought.

But Ivan had some mercy for him. Little mercy in the form of dry cookies—it was something small, but something that kept Till hoping. It was worse to picture Ivan staring at him coldly from behind a cell door, eyes unfriendly, memories kept silent. It would have unsettled Till much more. During their childhood days, he had never seen Ivan so cold, so callous.

He stopped the spiral of scenarios marching in his mind, shutting them off with a grimace that washed over his face. He cupped his face into his palms, the small ray of sunlight glowing down disappearing.

Till wasn’t sure how much time had passed since Ivan left.

All he knew was that he had sat there, thoughts stuck in an endless loop of despair—a dreadful time where his sanity slipped through the cracks. Like fire melting the wax of a candle, they began to melt away from him, as he waited for anyone to open the cell door. Be it an alien, Ivan—Somebody should be coming to torture information out of him, shouldn’t they?

Yet for the next few hours, no one came. It was still torture, trapping Till with silence, only his thoughts there to talk to him. That must have been the torture, to get him to break, to crack so delicately so that when they came to get him, he’d tell them anything. He hated his thoughts. He hated how Ivan invaded them.

The cell room grew warmer as noon approached (Till had thought it was nighttime—he must have been curled up with his face in his hands for a while). More rays of sunlight beamed down on him. He felt warmth on his body, like the blanket the Segyein had not bothered to provide. Fresh light that he could have enjoyed while at the hideout—but there, in his cold cell waiting for anything or anyone to visit him, hope still somewhat bright in his chest, he was not at all enjoying the sunlight.

He was not enjoying his situation, either.

Till thought that by now, there was no doubt Hyuna had noticed he was missing. He hoped they’d rescue him before the aliens killed him off. Till depended on them, as of then—though depending seemed like a hopeless thing, it was all he could do, realistically. It hurt a bit to sit there and wait, cracking away his sanity little by little.

A bit past noon, a small snack had been slipped under his door by an unseen hand, a snack too small to even fill a morsel of his hunger; it was a piece of bread in a bag, ripped off from a larger portion. Till knew he shouldn’t have expected other food to be delivered today; Ivan had told him so. So he stayed far from the door, in fear it could have been poison. He was not dying so early, not succumbing to death in a dingy cell. Though the longer he stared at the bread, the hungrier he got.

It took a while to trust the bread, and when he did, he crawled towards the slice of bread, stomach begging for something to nourish it. Finally, he ripped a chunk of bread off of the already small portion, and took an experimental bite.

After a few minutes, he wasn’t foaming at the mouth or burning from inside. So he took the rest of the bread and shoved it into his mouth, swallowing down quickly.

He wanted more.

Till sat unsatisfied with the small bread piece, and his insatiable hunger for something more than food confined him down. He glanced at the shackles around his feet. The chains that bound him to the cell floor met at a wall to the right of Till. They were a constricting thing that pressed uncomfortably against Till, restraining his movements with their heaviness. Till had no energy to walk anyway; he sat with not much in his emptied mind, swimming in silence.

He had never felt such doom before. In this cell, Till was fated to die. Life, a game that he had lost; in a few days, or a few weeks, if he was lucky, he’d be facing death as it dragged him away. Would Ivan watch him then, as the light left his eyes?

Would he even care?

The answer was probably no. What little mercy that Ivan had held for him would be gone in a flash; then he’d side back with the aliens and Till would be another human lost to the Segyein for his treacherous actions.

“A mere act of mercy.”

The cookies Ivan had given him were a mere act of mercy. A small act. Perhaps Ivan was feinting kindness, perhaps he did it genuinely.

Till could only hope Ivan still had mercy inside of him. If not, he’d die just like Jacob.

Chatter of aliens passed by his cell; he stiffened, preparing himself for the possible opening of his cell, but it was never opened. He sighed in relief. More chattering persisted, with aliens beginning to pass by the halls, as Till sat in the dark room, peering at the rays of sunlight above. Very few rays, but they fell upon him, all of him, as if to comfort him in this situation. Room for comfort in a dingy cell, however, became limited as the sun dipped lower. His gaze was fixed on his shackles, faint solutions he knew would never work crossing his mind as he fiddled with the chains. The sunlight became a scarce resource, and he leaned into it as much as he could, seeking its warmth until it left him.

There was no warmth, and if there was, it was not enough to stop the cold of the cell.

The cell door opened. More light streamed in, though it was an unfamiliar cold. Aliens stood in the doorway, towering above him, staring at him with a scrutinizing expression.

Then, the shackles were unchained off of his feet. Till looked on with confusion.

Before the cell door was locked again, the aliens dragged Till out of his cell by his hair, and Till knew where they were taking him.

He thought he could hear Ivan check on him one more time through the eerie darkness of the night. Till stayed in his cell, shackles binding him to the wall again.

And yet, as the light disappeared for a split second, Till realized it was only an alien passing him by, an alien who paid no attention to the cells they passed. Till grimaced when he shifted his position on the floor, rubbing his chest in pain.

It didn’t hurt too much. As long as he kept his movements minimal, it wouldn’t hurt. Till closed his eyes, not finding the effort he needed to put to drag himself to the slab of stone that they called his bed—he sat on the floor, back against the cold wall behind him, ready to fall asleep.

A hand to his ribs; he felt himself slip from consciousness, darkness taking over every part of his vision. As he started to forget everything, slipping from the uneasy reality—the door opened. Till didn’t look to check if it was another alien or Ivan—all he felt was a touch on his shoulder, and a few mutters that Till couldn’t discern. If that was Ivan—did he see the wounds on Till? Did he even care what bad misfortunes would fall upon him soon?

“Go away, Ivan,” said Till half-asleep. A pause, and then, the touch on his shoulder was lifted. But the cell door did not open again; it seemed as if the presence next to him was just staring at him as he dozed off.

As Till finally fell into a slumber, the presence above him stayed for five more minutes. The cell door opened soon enough—out stepped Ivan, coming out from Till’s cell. The door closed behind him, leaving Till drenched in cold darkness yet again.

Chapter Text

They managed to exit, miraculously.

Hyuna left Till where he was, though she knew it was wrong. He insisted. So Hyuna kept running, smoke billowing behind her. The verdant spotlights flickered over her eyes, then Mizi, who she held in her arms as she exited the theater.

“Hang on!” Hyuna yelled. The other rebels fled with her, and they went side by side out of Anakt. Most of them had already escaped through the gutter. The others took the cars.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

She had looked at Till for one last moment.

And there was Ivan, 49th Anakt Garden class, a rising phenomenon. A success out of many failures. He had been leering above Till, gun pointed at him, a dark look over his face. She had seen him when she went to rescue Jacob—he was the one she had least expected to see there.

He was that traitor that the other rebels had talked about.

As a child, Hyuna remembered seeing Till and Ivan, fighting loud across the field, and it had been quite amusing watching them bicker. There in the theater, they were something different. They were new enemies. She remembered the times where she and Hyunwoo would sometimes watch Till and Ivan throwing punches, chants from the other children circling the two boys—this time, no punches were thrown. This time, only glances were exchanged, and so were silent memories. Like the world would stop spinning with just one glance. They looked funny.

She didn’t trust Ivan, Hyuna knew for sure. Something was going to happen to Till if he didn't make it to them in time.

“Till’s missing!”

Hyuna whipped around, hair blowing in the wind. She had one hand wrapped around the steering wheel as she peered back to where Dewey sat. He had his eyes turned to Anakt Corp, and from a side view, there was a look of panic on his face—Hyuna looked at the vehicles around her.

Till hadn't gotten out in time.

“Fuck.”

Mizi sat confused. She glanced in Dewey’s direction, fear befalling her. Hyuna kept her eyes on the road; and, after a while, they reached their club. Hyuna slammed the brakes and wheeled the car to the side. Hyuna and Mizi both scrambled out of the car, completely out of breath.

“Till’s missing!” She shouted, dragging Mizi inside by the crook of her elbow. “Someone go back and get him!”

Yet somewhere in her mind, she knew it was already too late. Till had been captured.

He was going to die like Jacob at the hands of Ivan.

Gasping for air, Hyuna tumbled onto a seat in the bar, leaning against the wall, the sound of hurried footsteps rushing past her. Mizi sat, frozen, watching the rebels rush in and drag blood over the floors. It was certainly a sight to behold.

After the noise noticeably calmed down, Hyuna stood from her place at the bar table. Pools of blood from the floor glimmered in the sunlight; none of which were Hyuna’s, yet all of them belonged to the rebels. This mission had gone horribly wrong. Hyuna couldn’t think of a time where so many rebels were hurt at one time during a rescue mission. She wasn’t sure exactly what went wrong, but she had a lingering suspicion.

Even after all this struggle, Till had still been left behind.

“Are you alright?” Hyuna asked, looking back at Mizi. Mizi’s green eyes carried an unspoken shock, though she appeared calm, relaxed. Shock—shock that kept her still in place. Her chest heaved up and down, panic gushing through her blood.

Mizi finally tilted her head up, directed towards Hyuna. 

“Yeah.” Her hand flew up to her cheek, where a small cut adorned it, and she rubbed it slowly in circles. Confusion and shock, that was what radiated off of her then. Mizi didn’t sound alright.

Hyuna had seen Mizi before. Same class as her, the 50th Anakt Garden class, though they had never been close, only meeting a few times, passing each other in the classrooms. She looked almost the same, yet simultaneously, everything was different. It seemed Alien Stage had scarred her—as it did everyone, Hyuna knew. Mizi’s eyes were slightly watery, a layer of tears beginning to gather and a shining in her eyes even when they were soulless. She probably was thinking about something, or even…someone. Hyuna grabbed her hand.

“Follow me. I’ll get you a bed to sleep in.”

They ended up in front of the bunk rooms just moments later. Mizi was unusually quiet. Eyes flicking, eyes darting, she asked questions on the occasion not to an excessive amount, just enough to fully grasp her new reality. Curious to where they were, curious to what they were. 

She was a rebel now. She would be one of them soon—whether she wanted it or not, every human that escaped Anakt Corp became one. An occupation not by choice, but simply the lack of it.

“Where am I sleeping?”

“Over there.” Hyuna pointed to a bed in the corner. “It’s one of the few we’ve got available. I mean, if it’s in bad condition, the floor’s always available, right?” Hyuna laughed.

Mizi did not laugh.

“Are we going to rescue the others?” Mizi blurted. Then, she clasped a hand over her mouth. “Oh—nevermind, actually.”

There was nobody left for her to go back to. Hyuna stood beside the doorway, observing Mizi cautiously. 

“I’m going to get you a new change of clothes, so you don’t have to walk around in those.” The conversation topic shifted.

Her clothes were filthy with blood and dirt. Hyuna returned with a jacket and spare pants, as well as some socks that were stained with dirt, but the only ones that remained without rips in them. She tossed them to Mizi, who caught them immediately in her hands.

“Wear those.”

“This is fine though, isn’t it?” Mizi asked skeptically, gesturing to her stage dress.

“You aren’t on the stage anymore, Mizi.”

Despite it, Mizi touched her dress with a sad look present in her eyes, as if she were about to tear up. Her fingers brushed the purple gem implanted on top of her dress, then decisively running away with it to change before Hyuna could ask what was wrong. Hyuna frowned, but leaned against the doorframe boredly, waiting for Mizi to finish dressing.

Her hands reached for the cigarettes in her pocket. She was planning to smoke a few just to feel more relaxed about Till’s sudden disappearance. She opened the box and grabbed one cigarette between two fingers, putting it up to her lips and holding it there. Mizi came out a few seconds later, in a jacket and pants, looking much more casual.

“That’s it!” Hyuna jabbed a finger at the dress. “You’re a rebel. ‘Spose you can get rid of that now.”

Mizi only furrowed her eyebrows when her eyes landed on her dress. “Is there somewhere I can keep it?”

Hyuna scoffed. “Keep it? Why would you wanna keep that thing?”

Mizi brushed her hair behind her ear, taking the attire into her hands, staring at it carefully. “Is there anywhere I can put this?” Mizi asked again, ignoring Hyuna’s previous question.

“I guess you can leave it on the bed. I’ll have to say no to you using it as a blanket, though. I say you deserve clean blankets and not that bloodstained outfit.”

“It’s for myself,” came Mizi’s voice. She threw it onto the bed and flopped onto it with the dirty dress. She momentarily closed her eyes, embracing the cold mattress under her. Not much, but all they had. And right then, it was everything for her.

“Are you tired?” questioned Hyuna.

The sun was still bright outside, rays casting in, but after all that had happened, it was a reasonable thing to have—fatigue. From all the deaths, from the struggle to survive, and from the relief as she was finally pulled away from that life—it was a lot to bear.

Hyuna had fallen asleep on her first day in the rebellion, too.

Mizi shook her head, despite her still-closed eyes.

“Okay, your word for it then...see you around.” Hyuna shut the door to the bunk room, turning and walking out.

She lit the butt of her cigarette and proceeded to blow out a puff of smoke; the smoke clouded the empty hallway around her, filling it with an ashy smell.

The voices of the other rebels caught Hyuna’s attention; once she rounded the corner, she was met with rebels gathered around a radio, their breaths baited.

“What?” she asked, mildly concerned, smoke dissipating around her as she put her cigarette down. One rebel raised their head and revealed his face; Isaac, worry etching his face as well as grief in his already burdened expression.

“We’re listening for Till’s voice.” Isaac lowered his head again, hat tipping down with it. The radio stayed buzzing. Till did not speak. Hope seemed to be running out, as gazes kept leaving, as time went on.

They were going to lose another member.

The crackling of the radio continued on as other rebels sitting around it started to leave. Their shoulders sagged and their murmurs were quiet. It was as if Till was already dead. And despite this, Isaac remained the only one sitting when everyone else lost hope. He kept a hand steady on top of the radio, eyebrows creased.

“He left early in the morning. Maybe he was in a rush?” Hyuna suggested. “Hah…I wouldn’t search for a tiny radio when I’m in a rush, right?”

A frown appeared on the corner of Isaac’s face. “He couldn’t have forgotten his radio. That’s impossible.”

Right. He couldn’t have forgotten it.

“Its provider seems to have been crushed.”

Blood on his shoes told him they were at the right spot.

The ugly sounds of crying reached his ears; Ivan stared down at the dead human, a box sitting above it, blood splattered around the walls and onto his shoes. The flickering lights of a desk lamp in the corner and spilled test tubes were the only thing bright in a dim laboratory—Ivan picked the product up in his arms, its feeble kicks aimed at nothing but the air. The box was slowly lifted up. From below it, blood dripped down in large amounts.

He looked at the small thing in his hands.

Bloodstained. Oh, and familiar silver hair.

Ivan had held immature humans in his arms before—the same, chubby features, the same ugly cries from their throats. Usually their providers would stare, or shout, or cry for them as they were held back, as the immature humans were taken to Anakt Garden. He’d never seen providers get crushed. Well, the product was too young to be placed in an Anakt Garden class. It would probably be one of the children that aliens conducted their experiments on, with no provider to stay with any longer.

“The box is contaminated with human body fluids. Put it to the side for now.”

The box was hauled out of the room. From where Ivan stood, he could see the product’s provider—a female, from the appearance alone (though most of the provider’s body was splashed in red blood, it was very hard to discern). The crying rose in volume, sobs desperate as grabby arms flailed.

An alien from beside Ivan turned to him, its giant eyes blinking at the product in his hands. “A natural product, then?”

“The provider bears little resemblance. There is no evidence.”

“Will this human’s DNA be needed?” piped Ivan.

The alien’s pupils move across their eyes. They look at Ivan, a surveying glance. “Good thinking, Ivan.”

“I’ll collect some.”

Ivan took a few brown strings of hair into his hands when he crouched beside the dead provider. Then, reluctantly, he grabbed a test tube rolling on the ground and scooped drops of blood into the empty glass. He watched blood drops slide down the inside, opaque without a reflection as if they were solid.

Claws snatched the tube he was studying.

“I will take this to the other labs.”

That must have been Ivan’s cue to depart.

Ivan headed towards the door. He knew exactly where he would head—it was midnight already, with stars hanging far above them. Till would be asleep by then, so the next step of imprisonment would go without struggle. Ivan moved his hand to his pocket, gripping the collar tight.

That was what he originally had thought.

“Let—argh—Let go of me!”

Ivan stuck a foot out onto the wall, pinning Till down with difficulty as the rebel beneath him struggled and dug his nails deep into the hands wrapping around his neck. Ivan could feel the gentle pulse of his neck before Till flung his arms away when he’d gotten the chance. Till was making this too hard for him.

“It’s only a collar!” was Ivan’s attempt to calm him.

“It’s not.”

Till stood up, hand pressed against the side of his neck. He glared at Ivan and the white collar in his hand, blinking red. Shaking, he coughed, two hands wrapped around his neck.

Ivan took that silent opportunity to finally lunge forward. Till yelled out and instinctively shot out two hands to grab the collar, his strength and Ivan’s nearly identical. But Ivan had trained—Ivan was far better than Till, who was only an outcast, and an imprisoned one, at that. Ivan batted his hands away.

“You’re making this too hard, Till.”

A slam against the wall as Till’s back collided with it. The collar finally clicked in place, the red light turning a green color. Then, quickly fading to red to match Till’s dysregulated emotions.

“There.”

“No!”

Till clawed at his collar in despair, attempting to tug it off. It seemed he hadn’t learned much from his time in Anakt Garden. Those collars were impossible to tear off.

“Fuck, take this off!”

“Till. Calm down."

Miraculously, it got Till to pause and look up at him for just one quick second. His mouth pressed into a frown. Ivan could see his body still faintly shaking.

“It wasn’t so hard, was it?” Like he was merely watching Till pull a tooth—like Till was only completing a math problem he’d been struggling on for the last hour, he had said it so casually.

“Take it off,” Till retorted. He tugged weakly at the white collar. There was a bright red light emitting from it, glaring up at Ivan.

When Ivan only stared, Till landed a punch, sharp across his cheek. Ivan's head was whirled sideways, and the warm sensation of a handprint was left on his face.

“This is funny to you!” Till accused, fist still raised. “I guess it’s so much fun when you’re the one on the other side!”

Ivan rubbed his cheek, a slight discolored patch of skin where Till had just landed a hit. “Is that what you really think?”

It was what Till thought. He didn’t know what he looked like in Till’s eyes, yet he knew somehow it was nothing short of cruel—and Ivan didn’t know if that was true, himself. It was his obligation. Was his obligation cruel? A cold, heartless monster who only tore humans apart—did that make him any less deserving of the admiration he got, aliens and humans alike? Well, not everyone could like him. That was fine, he supposed. As long as he thrived.

After the collar was securely fastened around Till's neck, he checked the shackles around Till’s feet, pinning them down so Till couldn’t strike another hit at his face with his feet (as he’d been caught off guard too many times already—it was enough to underestimate him, and also another thing to pay him visits). The shackles were still sturdy. Not like Till could try to break them, if he wanted to.

Again, Till stretched his hands out to attempt an attack on Ivan. Ivan only swatted them away as if they were gnats.

There was a reddish spot around Till's neck; Ivan reached forward to touch it gently. This time Till's hands did not fly up, but he let Ivan rub that sore area on his neck, around his white collar blinking red.

“Tell me,” Ivan muttered, “Did I press too hard on your neck?”

“No…”

Ivan nodded. He checked the click at the back of the collar, just to make sure there wasn't a way Till could pry it apart. His fingers left the back of Till's neck, coming to the front to brush the underside of the collar, close to Till's collarbone. He could feel a shiver run up Till's skin at his sudden touch; but Till kept glaring at his hand, without a regard at his sudden shiver, waiting for it to release its touch on him. Eventually, when Ivan's hand stayed lingering above his skin, he slapped it away rather harshly.

Ivan only chuckled at him. Striking him with his hands was all Till could do, yet he abused that power a great amount.

“I wonder why you still resist.” He cut off Till’s next thought. “Is it what the rebels teach you? To keep fighting against these restraints until you can leave them?” Ivan leaned back. "These restraints are impossible to escape. Don't try doing anything with your hands, thinking you can convince me to let them out. It's an order by the aliens. It's especially designed to keep rebels confined to their cells."

“You don’t know anything about us.” 

Till held his silence around that topic firm, and Ivan would not be one to pierce that. Not yet.

“That's correct. You're good at keeping secrets.” Ivan hoped to make Till feel at least a little better before his untimely death. Till's scowl deepened.

"Hoping to win my favor?"

"Well, I don't need to. But conversation with you is certainly interesting—that's why I haven't killed you yet. Funny, right?"

Neither of them found it so. Maybe his jokes were never that type of funny. Ivan sighed as Till shifted his position on the floor, facing the wall. The shackles around his ankles made a rattling sound when he adjusted his legs to bend his knees. It was pretty dark—Till looked somewhat ready to fall asleep. Yet he wasn't asleep at all. All the other prisoners in the other cells were quiet, sleeping without much noise. Usually they fell asleep around this time.

“Why are you up at this time of night?” queried Ivan.

“I wouldn't know. I sleep when I need to—it's none of your business when I sleep."

“You've certainly had a long, boring day sitting here in this cell. It'll get worse after a few days, possibly, if all you'll do is sit in this corner and mope.” Ivan smiled.  “Okay. Tell me about Mizi, and hopefully that'll cure some of your boredom."

Ivan and Mizi were friends. Even closer after Till’s disappearance, which, of course, both of them were down about. They’d gotten along quite well, and sometimes Mizi would run to him for comfort, and he’d talk to her about things he didn’t utter too often. She was a bright girl, certainly. But like every contestant, she would become nothing but a loss. A human that tried, but not enough. He still cared just a little bit for her. The girl he knew from Anakt Garden, once so bright, becoming another contestant lost to the confines of history.

“Why?”

“You came for her, the moment you laid your arm around her. That's what I assume. I've always known you liked watching her and staying close to her side."

Till had jumped out of the shadows in the morning, arm wrapped around Mizi, gun pointed at the nearest guards. He loved her dear. A love that was unmatched, even, to what he felt to Ivan, if he felt any at all. Almost like a male and a female mating, when they became too attached to one another. Was that one of Till’s desires?

“Ah...do you want to…mate with her?”

Disgust was the first thing that flashed.

“The hell? I’m not going to answer that.”

That might have been a little unsettling. 

“Does she remind you of something, after all your years of running away? Surely that attachment gets weaker the longer you forget it.”

He had never known a love that lasted longer than a mere few years. An obsession with another that stayed for life, a thing Till would cling on for years—something that got him imprisoned in the end. Was it worth it at all, even, to chase after someone so insignificant to him in years to come?

“I just didn’t want to see her die. That is all.”

“Do you still care for her?”

Till’s collar began shining a green color. What he thought of, Ivan did not know.

“Maybe.”

“Do you care for me?”

“No.” The answer was quick, immediate almost. He probably expected that question.

Ivan laughed. “That’s unfortunate." Ivan, after all, had done much to him. A lot that probably wasn't looked upon in a positive light. There, in the darkness of the cell, Ivan could have almost forgotten everything he'd ever done.

Till didn't. He remembered Jacob's death; he remembered the invasion; he remembered the traitorous side of Ivan being revealed in front of him, on the stage, when all along he had thought Ivan was dead. To him, Ivan was as good as dead. That little Ivan was gone. Replaced by another Ivan, one who was willing to betray his own species for his own sake. He cared more for Mizi than he did for Ivan—even when all those years back, they'd been close. Inseparable (to Ivan, at least, who followed Till's every step).

There wasn't an adequate way to make it up to Till.

There was just a small, small way to ease Till's suffering, just a little bit.

"I brought you more cookies.”

From his pocket, Ivan tossed one into Till’s lap, and then another with horrible aim, sliding across the room over to his bed, which was the stone slab stuck onto the wall.

“More from the kitchens, huh,” mumbled Till when his eyes caught the familiar cookie wrappers. He did not protest this time, tearing open the wrapper and almost swallowing the cookie whole. 

Perhaps that was Ivan’s act of caring. To give him cookies and make sure that he didn’t starve to death so fast. It was small, and, unfortunately, very risky for Ivan. Whatever to keep Till talking to him. Whatever to have his company stay for a little longer. Even if Till didn’t care much for him—Ivan did. A little bit. In the sense that he didn’t want him to die so soon.

“Do you like these cookies?"

“It’s not like there’s a better option.”

“I could bring a muffin next time.”

His face switched into a glare. Till crunched the wrapper in his hands, then tossed it at Ivan’s face. Of course, wrappers were not the most stable thing, and after Till threw it in the air, it fluttered to the ground like a feather. Ivan scoffed at Till’s weak attempt.

“So much hatred, all for me.” Ivan inspected the cookie wrapper, crumbs rolling inside. “Where’s my ‘thank you’? I had to be more careful this time, since the night shift workers were lurking around."

“You don’t need a 'thank you', smug bastard,” stated Till. He rolled to the side to face the wall on his left. Tonight he was energetic. Back in the rebellion, he probably had nightly missions like this—it might have been true, the rebels never slept. All the rumors he’d seen circulating about them, that they were either a looming threat, or a couple of runaways threatening something bigger than them.

Just how powerful the rebels were, was his question. A question he needed to figure out how to slip into his words without actually asking it. Rebels’ trusts were hard to gain—that was the thing about them. They were slippery humans, with enough doubt channeled into their veins that they couldn’t trust anyone, or anything.

“Staying up this late at night isn't the best thing to do while you're trapped in a cell.” Ivan collected the cookie wrapper from Till's hands. Some crumbs leaked out from the wrapper back onto the floor. He quickly pocketed it into his pants.

“And what about it?” Till snapped. Despite the other cookie resting under his bed, Till stayed in his corner of the cell.

“Do you often have trouble sleeping?” asked Ivan.

“No.”

“Ah, well. I see why they would recruit a rebel like you. Always full of energy, so eager to help." Ivan smiled. "Do the rebels hire just about anyone? Or do they leave the weak to fend for themselves?”

“The weak have nowhere else to go. It is our duty to take them in and train them…” Till’s mouth snapped shut. Then took only one glance back up at Ivan.

“Leave,” he ordered. He was in no position to, but he glowered at Ivan so stubbornly. “Just leave. I know what you're trying to do."

"Tell me. What am I trying to do?"

"You're trying to worm information out of me by complimenting me. It's flattery. It won't work on me."

Ivan's smile cracked wider. "Didn't it just work?"

In an instant, Till stood on his two feet and shoved Ivan to the floor. Ivan felt the cold stone floor hit his legs, caught off guard by Till's sudden movement. They switched positions; Ivan, once looking down at Till sitting on the floor, was then pushed onto the floor watching Till looming above him with an irritated eye. Till's expression was scrunched angrily. Eyebags darker than the night sky stood out from his pale complexion; the moonlight shined above his face, highlighting his eyes like a built-in lightbulb. A slight sneer drew back his lips.

"You love annoying me, don't you? You're fueling your pride by pushing and pulling me around. Oh, you're so great at wording, so great at making people do what you want. Everyone's scared of you, everyone listens to you, right? You're so happy being up in the hierarchy, looking down on all the thickheaded humans who couldn't climb as high as you could. It's what you really feel. It's what you..." Till's jaw clamped shut, and Ivan could feel his rage brewing more and more the longer he stood. He could see his entire body shaking.

Till knew nothing.

Till knew nothing about him.

"You don't know anything."

"It isn't hard to figure out. It must be so amazing for you, parading your status around for everyone to see. You must have it so easy."

Ivan stared at him vacantly. From the ground where he previously fell, Ivan rose up. He took a few swift steps forward, eyebrows dipped. Till backed to the wall, cautiously waiting for Ivan to do something. He flinched when Ivan made a sudden hand movement.

“I’m not going to harm you yet,” Ivan assured.

Teal eyes narrowed at him.

“Yet.”

Ivan squeezed the side of his throat, so tight that the second time, he might’ve actually been trying to suffocate him. Till struggled against his hand, scrabbling at his skin to fling the constricting hand off of his neck. The white collar turned to a red color. Ivan finally pulled his hand free of his throat, watching him cough as breath came back into his lungs.

“Oh.” Oops. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re trying to kill me!” Till shouted another accusation at his face.

Till landed a kick at his shin, making him stagger across the room and hit the cell door behind him. Blood sprayed across the colorless wall, a paint splatter across an easel. Once Ivan could stand on his two feet again, he looked at Till—there was no satisfaction visible. Only misery, misery like happiness, something Till seemed to force himself to wallow in. There, his eyes only spoke of suffering. Like he had somebody to return to. He looked pathetic. He looked like how flowers wither, long-awaited endings and a hopelessness for something new.

You must have it so easy.

He hadn't meant to choke him. He just wanted to keep Till standing up for a little while, look him in the eyes and make sure he'd get enough sleep. He'd done it without thinking—he'd felt the touch of his skin against Ivan's palm, and he'd wanted to make him feel something. It was a curious little impulse—and Ivan clutched his hands into fists, wishing he had longer with Till.

Nonetheless, Ivan decided to leave him be for a while.

Ivan gripped the handle of the cell door. A crack of artificial light shone through, burning Till. He turned his back to the rebel. He faced the hallway outside, finding rows and rows of cells greeting him. “Goodnight, Till,” came his soft murmur.

“Where are you—?”

“Tomorrow I’ll be busy. I won’t visit you as often.”

The door shut in his face. Ivan walked out, steps echoing in the empty hallway. Till would be asleep the next time Ivan visited, he hoped.

The white hallways met Ivan. As he entered another room, those whites left him and the shift of luminosity above him hit hard. He passed a room stocked to the ceiling with boxes and dangerous lab equipment. Tables of test tubes and samples lay scattered, and aliens crouched over them, muttering quietly as Ivan passed them. Glass windows, looking into rooms with immature humans, lined the giant wall on the opposing side.

Unsha seemed to appear behind him.

“Ivan!” came his caretaker’s growl. He felt claws wrap around his shoulder, and he was met with Unsha, the caretaker he hadn't seen in ages.

Right—he said he would visit today.

“I went to your performance last week, and you’ve improved.” He felt claws ruffle his hair. “I never knew the human I raised would grow so big. All the other aliens have nothing to brag about now.” 

Unsha liked to put Ivan in front of himself, like Ivan was his personal trophy, an achievement to brag about. 

Ivan only smiled.

Unsha patted his own chest. “I will be less busy next week. I’ll finally have some time to visit my favorite pet human. How does that sound?”

“Good.”

“I knew you’d like it! A good arrangement, then.” He felt Unsha hover closer to him, obscuring his view, where he glanced off at one of those glass panels on the other side—where a child was scrabbling at the glass, trying to get out. And where a small, silver-haired kid peered out curiously, chubby hands tucked. Where their eyes met briefly.

The silver-haired thing did not have teal eyes. They were a darker shade, almost like his.

“I see you everywhere, Ivan. All the billboards—you’ve won everyone over! Truly, you’ve done a good job.”

Unsha led him out of the laboratory he had headed into (for a reason, Ivan silently added, looking towards the glass windows). The claws dug into his shoulder too deep did not release, even as they walked out of the doors securing the lab. They were met with bright hallways again, and a good view of the night sky outside on a balcony just a few paces away. Stars twinkled, but the moon was gone from the sky tonight.

Surely, soon, Till must have fallen asleep. Ivan’s memory flashed back to the kitchens; he’d gotten a few cookies as a last minute decision before visiting Till. The alien guards rarely came to feed the prisoners—it was mostly his job to communicate and relay messages to them, as well as torture information out of them. 

Till seemed like a strong fighter.

Really, there were so many things he had yet to find out about him. Did Till think about him as much as he did? Or were those thoughts replaced by…someone else? By Mizi?

Well, all that wouldn’t matter soon. Till would never think of him again next week, or think, for the record. He would leave Ivan as soon as he came.

Ivan slipped his hand into his pockets. He tailed Unsha closely as they made their way over to the balcony.

He should try one of those stale kitchen cookies himself.

Chapter Text

“Ah, this one’s a bit more fragile, isn’t it?”

Till picked himself up from the ground, hearing the sound of alien laughter ring out in the room. Claws grabbed him up from the ground again, and he was met with an alien face studying him closely. Then, those claws loosened their grip, and he fell to the ground in front of the meeting table—he clutched his sides tight to avoid coughing again.

He wondered if this was how he’d die.

Was being thrown against a wall and prodded at with sharp claws the most ethical way to do it? Perhaps not. Though aliens had no real ethics—they could do a thousand different things. He thought of Jacob and the torture that they had put him through. The dark bruises lining his ribs, colorful spots that left him aching. Those bruises were starting to form on Till—small, yet would grow in quantity with time. Just how long could he keep surviving until he finally couldn't?

Till struggled up to his feet yet again, walking backwards until his back pressed against the cold metal wall. A glass shattered beside him as jeers came from the group of aliens. Ivan watched from the shadows, voice unheard.

Did he do this with every rebel they tortured?

Till felt the slam of a solid ground echo in his ears before pain overtook him. Another round of insufferable laughter; mocking, wishing him the worst. He didn’t bother to stand up this time.

“Ivan, you caught a weak one!” A finger pointed to him from where he laid on the ground. Till covered the side of his ribs; a patch of dark, purple bruising was visible. He didn’t dare to look in Ivan’s direction.

Ivan didn’t look at him, either.

Claws wrapped around his face, squishing the skin tight as aliens came over to stare at him.

“This thing was a rebel? Haha, they’re taking anyone in now.”

The claws around his face squeezed tighter, and he could feel the pressing of a cold claw against his teeth, a barrier of flesh between them. Yet Till held his gaze on the alien, whose eyes flickered over him then back over to the wall.

“Can it sing, at least?” came the question from another alien. From it arose laughter.

“Rebels don’t sing!”

The alien enclosing his neck released. He stood at the end of the table as aliens continued to laugh. Till took a glance towards the shadows, then his eyes went back down as the table’s surface touched the side of his face. There were many claws that poked at him. Some cold and smooth, and a few, rigid with the scars of time and neglect. One particular sharpened claw hovered too close to Till’s eye.

Till couldn’t count exactly how long he’d been here, collecting bruises like his treasure.

It must have been a while—with every minute that passed, thoughts seemed to slow in his head as pain struck again. The same question he repeated over and over in his mind— when is it over? —remained unanswered.

“Ivan, get over here!”

In the shadows stayed Ivan, his blank gaze facing the wall above Till. Once his name was called again, his eyes traveled to the aliens, but never over to Till. Regardless, Till stared at him with his broken look, hoping he would at least take note of it.

Help.

Ivan didn’t say anything.

He only walked over. His pistol was clenched tight in his hand; once his footsteps stopped, and the silence between them grew unbreakable, Till wondered what would stop him.

There was a position of power that Ivan stood on, higher than Till’s, much higher. And in his hand was all he needed to erase the boy in his childhood memories—memories didn’t matter to a traitor like him. Only the aliens. Only what he was told. There was no mercy to be given this time.

The gun cocked. Ivan raised it to Till’s body.

“Who is Jacob to you?”

A question that didn’t pry too deep. The cold tip of the gun positioned itself right onto Till’s chest, atop his ribs. The aliens laughed, watching Till stumped, expression wide, the whites of his eyes visible even from a side view.

“Don’t kill him yet! I thought you brought your knife today, Ivan.”

“Answer my question.”

When Till kept his mouth shut, standing his ground, he could feel the unsteady shaking of the gun wrapped by Ivan’s fingers. Like they were frozen in the moment, as if time had paused, none of them spoke. Did Ivan think Till would crack under the pressure? Or was silence the representative of pain, where Ivan should have already been torturing information out of Till (if that was his duty)?

He stared.

Till just stared, waiting for a bullet to pierce his ribcage.

“Was Jacob your leader?” Ivan tried again. And Till realized he would keep firing questions until the aliens got bored and decided to toy with Till again.

Despite his attempts at questioning Till, he was all bark, no bite. With each twitch of Ivan’s finger as it rested on the trigger, every time he tried pulling out of their eye contact—the silence stretched longer. The aliens' patience grew weary.

Till prepared himself for pain.

He prepared himself for a kick.

He prepared himself for a shove.

He prepared himself for blood.

And he decided—well, there was no use in preparing.

Till slapped the gun out of Ivan’s hands, then slammed the traitor's head hard onto the table.

He fired the gun in the alien’s direction—only to discover it hadn’t been loaded at all. 

Ivan’s singing drifted into his cell again.

Till clutched the wound on his shoulder in silent seething—the more he stared at his gray cell door, the angrier he grew. There was nothing else to let his rage out on except the cold, stone floor, but no matter how hard he’d punch it, it always left his knuckles bloody and bruised. The kitchen knife resting in the corner of his cell rose bile from his stomach; it was stained a blood red color. It was Ivan’s.

It seemed to have slipped out of his pocket when he was dragging Till away from the alien meeting room, after Till had dropped Ivan's gun and lashed out at a fair number of them with his bare hands. The last thing he had seen was alien blood on his fingernails, before Ivan stabbed Till on his shoulder, and tossed him into his cell with a stab wound and bruises and cuts all over him.

Ivan carried an annoying amount of weapons. Who needed both a gun and a knife in their pockets at all times was a question Till never knew he would have.

The lyrics to Ivan’s current songs were jambled, nothing more but an undecipherable hum. Yet his voice remained so clear, a tone that Till could recognize everywhere. And though they have parted for such a while, a while that felt like a lifetime to him, Till would recognize Ivan’s voice everywhere. He semi-hated that fact.

As the song played in the back of his mind, he leaned against the wall, scrunching his face with the pain his shoulder brought him. It stabbed him worse with all the other bruises and cuts across his body; it made him want to scream, but he knew there was no use in doing so. So he only waited.

And when the door opened, Till was the first to move. He swiped the knife and flung his entire body weight on the other human, anger fixating itself onto his face. It was the fastest Till was sure he'd ever reacted.

“Get out or I’ll stab you,” snarled Till, the knife against Ivan’s throat. Ivan put his hands up in mock surrender.

“What did I do?”

Till decided to stab him anyway.

Blood dripped down Ivan’s white robes; the knife was stained a darker red as Till drove it deeper into his ribs, watching blood pour out like a waterfall. He let out a frustrated sound, gripping onto Ivan’s robes, ignoring Ivan’s hands trying to push him away. His effort did not go to waste; he held on longer, trying to hammer the knife down and down until it could become one with Ivan’s skin, like the nail of a tent. 

The knife pulled back.

But it didn’t sink back down into flesh.

It clattered to the floor, a sound ringing out in the silence.

Ivan held a hand over his mouth, though there were faint red smears on his knuckles; and even so, while losing blood by the minute, his eyes still held no pain in them. Only surprise.

“You’ve got a tight grip,” was all Ivan said.

Till didn’t know how to respond to that. He clutched his own stab wound, though he could still feel the pain from it, a vibrant pulse of agony. He didn't move. Instead he watched Ivan bleed. This time without the insincere apologies, this time without other children watching. This time…as men on opposite sides. With wounds that could kill.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Not really. I've dealt with far worse.” Ivan straightened up and smiled at him, despite blood dribbling off his lips through his bloodstained teeth. He was not fine. “Anyway...do you need a bandage?”

Was Ivan losing his mind?

“You’re the one bleeding!” snapped Till.

“I’m okay.” Ivan patted his chest, a weak smile on his face despite his pained expression. “Will you be?”

Till brushed over his wound. It still hurt somewhat—he pressed down hard on it. And all of a sudden, he gained sentience. 

“You stabbed me in that room!” he argued.

He hated how Ivan’s face stayed mostly composed, like a piece of him that never breaks—even after getting stabbed, it didn’t crumble like it should have. Rather, it was adorned with a smile, staring at Till and the knife that belonged to him on the floor. Till cautiously kicked it away.

“I suppose I did," admitted Ivan.

Till looked up to see Ivan weakly attempting to wipe the blood off of his white robes with a few fingers.

“Get out,” Till demanded.

“Wait. I came to give you bandages. And to take you for a walk outside—I thought you needed it.”

Till narrowed his eyes at him. “Outside?” The rebels had never taught him this. Whatever Ivan was attempting to do—it didn't sound trustworthy. Would he realistically trust a rebel outside? Was he doing it for the laughs?

“Would you like to go outside? You don’t seem perfectly content here.”

"Like you would care if I was content or not," Till murmured under his breath. Ivan didn't catch it, and if he did, he paid it no attention.

"It's your choice."

“Well. You stabbed me earlier,” Till replied, as if he were trying to make sense of it, “now hours later you’re taking me out for a walk?”

“I had to stab you. I didn’t want to, of course.”

Till might have killed the entire room of aliens if it hadn’t been for Ivan. Trouble might have come for Till; he knew that, but he wouldn’t care anyway.

He watched Ivan exit the room in a sudden swift motion, leaving a small trail of blood droplets behind him as he walked outside. Though Till saw he was extra careful once he exited the cell; Ivan clutched his stab wound, as if it were simply something he had to carry in his arms. He looked so unbothered by it Till wanted to know if he could feel pain at all. He covered his own wound while he waited for Ivan.

When Ivan came back, carrying a roll of bandaging that trailed after him on the floor, Till made a slight sneer come onto his face realizing Ivan hadn't even bothered to bandage himself up first. The stab wound, still dark red with fresh blood, kept dripping down his white robes; Ivan seemed to pay not much attention to it. Except he was paling by the minute. And his face seemed more pained.

Ivan did not hide his pain that well.

He flipped the bandage roll over so that he grabbed the end of the strip, and then held it up to the rebel's shoulder. Till didn’t have any other choice than to let Ivan bandage him up.

“Lift your arm.”

Till did so. He felt something heavy wrapping itself around his arm, as if to constrict his blood flow. The white gauze secured itself around his arm when Ivan added an extra layer. Till wasn’t sure if two layers of gauze was necessary—one layer was already enough to make his arm hard to move. Then, at last, Ivan added a few pieces of tape, to secure the bandaging even further. When Till flexed his arm, he felt minimal pain. Only because the gauze was practically suffocating the blood flow to his arms.

“You wrapped it too tight.”

“It’ll be alright after a few hours,” Ivan murmured.

Till put his arm by his side, feeling the gauze pressing into it, a silky yet bumpy surface. He glanced up at Ivan.

Ivan was looking at Till's collar. It still flashed a bright red.

“It's hard to get you to be pleased with me. That doesn't concern me too much—it's alright, I guess. I hope you're a tad grateful, even if just a little."

Till was grateful. Just a little bit, like Ivan had said. Though, really—how could one act of mercy equate to destruction of all Till has ever known? It was too unbalanced, and too little to heal. Ivan was dense if he thought Till would be pleased so quickly.

Ivan kept being merciful. He kept trying. And Till didn't know if Ivan truly hated him, or if the animosity was one-sided. Maybe all rebels were taken care of before they were killed; maybe Ivan had lied about their so-called connection, from their childhood times.

Ivan was confusing. Like a math problem he would cry over as a child, only there was no clear solution. No alien instructor to scold him and give him the correct formula.

Ivan wrapped his hand around Till’s collar after he gave a dramatic flinch by just his delicate touch.

“Well, it’s time to take you for a walk,” Ivan stated. "I'm sure we can take one of the restricted exits. It's time-saving that way, and I'll be able to talk us out of it if we're caught. Good plan?"

Till blinked when his brain registered Ivan's words. “You’re doing this in secret?” he asked skeptically.

Ivan tilted his head. “I don’t think you’d trust a rebel to roam outside if you were an alien.”

“I wouldn't." So they were going to be sneaking around Anakt Corp. Ivan would be breaking rules for him. The traitor human who always followed the aliens, and the aliens followed him—maybe it was just mercy. Maybe something else? Something less tasteful, an underlying goal more malicious than Till would think?

Just be grateful.

Right, right.

Ivan gave him a smile before the collar clicked off of him and fell to the stone cold floor. The shackles around his feet loosened. For the first time locked in Anakt Corp, Till was free. He felt the urge to stab Ivan where it would break him and run out, back to the rebels where they would finally have him back and he'd finished his revenge, the mission he was supposed to complete days ago—but Ivan seemed to have sensed his intentions. He rotated Till’s head towards the door, away from the knife. They faced the cold, artificial light of the Anakt building, dim, yet it shined through their floor like a single, small sun.

“You’re going to stay close to me,” Ivan ordered. “And then you’ll be back in your cell. I’ll take you no further than Anakt Garden, so just a little beyond the city walls. It's better to comply than not. That way, you won't find yourself with a gun at your mouth."

It was better than nothing. Better than sitting in his cell vacantly, taking another lap through his thoughts; his thoughts were becoming dull company, and the longer he was trapped with them, the worse his desperation to leave grew.

He did need some air.

Till didn't feel too defiant. But...

There had to be a way back to the rebels.

Everything felt too confusing. Too restricting in Anakt Corp. Ivan made him feel no better. The rebels were what he'd known, what he wanted to remember. He wondered if, with enough determination, if there was a possibility— He wondered if he could escape.

“Do you take everyone for a walk outside like this?" Till absentmindedly mused.

“No.”

Till hadn't actually expected him to answer.

"No?"

Ivan nodded to him. “Is that a problem? I just thought you looked lonely. That's all."

“I don’t forgive you for stabbing me, for the record,” Till said. "I won't forgive you for anything."

The open desert where they stared off into the sky stretched for ages, and yet Till could not see anything but clusters of buildings. Ivan held his wrist tight, and despite bandaging Till up earlier, Ivan still hadn’t bandaged himself up, nor had he cared to clean up the blood on his coat. Till had asked why on the way down from Anakt Corp, and Ivan had simply told him he saw no need to—for which Till reminded him he was still a human, and humans could be hurt. Ivan seemed to forget that often. 

They were far from the city. The city walls were a barrier between them and the city, as well as the watchful eyes of aliens inspecting them from a distance. Till crunched onto the cracked surface, made of sand desperately in need of water. When he stepped forward, the hand wrapped around his wrist constricted more; a reminder Ivan was always behind him, armed, ready in case he bolted. It felt too controlling. Till shot him a glare.

“I’m not going to run away, I promise. Not now.”

Ivan gave him an incredulous look. His grip on Till’s wrist didn’t loosen anymore.

“I thought you would have rebelled against my hand. I didn’t know that confines meant anything to you, frankly. You could have taken the chance earlier and just bolted. Save yourself?"

Was Ivan encouraging him? But again, seeing the gun loaded (this time) in his hand, and the intent gaze he had on Till…Till couldn’t read his motives well enough to determine if he was really considering letting Till go, or just trying to find the chance to kill Till when he could. He was tempting him. And Till did not fall for these such temptations, to run, to free himself. It would only end with him dead.

Till kicked up dust from the sandy ground beneath him. A cloud of dust flared up, and then disappeared into thin nighttime air—the moon lit them dimly above, as the clouds parted to let it shine.

He’d seen the moon from the small window in his cell—he hadn’t known what a relief it was to be outside again, with the moon finally full above him. Most often, he would see the moon when he sat outside of the rebels’ hideout, watching it quietly without much to think about. Mostly he’d think about Ivan during those silent evenings—even if they were separated by the stars, Ivan was a prominent presence, hovering by his side like an unsatisfied ghost. Before his capture, that was all Ivan had been—a ghost haunting his mind. There that ghost was real, clutching his wrist with one hand, and a gun in the other, studying him in the way Till had always known from him.

It was a little funny then when he stared at the moon. Like the person he'd always thought about during these moments was actually there by his side.

“I’m not stupid, Ivan. Despite what you might think, after being away for so long." Till blinked slowly.

“I know you’re not. But I thought you could have at least tried to—the opportunity was right there and then. Any logical rebel imprisoned for days would have taken the chance and ran back to their kind. I've dealt enough with the majority of you that I know your minds, and you all think the same—it's only natural. 'To accept the denial, and to submit to death once it comes, knowing you fought well. To fight for something that you'll never easily win without hope.' Not my words, his." Ivan quirked a smile.

"Jacob likes to talk, doesn't he?"

That was what he'd known of him.

Till could have bolted off into the horizon earlier right when they exited Anakt Corp, into the busy city. He could have found the perfect opportunity to blend into the crowd and escape Ivan’s grip—because at that very moment, he had been more free than he had ever been during his capture. He could run back to the rebels. He could run back to Mizi.

Abd yet, Ivan was always close to him. Rather than a quick escape, he could end the day bleeding out on the cold earth of the city. Ivan watched him. Ivan followed him. Though it wasn't in a curious and loyal way—it was duty. He couldn't have run if he had tried to, but the illusion of chance was always better than none, was it?

"To accept the denial, and to submit to death once it comes? Did he tell you that?" Till found it a little absurd Jacob would tell Ivan anything.

Ivan made a small sound, almost like he was impressed. “I thought you wouldn’t have given running away a second thought. You didn't seem like you wanted to 'submit to death'. You wanted to see her, to see them, actually.”

“I do.”

“Why didn’t you run, then, if you really missed them that much? You would have died either way, no matter if you ran or stayed with me—wouldn’t it have been better to die trying?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s too vague,” Ivan informed very helpfully.

Till walked forward on the wide horizon. They moved further and further from the city’s barbed fences and its looming walls, and even despite the distance they picked up, Ivan did not order him to stop. If Till walked towards the dilapidated buildings just visible in the far distance, would Ivan stop him then? Till let his wondering run wild when he reached a hand up to trace the outline of the buildings in the distance.

The night was unusually warm. Till felt the loosening of Ivan's hold around his wrist, just loose enough so that his wrist didn’t hurt. He looked around the vast expanse of nothing, nothing but dry land and clouds splattering the sky. And, looking back, the city walls, too far away from the both of them. Right then, Till could have escaped if he tried hard enough. He knew how to disarm and react quickly. He knew how to distract—he knew many things too well, that he could have used to his advantage.

Staring at the ghost of his life, an empty presence he’d never learned to appreciate until it haunted him, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat and every step he took; a looming burden whose shadow over him went unseen—this man, Ivan, who was once a boy, young, curious, attaching to Till like it was his one life purpose—and out here, where Ivan clasped on not because it was his purpose, but because it was just another duty to him. There was no will behind the fingers around his skin. Only restraint by his position, as if he were so chained down to who he was.

Till scratched the surface of his bandaging, still woven tight around his skin.

He liked repeating thoughts like they were favorite hobbies.

He liked reminding himself who he was, whom he surrounded himself with. And Ivan was a new presence returning to his short, human life, one he never welcomed back with intention, only chance.

He could take his chance then.

It would be so easy.

And it was decided.

In half a second, he felt warm fingertips leave his skin, and the humid air of the night swallowed him up as unadulterated freedom greeted him. He ran as fast as he could, and the buildings so far, far away seemed closer than inches the seconds longer he reached for them. Till was so close to being free.

He stumbled as a crack in the ground nearly sent him colliding with it. He just needed to run quickly. It didn’t matter if he ran like a stumbling fool. Till didn’t know how afraid he was of dying until then—when he thought he had freedom just in reach for him.

Till didn’t want to look back. He didn’t want to see if Ivan was chasing after him, or if he just watched. He felt fear building up inside his chest the longer Ivan let him run. He needed to run.

Quickly.

He needed to be quick…

That was when he felt fingers wrap around his shoulders. 

They fixated on his skin close, a sudden yank from his ascending reverie. The ground tilted under him. The buildings increased in distance. The freedom and fear tailing him wisped away. The faint image of the rebels’ hideout disappeared and was replaced by a vast wasteland and a giant moon hung high in the sky. And freedom left him again. So did Ivan.

“Hey.”

He felt his spiked heartbeat decrease—his pupils, previously blown wide, shrunk back down, and the muzzle of a pistol touched his hair. He glanced toward those unreachable buildings one more time, before Ivan pushed his head back over to the city.

“Ha. I didn’t just take you out for fresh air,” began Ivan, “it seems you really are desperate for the rebels. I suppose that’s kind of a shame you’ll never see them again. You do miss them, don’t you?”

Till looked at those faraway buildings with a gun pointed at his head.

“You could have told me. I would’ve understood. It’s been years since we’ve last met, Till—you’ve joined the rebels and you’ve made your friends. They’re great people to you, aren’t they? On your team, willing to offer you a place to stay. Willing to make you happy, even, with their stories of rebellion and missions going further than the locked doors of Anakt Corp.”

Till didn’t know if it was mocking, what Ivan had said.

When they reached the barbed fences of the outer city, all Till had left to wait for was the sweet release of death. It was like what Jacob had gone through, a short hope before acceptance rolled around. What he’d tried to do was an escape attempt, obviously failing. His only escape attempt. It was only natural to accept his new fate. It was only something Till had been taught as a rebel—if he was ever captured, he should just accept it. Wait for help—or don’t. And then, all he could hope for was help that would probably arrive too late.

“That must be nice to have. Someone to turn back to when you need it. But you can’t go—they said you can’t. I can’t let you escape now, not when the aliens haven’t had enough of you.”

“Then what did you bring me out for?” snapped Till. “Just to watch me try and escape? Is there some kind of hidden sadism in that?”

Ivan took him over close to the barbed fence, walking him back to Anakt Corp. His eyes flickered to the top of the city walls, where, Till remembered, alien guards were often stationed.

Till felt his freedom slipping like it was his destined fate. Freedom dangled in front of his eyes, then taken back, just to toy with his emotions.

Ivan was really funny.

So funny.

Till hated him for it.

“I just wanted to see if you’d really try to run away. If you’d care for them even with a gun pointed at you. Dying for them seems a little extreme, doesn’t it?”

“Everyone would die for somebody, right? We’re all human. We’ve all got beating hearts. Everyone is human—everyone has friends.”

Ivan stiffened, his footsteps becoming more brisk.

“That’s definitely not true.” He stopped to survey the top of the city walls again. “But all the rebels I’ve met care for their kind so much. Almost so that it’s unnatural—I’ve never seen a love so strong. I thought it would’ve faded with time, but it’s strange. Fascinating.”

Once they slipped through the walls of the city through a small crack in the material, they were met with the dim city again, this time with the streets empty. The lights atop a billboard were the only things flickering. The silhouette of the looming Anakt Corp building was visible in the soft, artificial glow of the street lamps.came from street lamps. Till followed Ivan close, and when he glanced back, all he could see was the city’s walls.

It was gone.

All of his freedom—even the little he’d had for a short moment, the second his and Ivan’s hands had separated. It made him want more than he’d already had—he didn’t know how badly he wanted his freedom back, until he’d been given the illusion he’d finally had some. Freedom not just from Anakt Corp, but from Ivan.

“What are you going to do now that I’ve tried to escape?”

“Nothing much.” Ivan chuckled. “The aliens will be the ones that make sure you’re not coming out of Anakt Corp alive. No rebel gets out alive, and if they do, they don’t live long enough. It is your punishment. Your fate for being disobedient.”

They made their way up a dark staircase. It seemed to be one of the only dark ways in Anakt Corp; it must’ve been an unused path of some sort, or a restricted one at that. All Till knew was that they made it to his prison cell in a matter of minutes, quicker than they’d headed outside. He sat on the floor he’d known for too long, and Ivan stood above him as usual, a look on his face neutral, the type of neutral that suggested he was bored and wanted to chat with the prisoners for a while.

For some reason, Ivan had not touched the shackles, nor did he touch the white collar laying in the corner of the cell.

“So the rebels…you’d really like to go back?”

“Did you hit your head? That’s what I’ve been saying,” retorted Till indignantly, leaning against the side tiredly. Ivan peered in with a surveying look, his face finally looking like something other than smug or questioning. Instead it looked like something had dawned upon him. Almost like a life revelation hitting him in the middle of a nighttime stroll.

“I see.”

Ivan shuffled around in his pockets. He didn’t appear too interested in that fact, or he was hiding it really well. Till honestly couldn’t tell much from Ivan when the strong light outside hit his back, only causing the black silhouette of Ivan to become visible. But the familiar crinkle of a wrapper became apparent—and Till got a little context from it.

A cookie.

Ivan was offering him a cookie this late at night.

“Are you hungry?”

“No?”

Two cookies in wrappers slid over to him anyway. The wrapper they were trapped in was a little different this time—Till had stared at previous cookie wrappers long enough to tell the difference. Well, actually, he didn’t need to stare long to tell that these were completely different.

And they weren’t cookies.

Till found himself staring at two stale muffins on the floor of the cell soon after, with blue-purple spots on it that looked like bruises. These were not ordinary muffins.

“I found some muffins in the kitchen by convenience. They look a little different, but they’re safe to eat. Hopefully.”

Hopefully?

Till bit into one. It tasted like an ordinary muffin, though there was a little sweet-sour taste tinged with it. Till didn’t stare long at the muffin before he glanced back up at Ivan.

“Thank you.”

Ivan pushed one of the muffins closer to Till, letting it bump the side of his hand. “Make sure you finish them before the aliens come. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Ivan stayed, slightly uncanny, watching him eat with a small smile on his face, one tooth protruding from the corner of his mouth like a fang. Till found it kind of unsettling, his long gazing—but he continued to chew on his muffin.

“It’s good, right?”

“I guess.”

“Do you like muffins?”

“Sure.” Till glared back up at him. Ivan, who still viewed him with an intent eye, his gaze so heavily fixated one would have to aggressively shake him to snap him out of it. “Stop staring at me. I thought you’d have more duties to attend to than just… this."

Despite his earlier remark, Ivan rested his hand against the wall behind Till, and his shadow fell over Till, an awning against the moonlight.

“Surveilling the prisoners is one of my duties,” Ivan informed, “the strongest rebels need the most surveillance. Of course, I don’t stop by to chat with you, and you only. The other prisoners here, too—you’re just the only one with good conversation.”

Till laughed bitterly at that. Because during all their conversations, Till didn’t talk all that much to him. Maybe a few smart quips here and there. But mostly replies. He couldn’t have been such a good conversationalist that Ivan stayed with him for hours .

And a lot of times, it was eerie watching.

Ivan seemed to have forgotten the small window at the top of the cell door was a two-way window. Sometimes Till could see him peering down at him through that little gap, blocking the light from streaming in. And Till would find himself staring back at dark eyes, tinged with a slight blood red.

Ivan liked watching him a lot.

After Till finished his muffin, he threw the wrapper at Ivan’s feet, leaving it his duty to pick them up. Till sat uncaringly in Ivan’s still strong shadow. Ivan picked the wrapper up into his hands, then crushed it. And as it always did—his eyes landed on Till again.

“It was a nice walk.”

Hah…

Till remembered the small glimpse of freedom he’d seen, before he felt Ivan’s fingers grasp his shoulder. Just a small glimpse—and Ivan had known he would run (or, suspected it, at least), and he was already well-prepared for it. The release of his wrist, the panicked footsteps as they carried him across the sandy terrain, and the open, humid night.

Just a little taste of freedom.

And then, the reality that had been hardwired into his destined fate.

“Yeah.” Till's eyes didn't smile. Only his lips curled. “It was.”

“I certainly enjoyed being by your side. I hope it was an adequate apology for stabbing you so harshly. It was only by my orders.” Ivan gave him what seemed like a somewhat sympathetic (or pitiful) expression. “Acts of mercy aren’t what I’m used to. You’re the first rebel I’ve ever taken with me on a walk.”

“Because I seemed lonely and you wanted to see if I’d really escape.” Till exhaled in disbelief. “Are those the only reasons I went outside tonight?”

Ivan fidgeted with Till’s collar in his hand, a red color blinking as the light flashed in and out of Till’s view.

“I don’t know.” Ivan inclined his head, as if to think. “There’s probably more, but I can’t name them off the top of my head. Or,” a smirk played on his face. “…Maybe I just don’t want to tell you.”

Till didn’t laugh.

“Well…goodnight, Till. Sleep if you can.” Ivan tapped a finger against the cell door. “Just don’t make conversation with the other prisoners or I’ll have to kill you early. Which is a real shame.”

The collar Ivan had previously toyed with clattered to the floor. As the light outside his cell door dimmed, with only a crack through the uncovered window, Till was left in the dark, something he’d often found himself in.  He glanced towards the white collar laying alone in the corner of his cell. Then, his fingers ghosted over his neck, where it lay bare without a white collar blinking color.

Ivan had forgotten. Perhaps he’d been so caught up in their supposedly interesting conversation that he had forgotten the chains that bound Till down to the cell.

Till took it as another act of mercy. Tonight (and, possibly, only tonight) he was free of his chains.

Chapter Text

"Is this alright?"

"What? What is?"

"Catch."

Ivan threw a pillow at Till's face. He caught it, though he first sent a glare Ivan's way before examining the object thrown at him. The pillow was old, stained with strange liquids and slightly yellow. Probably one of the human's pillows. It had been something Ivan retrieved from the human habitat in a rush, thinking of Till when he saw it. How on the first day he'd seemed uneasy about sleeping on a stone slab during the nighttime—so Ivan had stolen it from one of the beds they supplied to humans trapped in Anakt Corp, and he'd instantly ran over to Till's cell to give it to him. Till fluffed it up on his stone slab, and laid his head against it as an experiment. He pressed his eyes close against the soft material for a few seconds.

"Well, it's cold," Till commented.

"Are cold pillows a good thing?"

Till stared up at him from where he lay curled up, knees folded onto his chest, eyes barely open. "Sure," he said. He burrowed his face into it, laying flat on his stomach when he turned. Ivan waited by the doorway, watching him rest on the pillow silently.

Till seemed to not like that.

"The pillow's getting warm," said Ivan. "You said cold pillows were a good thing, and warm pillows weren't."

Till sat up and glowered at him, propping his chest up with one arm against the pillow, leaning as he watched Ivan carefully. His entire body was shivering—in the cell, it was noticeably cold, since the aliens had told Ivan it was one of those low temperature times of the earth. Ivan's hand touched the collar of his coat.

"You're cold."

Ivan began slipping the coat off of his body, and Till protested with a long string of no sounds, shaking his head vehemently.

"No, no, no, I don't need your coat!" Till snapped, before Ivan covered him with his white coat. His shivering stopped. The slight trembling in his fingers stopped, and they fell onto the cold stone slab under him.

"I said I don't need it."

"You don't have a choice."

"I do," Till argued back, flinging Ivan's white coat across the cell with anger, "Unless you'd like to get stabbed again. It'll be fun for me, but not for you. Pick your choice."

Ivan eyed his coat then lying across the room in a heap. Earlier he'd been so careful not to dirty it after being washed that morning—gingerly, Ivan picked it from the floor with two of his fingers while kneeling down.

"That's fine with me. It's not going to benefit you, though."

"You're acting like I have a choice. If I wasn't your childhood friend, I wouldn't have been kept alive this long, let alone given blankets and pillows and cookies. Why are you treating me so special?"

"When will you stop bringing it up?" Out of every prisoner Ivan has ever had the pleasure of talking to, Till seemed to ask the most questions. Ivan was getting a little annoyed of it—he wondered if he should shorten these visits just so he didn't have to deal with the headache of answering ridiculous questions. But Till was a curious person—brave, even. Some of the prisoners Ivan had had daily conversations with were spineless when met with him.

"When you answer me properly," Till said. "And I doubt you'd just give your coat to any prisoner. Why am I the only prisoner who's getting special treatment? Do you…like me?"

Did he?

"It depends on what you mean by like." Ivan clasped his coat in his arms, ignoring how cold the cell was around his neck. "It's quite different from love, is what I think it means. More like…favoring. Holding someone above others because they intrigue me is certainly something I've done—if that's what you mean, then yes. I do favor you."

"…Why?"

"Do I need a reason?" A smile formed on Ivan's lips at Till's question.

"There's a reason for everything. Something about me intrigues you, is what you're making it sound like." Till's glare deepened. "You're treating me like your pet human."

To that, Ivan would agree.

Unsha used to treat him like he treated Till, given old blankets and pillows and little biscuits when he'd first rescued him from that abandoned alleyway, trash bags covering his skin and illuminated by nothing but the starlight above. It wasn't like Unsha favored him. But he'd picked Ivan up from the alley, and he'd lived in the slums for a good amount of time. That was all Ivan had ever gotten—care, not because of affection, but simply raised to be an entertainer for aliens one day.

Then, maybe what he gave Till wasn't simple affection. There was intrigue. The way he spoke, the fights he put up, the definition of a rebel.

Something caught his eye about Till. He needed to figure out what.

Ivan wrapped his coat around his figure again. Till only laid his head back onto the pillow provided; his eyes started to close, and once they did, they didn't open back up again. His glare, once long held out, slipped into a more peaceful expression. Ivan swung open the cell door.

"Sleep well, Till."

"Leave," came his muffled reply.

Ivan could see his suppressed shaking; he fought back the urge to just toss the coat over Till to warm him up. He looked pathetic, huddled up in a little ball. Ivan kept his coat, though. He did need it—the Anakt Corp atmosphere was growing colder day by day.

"I'll try to find a reason," Ivan said one last time. "A reason to favor you."

Ivan finally turned to leave the cell.

Till approached him one sunny day, when Ivan was picking flowers off of the ground. It had been a few hours since their last fight—they'd exchanged insincere apologies, and then parted ways for the rest of the day. Until then, when Till came over, expression annoyed, stopping next to where Ivan hid.

"You look really pathetic." Till slid down, back pressed against the pillar, irritated gaze on Ivan. "So I decided to join you here. Make you feel less lonely, I guess…"

"I thought you were with Mizi."

"Oh. Mizi went to go talk with Sua." Till had a slightly disappointed frown on his face, watching the other children run amuck on the field. "I have to be with you." Till inspected the building behind him; pressing Ivan's back was a long panel of metal, and a few feet above him was a window pane big enough for an alien to peek through and spy on the children in Anakt Garden. It was one of those buildings the children weren't allowed in, only the alien instructors.

Ivan noticed something else too.

There was a cut across Till's cheek.

Ivan wiped the blood off of it cautiously, and Till immediately flinched.

"Don't do that," Till snapped, mood suddenly souring, "I thought I told you to stop wiping the blood off my cuts. It's weird!"

With one incredibly smug motion, Ivan licked his fingers dry and smiled at the disgusted look Till wore on his face not long after. The shade began to cast a long shadow over them, like the shadow of an alien instructor looming over them, waiting to reprimand them for whispering in class again. Till put a finger up to his cheek, where the wound seeped with red liquid.

"Hmm. What happened there?" Ivan asked, rubbing his fingers on his white shirt to clean them. When they'd fought, Ivan had only left a couple of bruises on Till's skin (and so had Till) and maybe one scratch.

"He pushed me down and I scraped my face against a tree," Till muttered. "That jerk was harassing Mizi again."

"So you're hanging out with her more now?" Ivan finished cleaning his fingers off on his shirt.

"Yeah. I mean, she's wonderful to hang out with. She's so nice, and…really pretty. I wish Sua didn't take so much of her time." Till sighed wistfully, looking at her from where they sat against the building. Mizi sat with Sua, both of them quieting talking and giggling under the shadow of a tree. The last time Ivan had talked with Sua (which was like an hour ago, or more. Ivan couldn't remember exactly) she'd kept darting her eyes back to Mizi, with the same look Till wore when he thought about Mizi. Thoughtful, affectionate, obsessive. Ivan had always known Mizi was a likeable person, favored by many around her. But Till seemed to want more. Till has always been like this towards her.

"Why don't you ask Sua to let you talk with Mizi? Maybe she'll let you?"

"Sua's always by Mizi. She takes up so much of Mizi's attention…I really wish I were her. I wish Mizi was with me more instead of her. Why can't Mizi just hang out with me for one day instead of leaving me here to go hang out with the other children?"

Ivan blinked at Till.

Then, he smiled.

"Am I boring to you?"

"No. You're just weird." Till squinted his eyes under the sun. "No one but me would want to hang out with a weirdo like you. You're not boring, though."

"Is hanging out with me something you like to do?" Ivan queried.

TIll tilted his head towards the sky the further back he leaned against the metal wall, swinging his legs forward so he crossed one atop another, kicking it from side to side boredly. "Don't make me answer that."

"Yes, me too. I like hanging out with you!"

"I didn't say yes!" Till elbowed Ivan in the ribs sharply. "So don't make your own interpretations."

Ivan winced in pain, tracing a circle softly around the area where Till had elbowed him. "Then it's a no."

The boy next to him closed his eyes temporarily, exhaling warily. "Why are you so confusing? I told you I don't know if I really like being with you. I mean…you're better than the other children. I do like you. Not like that much, but you're cool. Except when you keep doing that. Then you're annoying."

"I'm…cool?"

"Yeah. And I'm tired." Till gave another loud sigh and rolled over onto the grass, embracing the sunlight as it fell across his face. He turned away from Ivan, from where Ivan sat sheltered under the shadow of the building's height.

"You think I'm cool." Ivan made an amused little sound. "Well, I think you're cool, too, how about that? We're both cool?"

"Shut up, Ivan."

His voice sounded a tad bit drowsy. Till seemed to be falling asleep in the sunlight. The day that day was warm, like layers of blankets stacked over a sleeping child, that's what Till looked like; dozing off under the sun, the spiky blades of grass poking his cheeks.

"Hey."

Ivan poked Till in the side, trying to wake him up.

"Till. Do you like me?"

He didn't answer. Ivan rolled back over, heart beating as Till's attention left him again. Of course Till didn't like him. He liked Mizi. Ivan stared at his fingers with Till's voice replaying over and over again in his head—as Till continued his nap in the bright sunlight, just out of reach from the shadow looming over Ivan, Ivan watched his chest rise and fall slowly.

He stood from his position in the shadows. As he stepped out of the shadow of the building and into the grass dappled with warm spots of sun, he continued his prolonged staring at Till, this time sitting in the sunlight. The sunlight was rather nice—like a giant, layered blanket covering him. Though he knew this feeling wouldn't last very long. It was almost time to head to class.

"I'm cool." A small giggle. "Cheer up. I'm cool."

He must have sounded a little stupid saying that over and over.

"The product's eyes changed color. Something must have gone wrong with the chemicals."

The silver-haired, light-eyed child stared up at Ivan from inside the glass display. Its small face was blank and studying the aliens curiously where it remained behind the glass, peering up at Ivan and the other aliens behind him curiously. Ivan watched an alien pick the small thing up before bringing it out of the glass display. The child was plopped into Ivan's arms.

Silver hair. Light eyes—not a teal color, rather a more green one. Like the color a collar blinked when the bearer was happy, or felt a positive emotion. The child made a small whimpering sound, probably in distress. Ivan awkwardly felt it from under the arms, waiting for the other aliens to come by.

"We're not sure how this might have happened," an alien muttered, taking a quick look at the child in Ivan's hands. "Though premature humans are curious things. It must have come into the lab somehow. We'll have to secure the confinements better next time."

"When will it be taken to Anakt Garden?" Ivan asked.

"It is not of age to go. And even so, we're going to keep for experiments." The alien tapped the thing's head with one singular claw. "Unless it's taken as a pet, it'll stay in the lab, with us."

"The others said you're going to take it to the museum."

The alien made a low, rumbling sound, something that Ivan presumed was an amused laugh. Also usually a sign that Ivan had said something wrong. The baby blinked at him with its big eyes, head empty but eyes curious. Ivan stared back at the small, premature human with slight recognition.

"The museum's for research discoveries—not for active experiments. It ain't your place to figure it all out." The alien patted his head lightly. Their expression changed a little bit.

"Anyway, I forgot to tell you. I really liked your performance today—the effects were wonderful, as always! Your voice hasn't changed a bit, and I have no doubt they're training you well—I look forward to your next stage appearance, Ivan. Which is, I believe, tomorrow? For the new song?"

Ivan silently nodded.

Right. The performance he'd done earlier. And then the two other performances he'd do that week, he realized. The aliens had started putting extra pressure on him to perform better than he already did, and of course, he'd went by their orders, and stayed late last night to practice his lines. It didn't really pay off—his performance a few hours ago was brilliant, yes, but he was sure the aliens could see his exhaustion. Performing wasn't what it used to be.

"Splendid! And your guardian's Unsha, right? I had a little chat with the alien—he was proud. Told me to tell you to keep training, to get better. There were some flaws in your performance that were a little below the line."

"Tell him I understand."

"You know disappointed Unsha gets whenever your performances fall flat. Don't make this harder for you to deal with." The alien dusted off Ivan's shoulder and retracted their claw to hold the child tight to them. "You're a phenomenal thing, Ivan."

The child still kept its blank stare at Ivan's face as the alien walked away, and even when they disappeared behind a long storage shelf, shadowed by the boxes piled in unorganized piles around the large room, Ivan kept staring after the small human. The slam of a metal door was faint in Ivan's ears.

He recounted last night, when he'd stayed up for the entire night just to study his lines and cross out notes he thought were unnecessary—the night passed by like a blur, and he could barely remember anything other than the lyrics of his new song. The last thing he remembered he'd done before the sun rose was throw darts at a picture of Luka, the new and uprising performer, about to surpass Ivan in ability.

He didn't think with these sleepless nights and the performances, he could see Till again.

Well, he still had time—an hour or two, at least. He could visit Till for just a little while before heading off to practice.

Ivan took one last look at the glass display—eyes roaming over the artificial grass, artificial sunlight, and little toys for the humans to entertain themselves with, as well as the other necessities hidden out of sight of the display. He then turned around, facing away from the light and towards the darkness of the storage room, where rows of boxes and large metal shelves met him. The exit was across the room, barricaded by a few chairs.

Once he pulled the door open and kicked the chairs away, he exited the room. On the television screen near the ceiling was Luka again, in one of his recent interviews. He talked smoothly to the interviewer, like his voicewas meant to beguile instead of communicate. In a few years, he would rise up to be something great. Something better than Ivan.

Ivan grit his teeth. He didn't want to think about what would happen then. He focused on heading forward towards Till's cell.

Except…when he arrived at Till's cell door and peered in, Till was gone.

The cell room was empty, except for the pillow and the shackles and collar lying on the ground. It was empty, Till absent from Till's escape was the first thing that ran through his mind. That day when they'd taken a midnight walk was still fresh in his mind. But he'd maken sure there was no way for Till to break free…the cell door was secured tightly, the collar fastened around his neck the last time Ivan had seen him.

So, there was only one explanation.

Ivan broke into a run, sprinting across the hallways to reach the alien meeting room. It's where they usually brought him, where Till would usually come back from with cuts and bruises and a defeated demeanor after the aliens had their chance to torture him.

He knew their goal was to torture every rebel to death. And as days passed, Till's resistance dropped lower and lower, and one day Till wouldn't fight back. One day Till would let them toss him around until they were bored of him. And then, he'd die. Just like that.

Ivan knew that. But the possibility drew closer, and Ivan couldn't deny its extremity anymore.

He burst into the meeting room. Blood dripped from table surfaces, gleaming, reflecting the scene in front of Ivan. Bullets were scattered around the room. Till held an alien by its claws, fresh blood dripping from his head. Most of the aliens in the room were either knocked out or standing back in fear. Till turned to see Ivan standing in the doorway, eyes wide with surprise, and the distraction gave the alien under him an advantage to wriggle free.

Till's face slammed against the wall harshly. A giant red spot was left where he'd hit the metal. In a slow circle, he rubbed his cheek. The alien watched Till run towards Ivan. A growl sounded from the alien's throat.

"Make sure he gets the punishment he deserves," grumbled the alien.

"Understood."

Ivan carried Till by the arm as they walked away from the meeting room. Till kept muttering curses under his breath, a glare fixed permanently on his face. A small trail of blood followed Till from where Ivan dragged him across the floors of Anakt Corp. Till's legs were bleeding, his chest was bleeding, everywhere was. Ivan frowned at the injuries he could see underneath Till's torn shirt. Quickly, he pretended as if he'd never seen them, turning his head back to stare ahead. Ivan regretted not keeping bandages in his pockets.

A sigh slipped from Ivan's mouth. "What were you thinking?"

"Self-defense. I'm not dimwitted enough to die without a fight. I'm really not that dimwitted…" his sentence trailed off into sort of a dying whisper.

Ivan glanced at a few rebel posters on the walls. "They weren't going to kill you then, you know? If they were, they wouldn't have done it without me. I'm the one who kills the rebels when the Segyein get bored of them."

It shut Till up fast.

Instead of taking Till to his cell (like Ivan should have), he stopped near an exit door, and he placed Till against the wall, inspecting his wounds carefully. They were shallow. Inflicted by either an alien claw or a knife, he couldn't tell. As usual, bruises and cuts were littered across his skin; he wondered how many times they'd thrown him against the wall. Or maybe if the aliens had really considered killing him without Ivan around.

“Here, lift your arm,” Ivan murmured, “I’ll try to bring some bandages.”

Till remained unresponsive. He only stared up at Ivan, while Ivan waited expectantly. When Ivan realized that Till wasn’t going to do anything, he sighed in exasperation, creasing his mouth into a thinner line.

“I said lift your arm.”

“Why?” Till muttered under his breath. Going against what Ivan had clearly just ordered, he tucked his arms around his chest, hiding the criss-crossing lacerations and the torn surface of his shirt. “You know they’re going to kill me anyway. I don’t need your help.”

It seemed pessimism had taken the better of Till. Ivan’s arms stretched forward to grab his arm, but they were stuck to his chest, unable to be moved.

“You’re going to die early if you don’t get patched up,” Ivan said quietly. “And you know neither of us want that.”

It still didn’t get Till to lift his arms any higher.

Out of sheer will, Ivan tore Till’s arms off his chest. “Ah. You’re only going to hurt yourself more by doing that,” he said.

Till grimaced, looking down through the rips in his shirt. He pushed Ivan’s hands away when he tried to reach forward. Even though he was clearly in pain, he denied any help he was being generously offered—it only took one more death glare before Ivan stopped trying completely, putting his arms back by his sides. Ivan inhaled sharply.

Till was really stubborn. Though Ivan had always considered stubborn a good thing—like willing to do whatever to achieve a goal, a word he’d been taught ages ago but never had to use much. Yet there, Till was the definition of the word. Stubborn in surviving, stubborn in defying authority, and then, stubborn in denying help when one more hurl against a solid metal wall could actually kill him.

And Ivan—shit. Could Ivan imagine a world without Till in it? A world where he one hundred percent knew Till was gone, and not a world where there was a slim but possible chance Till was alive. The second time around, Till would actually be gone.

Like a pillar of his childhood, destroyed. Like something he’d held onto, slipping through his world, fragile as it quickly fades. That time was dawning on them soon.

“Till, just let me help you now…”

“I know you don’t really care if I suffer or not. It’s nothing but good fun, watching me feel so special, then realizing I’m nothing to you.” Till chuckled. “I’ll give you a good laugh, Ivan. When I’m dead on the floor of the meeting room later. You wouldn’t care then, right? You'd continue on with your perfect life at the top, acting like nothing ever happened.”

It was Ivan’s turn to be quiet.

He stayed in that position, in an uncomfortable half-crouch, staring at Till in confusion with a frown pressing his face.

Then, he smiled slowly. Carefully.

"What a sudden mood change you’re going through.”

Till's fingers ran along the large, jagged red line across his chest. He winced when the tip of his fingernail touched the exposed red flesh, and his finger came back up with a little bit of a red color on his thumb.

"But am I right?" Till finally returned his prolonged stare. "You're just going to pretend like I was another rebel? After I die…I'll just be another human who stepped out of line. Which is reasonable—we're not friends anymore, Ivan. You should stop treating me like something worth caring for."

If Ivan was being honest, he'd still been stuck in that mindset for a while. That because of what they had been, they were still what they were—friends. Even if Till didn't consider them that way, Ivan had been lenient towards him, feeding him cookies, gifting him just a small amount of mercy to let him know hey, Ivan still remembered him. Ivan knew what they had been. Perhaps it was his memories; perhaps it was his lingering obsession with Till, reminding him it was still there, somewhere deep in his mind.

Ivan didn't have a reason.

He didn't have a reason to favor Till. At least, not anymore. Why did he keep forgetting that?

"Okay. I'm sorry."

He knew they were two different people, on opposite sides of a world where they were just the inferior species—but it never really registered. He'd let his memories do the talking, let what he once knew consume him. And in turn, he'd seen Till through tinted glasses, hoping he might return the friendliness they once held for each other.

"I didn't know you didn't feel that way. I must have been a little foolish—"

"So you'll stop this?" Till asked. "The cookies, the pillows—it just feels too wrong. It's just better to kill me and get over it. Everything you do is wrong, okay? I don't need you acting like we're close. You're better dead than being my friend again. I tolerated this for long enough, but each time it just keeps creeping me out…"

You're dead to me.

"But I still haven't told you why I like you. Why I even bother giving you these cookies and acts of mercy." Ivan tilted his head. "You want to hear that part?"

"Forget about it. You don't have to carry that burden with you anymore. I'm going to die soon." Till placed a hand towards the door behind him. "You'll watch me die, right?"

"Do you want me to?"

No reply.

Ivan imagined what it was like to watch Till die.

Perhaps his death would be quick. Or perhaps it'll be slow and painful. It could be a swift bullet to the head from Ivan's gun, or something far less merciful. Either when the aliens were bored of toying with the prisoner or when they wanted something truly entertaining to watch, it would be the death of one prisoner. Ivan sometimes could think for hours about the scenarios, recounting countless deaths Ivan had caused and the ways he'd done it…then plastering Till's face over each prisoner he'd killed, watching the rebel's face as if contorted with pain and let out bloodcurdling screams.

He figured Till wasn't much fun for the aliens to toy with—whenever they brought him in to the meeting room, one alien or more would always end up bleeding. It was almost his time to go.

Till was going to die soon.

When they headed into Till's cell, they were both silent. When Till returned to his usual position in the corner of the room, they were still quiet. Ivan reached into his pocket, but paused as he did.

The cookies, the pillows—it just feels too wrong. The exact words that Till had told him. He'd grabbed a cookie from the kitchens before he'd gone into the lab. Ivan had saved it for Till.

It was practically engraved into his routine. Grab a cookie, then head to Till's cell. Till didn't want it anymore. He didn't want anything from Ivan anymore.

"See you later," Ivan murmured. "And, as you wish, no more acts of mercy."

Till made a small sound.

"Okay."

As they spoke, Till was probably already preparing for his death. And Ivan—Ivan didn't know whether then was the right time to let go or not. Whether he was ready to watch Till spill his life onto the floors of the meeting room.

Maybe there was only one possible thing Ivan could do to prevent that from happening.

It all depended on how loyal he was to the Segyein first.

Chapter Text

Time started to pass a little faster. And the days before, in that cell of his in Anakt Corp, had been like days in the planning room idling around, waiting for the other rebels to return from their mission—fueled with fear and waiting. Just waiting. He hated waiting.

He remembered the words Ivan had muttered to him just earlier this morning, when he'd come to do his routine inspection on Till. Just before Ivan had turned his back to Till, blocking the light from reaching his face, the tell-tale sign that Ivan was going to take his leave for the day.

"They're getting bored of you. They told me to get rid of you soon."

"Now?" Till had muttered half-awake, in the fading darkness of morning. Ivan had waited for a few seconds before supplying him with a reply, something Till has been forced to become used to. It was like Ivan couldn't find anything appropriate to say to him at first—like he was finding the right words to supply Till with to hide the truth.

Then, he'd finally said, "When you'd most expect it."

That answer was too vague for Till. It made him presume his initial answer was correct—he'd eyed the gun around Ivan's hip, the one Ivan's hand was dangerously close to.

When he'd most expect it. Didn't Ivan know Till was waiting for his death any day, any second?

"No one gets out of Anakt Corp alive, or for long enough." Ivan's hand, just brushing the gun's trigger, flew to his collar, adjusting it so it sat properly. "I can't let anyone escape, even if I wanted to."

The light seeping in around Ivan's shadow dawned upon Till when he lifted his face. He squinted his eyes under the harsh white brightness.

"Yeah." Till's hand hovered over his eyes, shielding them from the glow. "I remember."

That night when he'd had a small taste of freedom, a meager meal barely enough to fill him—and then Ivan's hand, which had pulled him back from the horizon he was planning to run to.

"I'm going to come back this evening."

"Still?"

"Isn't that what I've been doing for the past week?"

Till knew that. But at the same time, it felt like new information. He'd practically lost sense of time in this cell—even when he looked up to find the light of day shining through his small cell window, or the darkness invading his cell, he stopped labeling them as day or night, rather just more time passing him by as he sat in his cell.

"Goodbye, Till. I'll try to come early for the check up, alright? And…"

The crinkle of a wrapper as Ivan's hands dove into his coat pockets.

Till's hands wrapped themselves into fists.

"Just get out! I don't need a muffin."

The light dimmed as the cell door swung close to close. Ivan took one more look at him through the small pocket window at the top. His shadow obscured the artificial lights outside. The cell door stayed straying in the middle, held steady by Ivan's hand.

"I'm sorry, Till."

"Shut up!"

Till bolted forward.

The cell door slammed shut, and Till's fist, meaning to strike Ivan, only struck the cold metal door. Till melted back onto the floor, collar newly blinking a bright red color.

He had stopped spending hours thinking about whether Hyuna and Isaac would come and rescue him or not, because if anything, only Till could help himself after those endless days in Anakt Corp.

He began to spent his time in his cell, memorizing every inch of it like it was his duty to.

He waited.

Till has always hated waiting. If it was in the planning rooms, if it was waiting for the other rebels to return from a mission, he hated it. The cell they'd trapped him in seemed designed to torture him—slowly and slowly, like it was waiting too. Waiting for him to give up and stop being rebellious.

There, in the cell, all he could do was wait. Wait for Ivan and wait for death. Ever since he'd been captured, those childhood memories he'd fought to forget became too vivid and agonizing for him to push away. Even with those ridiculous acts of mercy and what they had once been—he knew in the end, Ivan would be loyal to no one but the aliens. He didn't know why Ivan tried so hard to be nice to him, to be so kind to a rebel like him.

Maybe it was to revive their childhood. What they once had. But whatever Ivan still felt towards him, it was too late—even if he still considered them friends, it was no use. In the end, it was Till who would end up dead, and Ivan holding the gun, towering above him with Till's blood on his hands. Or they'd both die, fooled by things they'd whispered to each other under the shade of a tree in Anakt Garden all those years ago, thinking they could be friends.

Yesterday, Ivan had stopped giving him cookies. Stopped treating him special, because Till had told him to. That it was simply impossible for them to be nice to each other.

Ivan, though, of course, still treated him rather friendly.

Maybe it was to make the betrayal hurt even more. With the mercy and barely noticeable friendliness—when Till's blood splattered across Ivan's clothes, maybe the last thing he'd know before life faded from his eyes was shock. Shock that Ivan would betray him so coldly, after treating him like a friend.

He wasn't stupid.

That was what Ivan wanted, wasn't it?

He scratched the cold surface of the stone ground beneath him. They were light, feather scratches, as if his hands had lost strength. Each time he looked up towards the sky above him, the same sunlight filtered down through the window, like time had stopped. Just yesterday, when it seemed a year had passed in his cell, he would look up and find that the sun hadn't moved an inch. Though that hour, the hour after Ivan had left his cell, time seemed to race faster. As he approached noon, as shadows of aliens passed over his cell door (and, some would occasionally peer in curiously), he only waited for Ivan.

He waited for death pretty patiently.

The cell door creaked open.

"Till."

The shackles around his ankles were gone; the collar, still a bright red, remained stationed in its place around Till's neck. He brought himself to his senses, staring at the silhouette crouched down to offer him a hand. When Till placed his hand softly onto Ivan's, there was a small pause. Ivan studied Till's hand, resting in the center of his, then clasped it tight.

"Follow me."

Till got up from the floor he'd been silently waiting on. Before Ivan had come, he'd been counting the stars outside, stopping once all the stars that were visible from his place in the cell had been given a number, just in time to hear the familiar pace of Ivan's footsteps.

That was it.

That was the last thing he would do in the cell—count all fifty-six stars in the sky visible to him. Once he stood up, the stars shifted, and more appeared, but he couldn't be bothered to count the rest.

"Are you okay, Till?" Ivan had a small smile stretch across his face as he faced Till, tilting his head to meet the rebel's eyes.

Till pushed Ivan's face away from his.

"Let's just go."

Ivan seemed to hesitate for one second, before he turned and led him out the door.

They passed through the white hallways again. The walls were bright and the lights above were blurred in Till's vision. The floor beneath them was clean. Ivan didn't look around much—he only kept his head level and kept his fast pace forward, dragging Till along with him.

"It's time for my execution, right?" Till asked, grasping onto his collar.

Ivan quietly laughed. "Execution? That's an interesting way to call it. I'd say your time is up. Maybe you would have lived a little longer if you entertained the aliens more."

Even so, Till didn't have to think long about how fast it would take for him to die in the hands of an alien. The aliens were not merciful. Not like Ivan was. Even if he'd managed to survive a few more days, be more bendable under the aliens' claws, he'd still die. Because no rebel made it out of Anakt Corp alive.

Till could never live a life free of the aliens.

In his earlier years of life, he'd learned of a time when humans were free from the grasps of the aliens. When only they roamed the earth, living carefree without the shadows of the Segyein.

He wondered if his fate could've been changed. If only he were a human born earlier, in another time...perhaps nothing like this would've happened. He wouldn't have to walk with a collar around his neck. Nor would he fear every step he took, checking to make sure he wasn't being followed by aliens every time he stepped out.

He remembered what Jacob had once said. They were saving humanity from the aliens. They were restoring the earth to what it had been, so that the humans would not have to suffer with what will be. Those words feel so distant there, in the long white hallways of Anakt Corp.

Till had failed to save humanity.

Maybe Hyuna would—but he wouldn’t live to see the day they were finally free. Though all he’d been fighting for must have meant something, didn’t it? Even if he’d failed, would they succeed? When he died, maybe nothing like that would matter. It would all be in the past...

At last when they approached those doors, the sound of a gun reloading rang in Till’s ears. Ivan was looking at him from the corner of his eye, then back at the door again once his gun was back in its strap.

“I don’t want to kill you.”

Till liked to believe that.

At the same time, he wanted to punch Ivan in the stomach for ever obeying the Segyein’s orders. Didn’t he know about fighting back?

Ivan was never a rebellious child. Not like him. Always quiet, gloomy, hiding in the shadows of buildings during a sunny Anakt day. Fighting back would only get a calm child like him killed. Maybe he was like Till. They must both be desperate to live, if this was where they end up years later. And desperation to live…well, it meant not everyone else who wanted a chance for survival could reach it.

“Oh, they’re already here.”

The sounds of alien language were muffled behind the door. Once the door creaked open, however, the sounds of chatter stopped. The lights were a reddish color, cast upon the aliens and the long silver table under them. They looked upon Till, every one of them, staring at him as if he were their dinner for the night.

"It's that rebel," were some of the whispers among the aliens. "The one that kept fighting against us." They must have known what was about to happen to him. They must have ordered his death.

Ivan soon lost any trace of friendliness he previously held.

Till hit the wall with his shoulder, and he felt himself stumble to the floor. Even when nothing in the room had changed, Till found it even less welcoming. The lights overhead were bright blotches of color, and it burned his eyes like flames. Everything became blurry except for Ivan, who took one step in front of Till and cocked his gun at the rebel.

What better were the memories he carried than illusions of a free life?

Perhaps if he had left Mizi to die, if he and Ivan had never crossed paths—Till would've gotten that life he was searching for. He could have saved humanity and everyone else. But those thoughts were old thoughts, and he couldn't change a thing there in the alien meeting room.

Ivan took his gun into his hands. Till felt his heartbeat quicken as he turned it around to aim it at Till. The barrel of the gun faced his forehead, hovering just above his eyes, and Ivan's finger was resting on the trigger, ready to be fired. Till wondered how the pain was going to feel like. If it was worse than anything he felt before, from either the stinging betrayal, the memories that would flash through his brain before he died, or just the impact of the bullet. Till didn't know which of those three he'd prefer.

The barrel of the gun drew closer, and closer. The aliens watched on silently, waiting for human blood to spill. Ivan didn't show a single thing across his face; he was very stoic about it. His hands seemed to tremble the smallest amount, but he still held it steady. As Till already had heard, Ivan did this countless times, the aim of the gun before the explosion of blood. Watching the human he'd just kill stumble to the floor before bleeding to death. As the sun and moon rose and came, Ivan would never really care to mourn them, or pity them at all. Because he was a traitor.

A traitor to the humans. A traitor who couldn't care to wash the blood off his hands. A traitor was as good as any alien; they were not human, not empathetic, not justified for human kindness.

Ivan was not human.

Ivan was cruel.

The gun hovered above his eyebrows but it never fired. When Till had thought of that moment, he thought the gun would go off instantly. But Ivan was hesitating. As if something were holding him up. Shouldn't he have fired already? Or was there something Till didn't know?

Silence. Until Ivan decided to say a few last words.

"I'm sorry, Till."

Till's entire life would be over when that finger moved position.

Voices filled the room, Ivan's and the aliens', the latter being the louder one, with a curious tone to their words. Till didn't really intake what they said; it was like his whole world had gone sort of numb. Like all he had left to do was wait for death to come. When the voices stopped, when the reddish lights grew stronger, the cold barrel of the gun was pressed against his head again. That time Till was one hundred percent sure the gun would fire. Even if Ivan hesitated, he'd always listen to those cursed aliens. It was alright; Till had waited for that moment. And when one waited too long, they got used to it.

It simply became a reality. Something to be accepted. Jacob probably accepted death before it came for him, and Till would, too.

The things he'd believed in would be gone.

The humans he'd befriended would drift away.

And all the things he thought he'd knew...

"I'm sorry."

Why was Ivan apologizing so much?

One bullet, and it would all be over. For Till, and for Ivan.

"I'm very, very sorry."

The lights were red. Red. Red like the color of blood that would soon be spilled across that hard metal floor and onto Ivan's white robes and onto the gun, and all across Till's vision until the only thing he could see was red.

"I didn't think I'd have to do this."

The lights flickered once. And then twice.

Then, Till started to laugh.

Humans laugh for humor. For happiness. To feel something that uplifted them in a sense, or made them feel brighter. More vibrant.

There on the floor of the aliens' meeting room, with the muzzle of a gun pointed at his head, he laughed for none of those reasons.

His life purpose couldn't have been to die.

Every memory, every human he'd met, gone with just a bullet. He kept laughing, snaking a hand into his hair, tugging at it and feeling sparks of pain fly out.

"Till."

"You're not gonna kill me?"

Till suddenly grabbed the barrel of the gun.

"You're sorry?"

Ivan let go of the gun when Till tugged it from him.

The lights grew red. Deep red. Like blood that Till forgot to wash out of his rebel outfit, drying and becoming a stain on his shirt. And the barrel of the gun facing him, like the emptiness of a night without stars, was in his hands.

"You're sorry?" Till repeated.

Ivan stayed standing, eyes blank without emotion.

"Then what about all those other rebels you killed? The ones you left for dead at the hands of the aliens? What about Jacob?"

At that, Ivan's eyes widened with realization.

Till could barely control the things he said. They seemed to tumble down like rocks down a slope, in Till's rage driven mind. The gun locked aim at Ivan's forehead, and Till's finger trembled when placed onto the trigger. One move away from blasting Ivan's head open.

He remembered Jacob lying on his deathbed. He remembered all the other rebels they'd failed to save. How many of them had died there in that exact meeting room? How much of their blood had splattered the muzzle of Ivan's gun, and did Ivan ever think of them from time to time, every life of a human he'd taken?

The aliens stayed silent, watching with puzzled looks, waiting for something to happen. If it was something interesting they were looking for, Till would give them something interesting to watch.

He pulled the trigger. The sound of a bullet, sharp as it whizzed across the room, rang in everyone's ear. Where the lights blurred into a red color, he could see the surprise blooming into the atmosphere. Smoke arose from the tip of the gun.

His eyes narrowed on Ivan. And then, on the table behind them, fresh with a bullet hole.

He'd aimed for Ivan's forehead; how the fuck had he missed?

Till, practically seething, shot a few more bullets in Ivan's direction, and as aliens rose from their seats ready to take the gun from him, murderous expressions in their pupils, Ivan grabbed his wrist and disarmed him.

The gun flew across the room and skidded to a halt under the table. Beads of sweat formed on Till's forehead; in his blurring vision, he could see Ivan's face inches from his, and Till's arm held up in front of his face. He couldn't get himself to calm down. He heaved deep breaths, his heart racing faster than a motorcycle.

He didn't want to die.

If he wasn't going to die—Ivan was. Either Ivan killed him, or he killed Ivan. That was how it worked. He finally understood.

Till gripped onto Ivan's shoulder and felt himself tipping down left. The metal door Ivan had brought him through crashed open, and the both of them tumbled out into the white hallway. Till landed hard on his back, while Ivan on his side, stumbling into the middle of the hall in a disorganized mess.

With one leg, Till kicked the door shut, and they lay silently outside, waiting for the other to say something.

He took a few heaving breaths, lying on the floor with his eyes wide, trying to process what he'd just done.

His hands traveled to his chest. Then, to his head, to his matted hair—no blood. No bullet hole.

Till was still alive.

He sat up, legs slightly shaky, and looked around. No aliens passed him, nobody.

Till started laughing again. He burrowed his face into his hands, leaning against the sleek walls of the meeting room. Around him, the world seemed to dissolve like the night sky during the rise of the sun; he'd survived. He'd survived. Those few seconds with Ivan's gun pointed at his head had been the closest death encounter he'd ever taken; but they were a meager few seconds. A few small seconds of weakness.

And there Till knew he had to return to the rebels sooner or later. He couldn't stay where he was wanted dead the most.

He lifted his face out of his hands and found Ivan's face suddenly hovering inches above him, staring down with concern; their eyes locked for a few heartbeats. Till's hands slowly fell to the ground, and he absentmindedly asked himself where Ivan's gun was.

"You didn't shoot me..." Till muttered, looking back up at him.

"Don't try to run, Till."

One second.

It spanned into two.

Then three.

Four.

But it turned out, the escape was easier than he'd thought.

Till stood to his feet too rapidly and broke into a sprint to the left. He didn't glance back to see if Ivan was chasing after him or not. And it granted him the same feeling he'd found that night, the feeling of freedom flowing in his body; the hallways Anakt Corp was unfamiliar to him, yet he'd been there for such a long time. The paths were confusing and he feared there were alien drones around every corner. But if it was freedom, he'd do anything for it.

"If you get caught, I'll be the first one to rescue you."

A hearty laugh, and then the clink of an alcohol bottle against another. A few other comments Till couldn't remember verbatim.

Those were Hyuna's words, right?

As he swerved to a stop around the corner, narrowly avoiding a few alien drones he spotted patrolling around, he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Each heaving breath he took felt like a waste of time; but he stayed on his feet, hand planted onto the wall, panic clouding his mind. Till looked back.

He didn't know why he remembered her words all of a sudden.

Though the realization that even if he waited, even if he somehow succeeded in entertaining the aliens long enough—only he would truly save himself.

The lights weren't a shade of red anymore. They were white with a burn similar to a flame. Brighter, much brighter than the vivid red he thought he'd die under. Till continued running past sealed white doors, the unfamiliar hallways that diverted from the one he ran through, everything, and when he'd done so, the footsteps of Ivan were gone.

Till headed back to the auditorium. It was devoid of humans and aliens alike, but the stage lights were lit. They illuminated the empty stage, flickering once every few heartbeats. Everything else was left in complete darkness. The silence was spacious, and he feared with he made the smallest sound, it would echo across every wall. But Till dared himself to step closer.

Mizi used to be on that stage. Standing in her white dress, a microphone cupped in her hands. And she'd sing her song with determination—while Till watched from the shadows. He knew he needed to save her right there and then.

He was so foolish. He'd gotten captured because he'd been too reckless with his planning. Right there in the auditorium, it had all gone downhill.

"Is there someone there?"

Till snapped his head to the right.

Luka stepped onto the stage, curiously shooting a look in the other direction. He hadn't seen Till yet. Till, with baited breath, waited for him to leave. He crouched lower. The auditorium wasn't his place to be.

"Ivan, here again?" his voice turned a little mocking. Till didn't really know if Luka was correct about Ivan, but his racing heart urged him to run away. Till let out one sharp breath before he turned and darted out of the theater.

Ivan couldn't catch him. The stage lights reminded him yet again of Mizi, who was probably alive. With Hyuna and Isaac, being taken care of. He needed to see her again. And not only that—he couldn't face Ivan. Till couldn't keep pretending like what they had then was anything but animosity.

Not even if he truly pitied the traitor. Not even if…Ivan favored him.

He ran and didn't glance back.

A giant exit sign flashed in the corner of his eyes. He turned back to find a singular metal exit door with a handle to open it. Without a second thought, he rammed his entire body weight onto the exit, desperate to get out.

Till reached a staircase leading down, and he followed it all the way until he found a window. Tinted a darker shade than the open sky outside. With one balled up fist, he punched it open, and glass shards shattered everywhere.

Pain met him. When he looked at his knuckles again, he not only saw reddish skin; he saw drops of blood forming across his fingers.

He hissed in pain as he removed a piece of glass from his skin. He blew air over the cuts on his knuckles, and then decided he'd worry about them later. He needed to leave first.

Till hopped down onto the dry ground of the earth. The sun shined bright in his eyes; the humid air crept up his skin and only then, he realized how dehydrated he was. Behind him, he heard the sounds of alien drones tailing him. Quickly, he sprinted away, faster than he'd ever ran.

Past a few feet.

Past the unsuspecting aliens.

He reached a high electric fence and stopped immediately. Last time he and Ivan had gone through a crack in the city walls—where the rebels had recently destroyed, probably. Till walked towards where he remembered they did last time, hands calm, following the path of the barbed fences, though, reasonably, he stayed a few paces away.

Already, he'd gone so far from the place he'd stopped at when he ran out of Anakt Corp. The alien guards were nowhere to be seen—the sun was beginning to set, and the lights of the city were glimmering behind him. As he traced the barbed fences closer to where they'd once escaped beyond, he drew closer and closer to that point, and another low chuckle came from his throat.

Finally, he'd reached the part where the barbed fences stopped and an opening called to him. Where if he walked past the fences, he could touch the city's walls with his fingertips—it was cold. Even a little jagged. It blocked the sunlight from reaching him, so his fingers were shadowed by his own head. And the first thing he saw when he turned his head—it was where they'd escaped through once.

Sunlight, a bright contrast to the dim city walls blocking the light, shined through, as if an invitation to the heavens he'd once heard of, but never had the privilege of reaching. Like one of those "gods" themselves, stretching a hand to help him. All he had to do was believe.

Believe…

Once through the city walls, the sunlight hit him fully. The space around him was infinite, and the cracked earth went on endlessly. The dilapidated building he once called his home were there on the horizon. As he had always known them to be. That time, freedom truly embraced him. It wasn't something to torment him further with. It wasn't a hallucination he'd craved for, a memory too vivid for his eyes—it was real that time.

Till never knew why freedom brought such satisfaction. Perhaps that was why humanity needed to be saved—so that they, too, could be released of their chains and hold the satisfaction they deserved. To live a life without fear to leaving it. To live without stress, or problems, or worries, or Ivan.

"Congratulations."

Till froze at that voice.

Ivan, his head tilted upwards, his eyes devoid of a sparkle—he stared at Till on the other side of the city wall, standing in Till's shadow. His white robe was clean. His gun was back in his holder. His hair was tossed to the side, ruffled from chasing after Till, but he managed to seem fine.

It was like Ivan followed him everywhere.

"It wasn't easy to find you. From the meeting room, to the auditorium, and then down here. But I'm here now. That's what really matters, Till." Ivan stepped closer, and Till stepped further away from him.

He stopped. His hands started to tremble again; Till stuck a finger at Ivan stretching his hand past him and up to Ivan's eye level, daring him to come any closer. Despite how badly he wanted to flee, his feet didn't turn and the city walls hadn't yet disappeared behind him.

The sunlight threatened to cut between them like a knife. Till wanted to turn and run away. He didn't. He stayed like a fool waiting to be shot. Ivan was sure to be furious with him. All mercy he previously held should have been gone by then. After all, it was Till's time to die, not his.

"Do you remember your time in Anakt Garden?" Ivan asked. "Probably not all of it, since you joined the rebels."

Ivan pressed a hand against the city walls. He peered at Till emotionless from where he stood just before the exit. He didn't reach for his gun or to chase after Till. He just remained calm, as if he were expecting Till to turn and run any second.

"You might have forgotten, but I haven't. Not as much as you have." A single, thin smile lit up his face, gleaming brighter than any sun could. "I remember a lot, maybe a little too much. But do you remember those stars? The bright red-orange ones that used to streak to the ground? I remember those the best. And I remember where we stood, looking up at them all surrounding us, like we were between them. They are so vivid."

A cloud of dust swirled into the air as Till took a sharp step back. "Red-orange stars?"

"That night when I brought you out for a bit of fresh air. I wished we could have seen them. You would've loved something like that, bright and fast-paced."

"Why are you telling me this?" Till spat. "If you're going to kill me, do it."

Ivan's smile only stayed fixated on his face. For a moment, the world seemed to close in on the both of them, and the humidity of the air seemed to grow into icy coldness as he stared into Ivan's eyes. They were dark with a hint of blood red—but they weren't murderous. Or sadistic, at all. Just neutral. Just waiting like he was waiting for him.

"I probably won't ever see you again. Isn't it nice to confess my last thoughts before he leaves me forever?"

And he knew.

"You were going to let me escape?"

Ivan's face split into a smile with teeth. From where Till stood, looking back at Ivan through rays of dying sunlight, his back facing the buildings he'd always known, it seemed a little less malicious. Ivan cocked his head to the side, leaning against the side of the jagged exit.

"I thought I made it obvious in the meeting room, Till. But…" Ivan's smile dipped. "I am sorry, Till. I didn't mean to favor you at all. I didn't mean to make you feel anything."

"Why?" was all Till would ask. "Why would you betray the aliens for me?"

The silence that followed afterwards was stronger than anything Till had ever carried. Because he knew this chance meeting was their last—that after that, forever, they'd part ways. From where Ivan stared at him behind the hole in the city wall, from where Till stood on the cracked ground, they were essentially divided.

Before then, he wanted to know why. Why Ivan clung onto his label on Till as someone to trust—someone to favor. Why he still thought they were something.

"I don't know. I'm still finding a reason. I'll say for now, you're nothing I've ever seen before. You care about everything, you have found a purpose in this world of the aliens. Even if it's a very fruitless purpose, you seem passionate about it."

"Is it not a human thing to care?" Till questioned him, stepping back.

"Really? It is?"

The pause grew longer the longer Ivan stood thinking. The voice in the back of Till's mind told him it was time to return. Glancing back to the horizon, mind filling with pictures of Hyuna and Mizi and Isaac and everyone else—he turned around at last.

He left Ivan to ponder silently. Soon, he'd be back with the aliens, and their needless interactions would be forgotten eventually. As all things were forgotten, Till would never find use for such meetings like that in the future. They'd just be mistakes Till had made once in the past. Ivan, in his present, would soon be his past. Never his future.

The orange-tipped sky, cloudless and multi-colored, faced Till's eyes. He blinked once, taking in the sight of the setting sun.

He was free.

Without much of a care, he ran forward, as fast as he could towards the buildings in the distance. Till knew it would be many hours before he made it to his rebel hideout again, but he would see Hyuna and Mizi. He would see Isaac. He would see them all again.

Though as he kept running, further and further from the city walls…there was a guilt that started to weigh heavier on his heart. A certain person with dark eyes and hair was like an engravement onto his brain, an undertone to his thoughts.

That guilt was hard to swallow. Heavy on his chest. Beginning to brew in his mind like a thunderstorm—yet Till couldn't look back any longer. If he did, all he would see was the shadowed silhouette of the city and the cracked ground spanning an incredible distance.

I do favor you, was what he said.

Why do I need a reason? were also his words.

Fuck.

Ivan loved following him everywhere; one place Till seemed to find him at the most were his thoughts. Especially then, as he ran towards the buildings on the horizon line, Ivan wouldn't leave his head.

Maybe leaving Anakt Corp was more bittersweet than he thought.

Chapter Text

"I don't really believe that a god exists," Till boldly declared one day with no one but Ivan listening in the Anakt Garden field, crossing his arms defiantly and making a pouty face at the tree in front of him. "That's just ridiculous."

It was true, though, wasn't it? True but hard to believe. If a god really existed, they would have already helped him get out of Anakt Garden no worries, and he'd see the city his mom had always told him about. If there really was a god, if he needed to really believe for them to come…then there wasn't a use. And he didn't know why he needed to believe so much. Till never believed in anything.

"A god?" Ivan asked from where he sat under Till's shadow. "They don't really exist?"

"That's what I just said!" Till angrily snapped at Ivan. He kicked the tree with one bare foot, but all it earned him was a slight spark of pain on his toe. He retracted his leg and placed it on the grass, though not with as much weight as the amount he put on his other foot.

He glanced over at the other children playing. Mizi, especially. He was never invited to play with them, and neither was Ivan. So he was stuck with him for the meanwhile.

If god really was real…would he and Mizi be together forever, then? Would he live a life free of the aliens, and do whatever he wanted? He liked that thought.

But he didn't want to believe, because he never believed in anything. Not even that he would stay in Anakt Garden forever, and one day, he'd escape, and live the life he planned for himself. No aliens, no instructors barking at him to pay attention. With Mizi, preferably.

"If god existed, I would have everything I want, right? But I don't."

Ivan laughed.

"They said you just have to believe—not just in the gods, in what you want. I heard something like that. If you don't believe then you'll never be happy. And you'll always be a friendless loser."

"Always!?" Till near-shrieked in shock. "I'm not a friendless loser now! Shut up." He stomped hard onto Ivan's foot, ignoring his own one pulsing with pain.

"Ow!"

"Fine, I'll believe in something. If that's what it takes to get outta here."

Out of there.

Out of there.

Out of the grasp of the aliens—

Till butted headfirst into the glass door. He gasped for breath as his eyes met the harsh club lights, vibrant with color, and the walls he thought he'd never see again. Till's knuckles were still bleeding with red liquid, glass shards lodged into his wounds, and the lacerations and bruises he'd gained from his time in Anakt Corp were clear as day. Some cuts he'd freshly gotten from his journey starting at the city walls ending there, in the rebel hideout, stung as he turned to the side to catch the rest of his breath.

He made it back in one piece, miraculously. A hand ran through his hair; caked with sweat and dirt, he closed his eyes as he felt the footsteps rushing upstairs, and the alarmed gasps when they saw him. Two hands lifted his shoulders up, and multiple voices, all distant in his ears, sounded all at once.

There was one voice he recognized, amidst the frenzied chatter.

"Till?"

Just barely a shocked whisper. Till cracked open his eyes and was blinded by the club lights—the crowd of people watching him in his pathetic state, the shadows that swallowed everyone up. Except for Mizi. She stood there in the swarms of people, watching him worriedly, in a rebel uniform just like him—and to that sight, he wanted to smile. But all his bones felt like collapsing, and the lights were far too bright, far too colorful. He could see spots dance in his vision as the arms holding him up dragged him away.

Mizi was back. She was alive.

He wanted to run up to her and tell her how much he'd missed her—her kindness, her face, her hair—everything he never got the chance to say. She was just like how he'd remembered, and up close he seemed to regain some memory of her again—the times he would watch her in Anakt Garden at every moment he could, wishing he could be with her.

Soon, she disappeared from his sights. His ears seemed to stop working, as did the rest of his body, as he dully raked the hideout with his eyes. Everything was blurring. Everything seemed to spin as he felt those strong arms leave his shoulder, and he plopped down on something soft. His body felt something warm being laid across it, thin and barely enough to provide warmth.

"Ah, thanks…" Till trailed off. "Thanks, Mizi."

An image of Mizi flashed across his mind; her vibrant smile and scented pink hair, laughing at him from where she stood feet away.

That image was soon swallowed up by the image of a boy with dark hair and shadowed eyes rimmed with red. He smiled at Till, too, but not as brightly as Mizi had. With one hand, he waved at Till from where he stood, miles away, and Till watched as he disappeared. Ivan.

Voices became overbearing, as did the frequent prods to his wounds, and the frantic shakes to his shoulder trying to wake him up. The mattress under him felt like such a relief; after days of sleeping on a cold stone slab, he'd finally had a slice of comfort. His grip on consciousness faded as the voices grew louder and less muffled.

"Till, tell us what happened! Are you alright?!" A voice—Hyuna's? Dewey's? He couldn't really tell in the moment—kept slipping into his ears, urgent, rushed, panicked. And he only listened to their whispers as Till began to lose his hold on reality.

"Don't die."

Two hands gently brushed out his hair. One of them patted the wounds littering his chest, feeling them under soft fingernails—and that moment felt oddly familiar. Like he'd experienced it before, but he'd never been so close to dying like that ever in his life. Then he remembered Jacob—the bed they'd laid him down on and where he'd stayed bedridden for days on end, finally succumbing to death days later.

Would he end up like Jacob, wound up bedridden when he could no longer be saved, waiting for death in pure isolation?

He finally lost his grip. He slipped into unconsciousness.

"You didn't bring your radio with you. On second thought, the Segyein would have seen it on you anyway. Better safe than dead, I guess."

Till shifted his newly bandaged arm. Some blood still managed to seep through, bleeding onto the white gauze. His arm was heavier than originally; he gingerly lifted it up to the sunlight. Hyuna muttered quietly, "stick your left arm out now" and he did that. The gauze began clinging onto his arm again, weighing it down onto the blanket.

He still had much more injuries yet to be bandaged up. Till figured he'd be here for a long while—he leaned back against the wall and let Hyuna patch him up.

"I'm glad you're awake," Hyuna said, voice dropping to a lower volume. "Isaac was pulling out what hair he has left worrying over you. I told him you'd be just fine, that your wounds weren't that severe. You're in better shape than Jacob was, too, though you'll be healing for a while."

Wonder why.

"Lift your left arm a little."

Till held it suspended in the air. "Is it—" he coughed, feeling the dryness of his throat. "Is it bad?" he asked her.

"Yeah. So, you're going to stay in bed and rest for most of the week." She finished wrapping a few wounds on Till's arm. "How long do you usually stay back to heal when you're hurt?"

"Three days was how it usually was." Till glanced at his other arm. "Maybe even less," he managed to slip between his teeth.

"Sure. But those wounds look deep—it'll take longer than just a few days."

"Okay."

"You've got pretty serious injuries over here."

Hyuna raised his left arm with hers, inspecting the wounds. A collection of bruises ran along it, and so did some cuts here and there. The biggest problem was near his shoulders; he had a deep stab wound, as well as a few bullet holes through his body. The skin around the wounds was reddish and coated with dry blood. It was numb to the touch when Hyuna pressed a bandage up to it.

"I've never seen you get injured this badly. Aliens are no joke."

"Some were from him."

Even without so much more than a single pronoun, Hyuna immediately tensed up and stopped in the middle of retrieving more bandages. "The traitor?"

"Yes."

Hyuna moved up to his chest; she began wrapping gauze over his bullet wounds, a faint look of fear crossing her face. Once she finished, she cut off the gauze around his chest connecting to the bandage roll and put the roll to the side. Hyuna muttered something under her breath.

She looked to him.

"Till, I'm sorry," she told him.

"You're apologizing just now?" Till said.

"You know, if Jacob were still here, maybe he wouldn't have done shitty things like I did. Eating all the fresh bread, skipping out on teaching the rescued children, using up boxes and boxes of ammunition on those dummies for extra target practice; and even, waiting too long for an oppurtunity to save you, when you were dying faster each day in that cell."

Till blinked. He didn't expect it to be that sincere.

"It's okay." He laid a hand over his heart. "Hear it? My heart's still beating," he said with a smile.

"It won't be if you decide to go on missions too early."

His smile never faded so fast.

"It is sorta my fault for forgetting you in the auditorium. No, all my fault. I shouldn't have trusted you to take on Ivan alone. I didn't know a human could be that powerful—"

"Hyuna, it's not all your fault." Till's hand kept itself above his heart. The beats echoed in his chest faintly, steady, under the layers of gauze. "I feel fucking stupid running into Anakt Corp to try and kill him."

"Still, I feel bad. As leader, I could've done something better."

"I told you, it's my fault for going to Anakt Corp," Till admitted.

"Well, we were going to Anakt Corp that day anyway. To save hi- them from the aliens. I just happened to spot you jump onto the stage when we were about to drop down. You bombed our plans."

"Bombed?!" Till retorted. "You didn't tell me anything about your plans."

Hyuna paused. She scrunched her nose, a little disbelief shining through. "No way. You were there when Isaac laid out the outline," she stated, tossing one arm over the back of her wooden chair.

"When?"

"Huh. You did forget," Hyuna muttered. Then, she said, "Four days before the day you were taken, remember? We had the entire thing detailed. And included room for questions at the end."

Till squinted his eyes, trying to remember what vague memories he had of two weeks ago. It must've taken him some time to dig them up, because moments later, he heard Hyuna sigh, and then, felt her fingers flick his forehead.

"Ow. The fuck?"

"It's not worth a hour-long thinking session. Just know Isaac had everything laid out and every scenario run through." Hyuna sweeped a few loose strands of hair out of her face. "You can lay back now."

Till fell back onto the mattress, his head thudding onto the material. His gaze turned to the ceiling above him, every crack and spot of wood where paint once held on strong in view. Hyuna stared at him from her place on the wooden chair, an elbow placed onto his mattress and her head resting on her wrist. She still seemed a little on edge.

"I'll stay and supervise you for a little longer," said Hyuna.

Till turned and faced the opposite direction, wrapping the blankets tighter around him. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he'd missed sleeping on something other than the hard rock floor. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to stay put in bed for a few days, he thought, as fatigue settled into him.

He heard the screeching of the wooden chair before Hyuna's footsteps. She towered over him, watching him sleep briefly.

"If I had known you were planning to kill him…" she mumbled, loud enough for Till to hear, "I could've gone with you. You didn't have to do it alone."

Till decided not to reply.

"Till."

The feeling still wouldn't pass him. Even when he was gone, it seemed like it wanted to go with him. Even when he swore to himself he'd continue forward with a strong head—something liked to keep him back. He wasn't sure why, he wasn't sure how, but it poisoned his mind so heavily that he couldn't live without it.

"What happened to friends?" Ivan asked, his hands behind his back. A smile so sweet on his face it looked fake. "That's what we are. We're still friends, aren't we?"

Ivan's hair was straightened out, bangs cut in a precise line with no room for imperfection. It covered one of his eyes so the other could look out and peek into Till's. He wore a completely white shirt and complete white pants, the standard for an Anakt Garden male human. Different from how he'd seen him before.

"I'm still waiting."

And the boy—like a reflection in a pond's surface, lasting as long as he looked—disappeared when Till closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was gone, and instead, the door he was standing in front of came back into view. Till's fingers were resting on the tip of the doorknob, about to twist it. He sighed as Ivan's voice faded, and hit his head against the wooden door, not even registering the pang of pain that came from it.

When he went back to the rebels, it felt different. He thought it would be happier, reunited with the rebels and ready to continue on with their goal of saving humanity, to save every human trapped in the aliens' grips—but it wasn't as happy as he'd expected. Left with more questions than answers for the rebels, reminded of someone he thought would never meet again.

His fingers twisted. The door opened, and he stepped out of the rebels' bunk room. Empty, when it usually never was.

He clutched the bandages around his ribs. He hadn't properly felt the skin under the gauze, and hadn't seen what it looked like when it was healing. Though all he could remember were those scarce last moments with Jacob and the wounds he'd seen trail his ribs, a memory distant yet took a long time to fade from his mind once remembered.

He'd had too much time to think about everything. Lying in bed for an entire day or two, overhearing the other rebels' conversations about missions and plans he couldn't take part in. Healing, they insisted. It was healing. Healing by boring himself to near-death again, drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness like they were buildings he traveled between.

The whole time, Ivan followed him. Annoying, persistent, his voice louder when he tried to drown it out. Especially those last moments together—where Ivan watched out at him as he took steps backwards, away from Anakt Corp, so serenely as if he were just viewing a nice sunset sky.

How could he look so serene?

The hallway in front of him stretched forward endlessly—it wasn't one of those polished, white hallways in Anakt Corp. More rundown, ragged. Not something that would match the definition of pretty. He'd gotten so used to those sleek white hallways (or perhaps, used to the endless times he'd thought about them as he envisioned his death) that those were like a place he'd never seen. Around him, the paint on the walls had begun to peel; the doors were rusting, and overall, it was less pleasant than the hideout they had had before.

He continued forward, a hand skimming the walls, the paint beginning to fall off of it in flakes. He passed by doors whose contents were forgotten to him. Probably planning rooms or emergency exits, nothing of interest. His footsteps light as possible as he made it across the hall, strangle empty and dim.

"Till, where are you going?" Hyuna's voice filled the hallway the second he took a step up the stairs.

Hyuna.

She'd given him the longest interrogation last night—when he was barely awake, she'd launched into a full investigation on him. Asking him about every detail of the imprisonment, trying to find out more. He wasn't trying to get into one yet. He continued forward without looking back at her, only to hear an abrupt "wait" launch from her like a set off firework.

"You're resting, still! You can't leave your bed days after you've been wounded like that."

Till, irritated expression creasing his face, stopped at the fifth stair. When the divide between the basement and the ground floor happened—above the ground, even the club front was empty. The bar was left with spilled drinks left and right, and the tables' chairs were knocked down as if by a rage, all swept over and left lying down. Unkept, like usual, but felt a little emptier without the presence of the rebels nearby.

"Ah. Who am I to convince you to stay in bed, anyway?" Hyuna finally decided, and leaned against the wall. "Where are you going, then?"

"Going to head outside for a while."

Hyuna made a hmm sound. "We don't have any sandbags left, if you were looking forward to target practice."

"That's a shame," Till murmured. Then, he added, "Aren't there mannequins, too?"

"They were destroyed."

"Oh."

"You could fire at the whiskey bottles in the bar, though I doubt any of us would be content with that," Hyuna said. "You won't be needing to use a gun yet. Isaac is demanding you rest. We've got enough rebels for missions; we won't need you for a while."

For the meanwhile, he was useless.

"Okay," he replied.

"Dewey will catch you up with all our plans tomorrow. I don't know where he's gone, but he'll surely be back soon to find you."

Till nodded. Hyuna waved him away. "Go," she said. "You've been in bed all week. It should be proper time for you to get some alone, especially after being in captivity for such a while."

I'm glad you're alive, was the first thing Hyuna had told him when he woke up to find her kneeling over his bed. I'm sorry I couldn't save you followed right after. Because all that time stuck in his cell, he'd been silently waiting for her and the rebels to come save him, but it had been himself in the end. He'd been the one to save himself.

It wasn't that he blamed her for failing to save him—he was sure if he were leader, he'd fail, too. Even in conversation, he could feel the awkwardness of her tone, treading lightly as if she were on a fragile glass platform ready to crack any second. He could feel her nervousness—even when she didn't show it.

Till wouldn't ask about things he shouldn't know. He wouldn't criticize her ways of leading the rebels, either.

When he made it outside, the usual dilapidated buildings surrounded their club, but they seemed so unfamiliar after Till's absence. Till stood outside the doors of the club, looking towards the overcast sky. The road feet away was cracked, in disrepair. The landscape consisted of the dry earth and the faint silhouette of the city walls, where he'd escaped Ivan. Till strayed further from the club entrance. He looked out at the clouds above; it was about to rain.

He wondered if Ivan was faring well. It hadn't really struck him too bad that he was the first rebel to get out of Anakt Corp alive, and not almost dead—judging by the wounds that were beginning to hurt less, wrapped under layers of bandages on his body.

Then, a realization came to him; would the aliens have something to hold against Ivan, for letting a rebel get out free?

Ivan had risked his loyalty for him. Why?

Till headed onto the road. His feet stopped on top of the unmaintained path, staring ahead at the buildings in the far distance. They weren't as bright as he'd seen them before. Yet, they still held a menacing quality to them, daring him to step any closer.

Ivan was still behind those city walls. In his usual white robes and accursed smirk, nothing like he once was as a child. And even if he wasn't the same—Till wanted to see him again. There were too many questions he didn't answer, one of them the biggest one: what reason did he have to like Till?

Those little treats he slipped him. The small things he told Till behind his cell door, things that should have meant nothing more than false comforts before his death. They didn't seem so false when Till ran out through the city walls.

What reason could be so impactful it led him to betray the Segyein, to betray himself?

Till had always thought of Ivan as different from human. A human that didn't care for others, killed their own species, and did as they pleased. But there had to be more to him.

There had to be more.

The sound of cars speeding down the road became evident. Till turned his head to the left, where the city connected to the long road ahead, and sure enough, vehicles were racing down towards Till. He stepped out of the road, watching as they halted in front of the club. Familiar faces came within eyeshot; Isaac was driving one of the cars upfront. When the clouds of dust that came with each roaring car cleared up, several rebels stepped out of the cars and landed onto the ground beneath.

Till nearly managed to dodge Isaac's gaze. He retreated back into the club quickly, a little regretful he had decided to only linger in front of the club and nothing else.

The other rebels streamed in, all in busy chatter or hushed whispers. He watched them bring in explosives or alien body parts; whatever it was, it seemed they had a successful mission. None of them looked too wounded, and the spirits felt high. Ultimately, Till felt his mood light with them.

"Didn't I tell you to rest?" Isaac's gruff voice floated through the air, targeted directly at Till, whose eyes widened in mild shock.

"Yes, but I was feeling better," Till replied. "It kills me faster when you keep me bedridden."

"I doubt that," muttered Isaac. Hesitantly, he decided to add on, "If you want to join on missions, you've got to rest a good amount. Wounds don't just heal in a few days."

"I know! You've told me this countless of times, but—"

"Hyuna will put you on a mission when you're properly healed, man."

"I am properly healed." Till gestured to his bandages. "I've been 'healing' for the past few days." His eyebrows furrowed, "I can do anything a normal rebel could do. If you’re really worried, though, I can just sit at the wheel of a car, nothin' else."

"I doubt that, too." Isaac sighed suddenly. "I'm aware your eager to go join the rebels. Hell, I'd put you on a mission, too—but we can't risk anything. I don't think you'd launch into an alien building with blood dripping from your chest, would'you? I'll find the right time to have you on a mission, when you're done actually healing."

There was no proper way to argue against that. So, defeated, Till turned and decided to hang by the bar counter.

Once the vehicles were parked out of plain sight, and the nosies of rebels passing through the club entrance died down, Till stayed next to the bar, next to the smashed alcohol bottles on the ground, glancing towards the dark sky every once in a while for a sign of rain. Hyuna had come up a few moments ago; she lingered by one of the tables closest to the windows, cradling a bottle in her hands. The other rebels filed in on the other bar seats, chatting amongst themselves about the mission and occasionally disrupting Till's train of thoughts by interrogating him about his time at Anakt Corp. Their questions were simpler than Hyuna's had been, so Till answered them with more ease.

What did they do to you?

"The kind of torture you'd expect."

How did you escape?

"It was all blurry that day. I don't remember."

Did that traitor human lock you up?

"I don't remember."

Was it a horrifying experience?

"I don't remember."

What did they feed you?

"I don't remem—"

"Ayden, let him be!" Dewey plopped down next to Till, slapping a hand around his shoulder. "He's just healed, after all!"

"Ah, sorry, Till!" He scooted away to get a drink, leaving Till and Dewey together.

Till flashed Dewey a grin. "Thanks."

"No need to thank me," Dewey said. He took his shot of alcohol and drank it in, while Till stared ahead, both his hands resting on the countertop, not sure what to say.

"Are you feeling alright?" Dewey asked, placing his shot down at the table. "I haven't seen you much this week since you've been bedridden, which is unlucky for you, because we just ran out of that good fresh bread today, y'know, the ones from the factories? We snuck in the city a few days ago and found tons of it all stored up in racks, probably meant for pet humans. Next time we'll save some for you, okay?"

"Sure."

"Don't worry, though, tonight we'll have something other than that weird alien soup for sure. Be sure to be up for that," Dewey informed. "So cheer up and have something to look forward to, even if you can't go on missions."

Till narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Did Isaac send you to cheer me up?"

"Nah. It's the truth. We haven't had anything actually good to eat since those rebels almost got killed on a food delivery mission. Trucks are hard to drive," said Dewey. "I thought you needed cheering up, too. You were gloomier than I'd ever seen you. I almost didn't believe you were really Till, from how quiet you've been. It's like somebody died."

Till tapped his fingers against the bar. The lively sounds of rebels chugging down alcohol and chattering drunkenly filled the club again; not everyone was there, just a handful who'd completed their tasks for the day. The noise was enough to have Till's head pounding already, however, even without the effect of alcohol. His tapping stopped. He lowered his head until he was staring straight at the ground.

"I guess you could say that," he mused under his breath, too quiet for Dewey to hear. He blew some strands of hair still sticking onto his face away from him.

The ground was littered with tiny glass shards and whiskey stains; Till moved his feet in front of him on the bar stool, covering up his view of the floor. On his thighs and shins, his leggings were ripped—small cuts big in quantity, big cuts small in quantity, it didn't matter. He noticed a majority of them were patched up, but some peeked through at him, red and scabbed over. He didn't know if those were from the aliens, or from crashing into the rebel hideout through the doors then faceplanting onto the floor. To think of it, he didn't know where a majority of his wounds came from. The aliens? Escaping? Ivan?

"Till, lift your head up! Don't you want a bottle?" Dewey tapped his head with the cold glass of a fresh alcohol bottle.

Till didn't lift his head. He replied, "I'm not in the mood."

"Looks like the real Till did die in Anakt Corp." At the silence from Till, Dewey then said, "Alright, I'm joking. But not even one bottle?"

"No."

Dewey made a resigning noise, before he poured himself a shot and downed it all in a matter of five seconds.

Till recognized a headache coming on, even when he hadnt drank a drop of alcohol in several days. He wondered if it were a cold he'd caught, and if he should head back to bed—even so, he stayed with his back hunched at the bar, staring at the floor, barely being able to process anything. The club grew louder, and louder, as more rebels joined in over the course of the evening. A celebration for their mission, probably. A mission Till knew nothing about.

Clutching his head, he stood from the bar counter. Dewey gave him a puzzled look from beside him.

"Where are you going?" Dewey asked.

"I'm leaving," replied Till. "See you tomorrow."

He kicked the bar stool forward and turned to head downstairs. Just then, Dewey grabbed onto his arm and steadied Till before he could faceplant onto the wooden floor.

"Shit, you forgot how to walk or somethin'?" said Dewey lightly. "Just sit at the bar 'till Hyuna finishes singing. Maybe she'll bring you a medkit."

"She already sang a song, right?"

"This early in the evening? You're kidding."

Till pulled away from Dewey's arm. He managed not to fall face forward onto the floor as he gripped the side of the bar counter, then the wall, until he made it away from the club. Past the partying rebels and alcohol spills, and finally, when he saw an alcove with two stair railings jutting out on each wall, he began to descend down the stairs.

He reached the basement ground, at last. He headed towards the planning room, a door left ajar with light peeking through its crack, and peered in. There didn't seem to be anyone in there; he opened the door fully, and was met with diagrams upon diagrams of a rocket module, as well a frantic writings so rushed Till could barely read them. On the only table in the room were maps covered by sketches of aliens and Anakt Corp half finished, and pencils lay scattered on the floor, accompanied with highlighters and paintbrushes. It was a mess.

He'd ask Hyuna about those rocket modules later.

Till flipped the lights off in the room. He closed the door, leaving it ajar like it previously was. When he turned around, he turned just in time to hear footsteps patting down the hall, and then, the familiar shade of pink hair graced his eyes. Mizi saw him, and halted in her footsteps.

"Oh. I didn't see you there," she said quietly.

Till ignored his heart, thudding like the crackle of thunder during a storm. It was louder than anything he'd ever heard before—painfully, it continued pounding, louder and louder the longer he stared at Mizi. He took a step back against the agape door of the planning room.

"Me neither." He exhaled. "I'm sorry for—for blocking your path."

"…Are you okay?"

Till had a hand in his hair. At Mizi's question, he released it. In response, he said, "Yeah, 'm alright. Go ahead."

She nodded. "See you around." Then, she hurried down the hallway like she'd never bumped into Till.

The pounding in his heart died down. Subconsciously, a smile grew wider on his face, and he leaned against the doorframe. He didn't know Mizi would even try talking to him. After all those years...and a simple few words were the start to their first reunion. He made his way back to the bunk room, the conversation playing on loop in his head.

He wondered if all reunions were as awkward as his. Till wasn't good at all at talking to Mizi—he was too afraid of embarrassing himself or making her hate him. He liked watching from afar, pretending the people she talked to were him.

Once he went into his bunk room and laid down onto his bed, he still couldn't stop thinking about her—and them. Mizi and Ivan. Nighttime was approaching, and the bunk room grew dimmer and colder. His blankets were hardly enough to warm him. At least it was silent; the racket upstairs seemed like no fun place to be.

Ivan, for the most part, was someone he was obliged to thank. If it weren't for him, Till might have been dead, leaving the rebels he'd promised to return to in the dark. Really though, saving him was one thing—imprisoning and killing the rebels' leader was another. Even if he'd succeeded to kill Ivan like he told himself he'd do, there wasn't be a doubt in his mind that Ivan would still linger in his thoughts.

He wouldn't be seeing Ivan again.

Till flipped onto his side in his bunk, facing away from the door side and to the wall. Sleep wouldn't be coming for a long time. It wasn't like him to retire to bed so early. Perhaps he was just used to waking up randomly during the day, then lying awake at night trying to ignore the aching of his wounds. Earlier had been the first time during the week Till was able to get out of bed and talk to the other rebels—Isaac and Hyuna were less as strict as they had been days before with Till's bedridden state. Especially after Hyuna had let him off with only a word of caution, and nothing else. He was close to healing, but not fully recovering.

Ivan didn't leave his thoughts once in Till's bedridden days. If Ivan's voice was loud before, it was even louder after last week. Metting him in person was enough to fuel dying flames in Till's head; he wondered what those voices would sound like if they just had more time—if Till had more time to figure Ivan out.

He put one hand up into the air. He streaked the empty space as if it were hair that he were brushing, all while he thought of the questions he could have asked Ivan before their time ran out.

Why did Ivan like him, out of everyone? Why did he betray the aliens, and was it worth it?

If Till had asked him that in the very end, if he hadn't took off running like a coward, maybe he wouldn't be stuck in bed trying to figure it out himself.

He suddenly heard the sound of singing, led by Hyuna. They were singing one of the more popular rebellion songs that Till used to play all the time—when spirits were low, and food was running out. Till closed his eyes. He let the songs flow through the bunk room, keeping him from falling into a restless sleep.

He let the memories of last week come by, those days of idling in his cell and having Ivan visit him every so often—the stale air of the cell still left a bitter taste in his mouth—leaving him with nothing but old feelings and resentment. And also, more of Ivan in his mind.

After the song ended, Till was still left conscious. The sound of rebels hurrying down the stairs followed soon after. Then, the door opened, and footsteps came rushing in, along with hushed voices. If they saw Till lying in bed, seemingly asleep, they didn't bother him.

Till hardly listened to what they talked about. He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to will himself to fall asleep, but it seemed impossible. Quietly, he rolled onto his back, facing the ceiling. Hands placed above his chest, he smiled to himself.

Soon, all the ruckus from the rebels calmed. Even as rebels around him started to fall asleep, Till kept staring at the ceiling, unable to loosen his grasp on reality. He didn't get much sleep that night.

"…I assigned one of the stronger rebels, Natalie, to retrieve some more mannequins from our old club," Hyuna said to him the next morning. "They might be a little out of shape, but they're still usable."

A metal scrap bounced onto the ground; Hyuna kicked it up into the air and back into her arms. Through the windows on the door of the garage, there was only dim light streaming in; Hyuna, for some reason, had decided to come so early in the morning, when the sun still wasn't high yet. He'd bumped into numerous things navigating through his garage, presumably the scraps Hyuna was carrying in her hands.

"I figured since you won't be able to go on missions for a while, helping us plan our rocket module would be the best thing for you. You'll do that for a few days, then maybe be put out as a scout by Isaac. It'll take a while before we can put you on a mission."

"So I can't fight at all?" Till muttered.

"Not when you're in this rough of a shape. You're welcome to destroy our remaining mannequins, however." Hyuna collected another scrap from among the many boxes stashed to be forgotten in the garage. "It's not like I don't want you to fight. You're the best at fighting."

"Are you flattering me?"

"Not if it's true," Hyuna said.

The scraps in her arms clattered as they hit the table below them. Hyuna searched through them, her hands burying themselves among the rusty metal, the bolts and the broken human appliances trying to catch a glimpse of the cracks of sunlight.

"Isaac says it'll take at least a month for all your wounds to heal...which means, I get to dump all the tedious chores on you. The mopping, the bartending, stuff you've never gotten to do. It'll be like a whole new field for you."

Till shuddered at that reality. "I'd rather stay bedridden."

"But we can't have you boring yourself to death, right?" Hyuna mumbled. "There's nothing much for you to do while you're in this injured state. No one is willing to take any risks for you, you know—you're the only rebel to escape Anakt Corp alive."

Till could feel the conversation's atmosphere shift ever so slightly. Hyuna was staring him down pointedly from her place at the plastic table, feet away from where he was standing by the garage door. It was like her to have sharp eyes when she suspected something.

"And, by the way, don't try and change the topic this time, Till. How'd you escape?" Hyuna jabbed a bolt in his direction.

"I…"

"I better hear a good answer from you."

The atmosphere grew a bit tenser. Till walked backwards until he touched the door of the garage, and he pressed his back hard against it.

How did he escape?

It was a question from the rebels he'd avoided answering on several occasions in that week. He didn't want any of the rebels to question what he and Ivan had, or worse, question his loyalty to the rebellion just because the traitor human decided to help him once (well, not once. Many times. As if Ivan had a life debt to pay to Till). It would be too confusing to explain what he and Ivan were to them.

Till put a palm to the back of his head. "I persuaded the aliens to let me out for a walk, and then I jumped out the window and ended up with scratches."

Hyuna stared him down suspiciously, eyebrows furrowed and gaze serious. Until she loosened up, and the bolt in her hand clattered to the ground.

Relax. Till blew out a relieved sigh. "You believe me—"

"That's it?" questioned Hyuna.

Till blinked his eyes.

"That's not enough?"

She proceeded looking in Till's direction. Then, she shook her head, a clearly disbelieving expression on her face.

"Hopefully you're telling the truth," she mumbled. "If not, you could be misleading us, Till. But you know, you're lucky I trust you. Otherwise I might'a considered holding you at gunpoint in front of the whole rebellion."

"What?"

"Kidding. But seriously." Hyuna's eyes narrowed. "I've got a lot more questions for you later."

Till was, again, reminded of the interrogation he'd had with Hyuna two days ago.

"I thought you'd already asked your fair share of questions."

Hyuna seemed to internally conflict herself before answering, "Huhh…You're right. I'll find a time to discuss your imprisonment further with you after you're well healed. There's a lot to unpack there."

"So you believe me?"

Hyuna stilled. Then, she smiled.

"Yeah. I believe you."

Till wasn't too sure about that.

Yet Hyuna elaborated no further about her suspicious glare earlier; she shoveled all the metal scraps and pieces back into one neat pile, then split it down the middle. "Here," Hyuna ordered. She patted the closer pile of scraps to him and said, "Take this and bring it to the rocket module blueprints."

Without a word, Till came forward, hugging onto the metal and ignoring how painfully they stabbed into his skin. Like little needles pricking into his aching body, but he didn't make too much of a fuss about it.

Hyuna headed towards the door opposing the exit of the garage. Once the door was pushed open, the chatter of the rebels came into earshot. Till followed her through the basement of the hideout silently. Rebels came and rebels passed—Hyuna made very light conversation with each of them, mostly casual questions about their activities for the day, be it missions or simple training. Till grew a little jealous hearing the sound of car exhaust outside, and then the vrooming of cars as they sped away from the hideout.

Till dropped the metal scraps atop of the planning room's table. He watched Hyuna as she placed her pile down a few inches away from his stack, then he let out a quiet exhale of relief when she said, "You can leave now."

She didn't question him any further about his time at Anakt Corp. Till headed towards the doorway, avoiding the scattered highlighters and pencils on the floor yet to be cleaned up. When he reached the door, he looked back a final time to see Hyuna gazing his direction, waiting for him to leave.

There was something he should ask first.

"Hyuna," he began. "All humans deserve to be saved, right?"

"Huh?" Hyuna cocked her head. "Why're you asking?"

"Every human has a right to live without the aliens shadowing their future. Right?"

"Well...It sounds more personal when you phrase it that way."

Till flinched. "It's not personal."

"What do you think 'bout it?"

Jacob had always told him every human deserved to be saved, whether they were an Alien Stage contestant or simply a pet human—because they were all fighting for the right to live, instead of as an accessory to the aliens. Every human, anywhere.

"Not every human, surely."

Hyuna chuckled. "Like who? You got anyone specific?"

Till's fingers slipped themselves around the doorknob, and he twisted the exit door open.

"No. No one."

"Maybe a few rude kids back in Anakt Garden?" Hyuna jokingly asked.

"Maybe."

"Ahh, if you ask me honestly...I'd like to save every human, but not every human can be saved. I'm not sure about deserving to be saved, however. That's a lot to consider." She leaned onto the table, two hands propping herself upright on the edge.

"So we'll take anyone that needs a place to stay in? Even if they don't deserve saving?"

He heard a puzzled "huh?" mused under Hyuna's breath.

"…It depends on what you see as good or bad. It depends on the things they do, whether you hate it or love it."

"Murdering other humans, siding with the Segyein."

Hyuna paused. She turned away from Till and faced the table again. "I see."

"Would they be deserving of grace, then?" Till questioned.

"Probably not. They'd be a danger to the humans and, most likely, are protected by the Segyein anyway. Some things you've just gotta leave be," said Hyuna.

"Would they still be able to redeem themselves?"

"If they realize their loyalties lied in the wrong species, maybe," Hyuna muttered, like it was an absent thought she had. "But even if I hate them, they're still human. It isn't for one human...it's for humanity." She sighed. "Till, are you questioning your loyalty to the rebellion?"

"What? No!"

"It sounded like it." Hyuna marched up to him, then stuck one finger onto his chest. "Till, I don't know if you're asking these questions for someone else, but whoever they might be…even if they don't deserve to be saved, they probably have a reason for being unredeemable. No one is just pure evil from the start."

Till knew she suspected something.

He pushed her finger away gingerly. "Alright."

"The mannequins are with the weapon storage, just to let you know." She said. Her hand shot up and waved to Till a goodbye, as he turned to the door and walked out.

No human is pure evil from the start.

He passed the weapons storage, where heads of wooden mannequins peered out at him. He passed the bunk room, where he'd been confined to for a few days previously. He went all the way up the basement stairs to reach the club; it had been tidied up, rid of the glass shards and spilled alcohol all over the floor. Once he stepped outside, he spotted a few rebels in the distance coming back to the club, holding the hands of Anakt children. White shirts filthy with dirt, faces in need of washing, and their bare feet indicated they had been rescued a while ago.

Till arrived at the road in disrepair at the front of the club. Stretching all the way to the city, Till realized what a distance he'd run to escape Anakt Corp.

Then, he took a few steps forward. Then, more frequent and faster steps, until he felt himself running way from the club and headed back towards the city.

He knew how foolish of a decision it was. He could be killed on sight, or even held in a cell again—yet, Till needed answers to a question he couldn't solve alone.

He needed to redeem someone. The air filled with dust the more he ran, nearly suffocating him as he continued his path—but it wouldn't stop him.

It wouldn't stop him from getting more answers out of him. The boy with black bangs cut precisely, and eyes that always followed Till around—he looked different years later, but he was still the same boy. Eating flowers, watching Till behind trees, and picking fights with him all the time.

He still had some of the child left in him.

Right?

Chapter Text

Would it be bad to say Ivan regretted letting Till go? Probably not—he'd done a hundred bad things in his life, and one more wouldn't be any exception.

A few days should have been enough to forget about the whole thing—Till's escape, and the time he'd spent with Ivan. Yet it was a constant reminder, a face he saw around every corner. Though he didn't see it too often, he saw it like a flash, a feeling he couldn't put a name to but could easily point out. He didn't know if it was the embarrassment of failing the aliens, or just the words he'd heard from Till.

A few days should have been enough to get over him. Yet for Till, a few days wasn't enough. Ivan usually got over the deaths of rebels unfortunate enough to be killed by him in a day or two—their death held no meaning, but the sweet satisfaction of having one more disobedient human gone from the world. He wanted every rebel to meet their end like that—they were all threats to the Segyein, humans against the new order of the world.

But Till, a rebel, someone not worth caring for, escaped because of Ivan. He let him go, hesitated with his finger on the trigger, and then watched him run off into the sunset.

Facing the aliens' rage was never a fun experience. He wasn't blamed for any of it—just a few unlucky alien guards who happened to be guarding the city walls when Till escaped were shamed. It didn't happen often that aliens had to punish their own guards.

Sitting in his room, hands on the vanity mirror, hair uncombed, and without a doubt, not going to see Till soon, it felt like a disruption in his schedule. He always saw Till twice a day,one for noon and one for evening. After he'd let Till go, there would be times where he stopped by the rebel's cell, not to visit him, but as a habit of doing so. Ivan used to always look forward to seeing him.

He already accepted the fact he'd never see Till again.

Even if he couldn't stop thinking about him, he knew he would move on eventually. Till was just a bit harder to forget, that was all.

Ivan combed his hair to the side carefully in the mirror, in the same hairstyle the aliens would like. Later, after he'd finished combing his hair and putting on clean, presentable clothing, Ivan opened the door to step outside his room. An alien stood a few steps from the door, carrying light files in its hands.

"Your schedule for the day, Ivan," it croaked, handing him the files. Ivan took them into his hands.

"Excuse me," Ivan said to the alien. "Have the aliens figured out who exactly let the rebel loose?"

The alien blinked up at him with unfazed eyes. "The human that went loose? Why, dunno if there's a particular answer to that."

Ivan nodded. "I understand." He let the alien pass the hallway, then stepped out when it grew completely quiet again.

He scanned through the file's papers without even opening them; from the opened top, he could see his week's schedule and a few other contracts Unsha had signed. Nothing too special. Ivan tossed them onto his vanity table to read later. For then, he'd focus on something else a little bigger.

He walked away from his room with quick steps. The aliens around him didn't glance his way at all. He was always patrolling the halls; they must've thought it was another day of pacing around and making sure the humans were in line, with the addition of checking on the prisoners every so often. Ivan headed towards the aliens' meeting room with no difficulty.

He made it to the doors. When he came, the same feeling of dread he'd reserved for Till's death started to boil again. Then, he shook the thought out of his head, and pressed an ear to the door of the meeting room. Inside, he could hear sounds of alien's voices, muffled by the door, but still loud. He caught on a few words. Something about the rebels—something about Till. He listened on.

The doorknob turned. Ivan quickly stepped back and turned to face the rest of the corridor, trying not to seem like he'd been secretly listening in on whatever conversation they were having. Unsha stepped out. He looked down at Ivan with curiosity.

"Eh?" he grunted. Once he realized who it was, he seemed to take on a more pleasant expression. "Ah, Ivan! I heard you've got a performance coming up soon—aren't you looking forward to that?"

"I am," Ivan replied.

"Good. Hope you're ready as ever to get on stage, 'cause I heard you'll be releasing a new album soon." Unsha rested one hand on Ivan's back. "Boy, what a coincidence I get to see you here. I was just about to leave the meeting and ask you a few questions about your life so far."

Ivan stared ahead without a word. He nodded silently.

"Speaking of performances, I'd like to reassure you that you're way better than that Luka pet. Certainly, you're more charming and adept at performing than a newbie like him. But you've been distracted recently, and we can't have that getting in the way of your performances." Unsha ruffled his hair, making all his effort to comb it neatly completely useless. He heard a deep laugh from Unsha, then his hand released.

"I've been getting better at singing, Father. I've trained a good amount."

"Have you, now? Well, that's great."

"I'm not distracted at all."

Unsha chuckled. "Good."

Ivan recognized how much he'd been thinking of Till lately, though he didn't know it would screw with him so badly. Unsha and Luka were like reminders in his head telling him not to get trapped in deep, otherwise he'd lose his spot on the stage—and maybe his life. He needed to snap out of it.

He just needed to snap out of it…

"The alien guards let a rebel escape a few days ago, a male past the debut age," Unsha stated more seriously. "Did you happen to know him? The human seemed around your age."

Ivan's eyes widened, yet he forced himself not to show any other emotion. "No, I did not," he responded. "He must have been someone I'm not familiar with."

"You had a few friends back then. Are you sure you don't know?"

"No."

"Alright, then. After all, you would never befriend anyone as rebellious as that particular rebel. You're a good human, Ivan. Not like one of those delusional rebels who think they're superior."

Ivan acknowledged his words with a small sound of agreement. "Thank you," he said with a slight strain to his voice.

Ivan left soon afterwards, with Unsha waving him a short goodbye. He didn't get to completely hear what the aliens' conversations were about—the only snippets he heard were nothing new; the anger behind Till's escape, the curiosity behind who really let him go. And if Ivan were some other version of himself—he would've admitted to the aliens that he'd been the one to let Till escape, and he'd tell them exactly which direction the rebel ran off in.

That little moment wouldn't crack his loyalty to the aliens, he was sure. Yet back then when he was watching Till run off into the sunset, knowing for a fact he'd never see the other man again, there was a slight second.

There was a slight second where he doubted if he was even loyal. If he'd survived just to die, because of Till. Ivan knew the right thing to do was to say that he knew where Till had run off to—but that would be suicide. He'd be killed for sure for not chasing after him.

Ivan couldn't say anything, then.

He decided all that was to be forgotten and never to be spoken out loud again. Everything that happened that evening—it was in the past.

Ivan wouldn't betray the aliens a second time. Not for another childhood friend.

"Luka, I'm here regarding your schedule today," Ivan said, knocking upon his door. The man was sitting in a kneeling position on his bed, staring at a few posters that lined the walls. His room was emptier than Ivan's, and a simple mattress with a thin linen sheet was what he called his bed. When the door opened and Ivan had poked his head through, Luka's head snapped to the doorway.

"The aliens sent you," Luka muttered like it was a fact he already knew.

"They told me to send over some letters. And also your schedule, in case you haven't received it. You've got a few performances starting up soon." Ivan wondered just how good that newbie would be at singing.

Luka took the schedule sheet and glanced over it quickly. His eyes were drooping, and Ivan wasn't sure if he was going to fall asleep right there or not. Luka, overall, seemed not to be actively trying to antagonize Ivan. He sometimes looked up at him, but never attempted to pose any questions. He muttered things under his breath, but never moved from his position on the mattress.

"Letters?"

"From your caretaker, probably."

"Did you read any of them?" Luka asked.

Ivan shook his head. "They're still sealed shut."

"Then place them there."

Ivan set them down right next to where Luka was sitting. "The aliens have also wanted to ask if you were feeling well."

"Tell them that I'm feeling better now."

Luka flipped over the schedule. He continued reading through the times and performances, his expression becoming more questioning.

Ivan looked at his hands. "I would have thought that you had washed them off," Ivan commented.

His fingers were still tipped with a purple color. Luka stared at them once Ivan made the comment, albeit Ivan supposed that wasn't the best idea.

"It's not paint?" Ivan added. "Then what happened?"

"Something at Anakt Garden." He tucked his fingers behind him, an irritated expression on his face.

"A genetic mutation, perhaps? I've heard of children with that kind of consequence."

Luka paused. Then, he nodded. "Mhm."

"When did this happen?"

"I'm not sure."

While it was certainly an interesting feature, Ivan doubted that it would make Luka any more charming than he was. Ivan hoped that that was the case. He decided he should see one of Luka's performances later—just to see what kind of performer he was competing with.

"Well, with that and you appearance, I think you're well able to charm your way to the top. Speaking of, you're still competing in the next Alien Stage, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"That's great. I'm hoping you win." If that was the case, then maybe Ivan had nothing to worry about. Maybe Luka would die in the next Alien Stage before he could take Ivan's position.

That was just a hopeful thought, though.

Ivan took another sweep around the room; when he saw a poster right above Luka's bed, he paused. "Who's that?" he asked.

Luka stopped when another question was asked. Yet, he did not hesitate to answer. "Someone I used to know," he replied vaguely.

Long brown hair, brown skin, and gray eyes, with a hood over her hair. A rebel poster. Ivan knew she was familiar—he could barely remember her name, but almost. She must have been someone from Anakt. Luka had most of the poster covered, so it was hard to see who it was. He pondered the possibility that Till might know her, and perhaps, actively be in touch with her. They were both rebels.

"Okay." Ivan stepped back towards the door. "Have a good day, Luka. And don't forget, don't disappoint the aliens when you perform. I look forward to seeing how good you are at singing."

Before Ivan closed the door, he saw Luka eyeing the poster of the brown-haired girl, before leaning in to observe her closer. Then, the door closed completely. He stepped out and heard nothing else from Luka.

He had a bit of free time on his hands, when he wasn't busy visiting the human slums or patrolling around, taking on tasks assigned to him by higher-ranking aliens. He was advancing bit by bit in the hierarchy, and soon he'd possibly get higher than most aliens, with more free time in his schedule.

Ivan decided to visit the city, soon enough.

The city was as always; Ivan sticked to the shadows of the darker parts, watching it the skyscrapers from a further distance. That day there were clouds scattered around the sky; covering the tops of skyscrapers that touched the sky, heavy and dark. Ivan knew it was almost about to rain. Unlucky for him.

He sped up into a jog as light rainfall fell upon the ground. He glanced back at the buildings and the shadows that they covered him with. Then, further along, he could see the city walls. The walls he hadn't visited in days; Ivan stopped in his tracks.

Rain continued to increase the longer he stood there, staring at the city walls. Aliens passed him by, yet they did not turn to look at him. Ivan, for the first time since Till's near death, felt a sense of unease about the other man.

He knew Till wouldn't be there. But he just wanted to look.

Secretly, he made his way through the alleyways, hair and jacket becoming drenched in rain the longer it took for him to get to the city walls. Ivan couldn't stop the breath he held all the way through. He soon reached the place where the buildings stopped, was where he reached the barbed fences separating the city from the walls. He stopped there, not daring to go any further. Wiping the rainwater off from his face, he stared out at the sun, blanketed by layers of cloud and soon to disappear.

It wasn't quite the same as it was then—there were more guards around the perimeter, patrolling around the top of the city walls, on the lookout for any rebels who might happen to escape. Not even Ivan, it seemed, would be able to venture beyond the city walls and get away without an alien trying to snipe him. There was no chance Till could get through the city walls again.

Ivan sighed. He stood there, letting the rain drench him. It must have been absent hoping, wondering what it would be like if Till came back to visit. Maybe he just wanted him to see how much Ivan couldn't stop thinking about him. Did he wish Till would clasp his hand with his and tell him, "I feel the same"? Would it help him to know that Ivan haunts the same person who haunts him?

Why did he still think about Till, time and time again, even after he'd let the other man escape?

Ivan viewed the alien from where he stood behind the barbed fence. He could make out their silhouettes drawn in the dying sun, feet above Ivan, and yet none of them were familiar to him. He didn't know which one of them had been executed for letting Till escape. Ivan had decided to frame the nearest alien guard that was on duty, so the unfamiliar ones must've been taking their place.

He didn't think Till was ever coming back. If the extra aliens and the fact he just escaped Anakt Corp didn't prove it, Ivan would. He didn't think Till was ready to face him after all that Ivan had done to him.

But in the meantime, he'd keep missing him. In the meantime, he'd think about him as often as he used to in Anakt Garden. And he'd just have to hope those thoughts died fast, because thinking of Till just made him wish for him more.

Ivan stared at the clouds above.

If only he could stop thinking about him.

A few minutes passed. Ivan turned to head back to Anakt Corp. Luka would have a performance soon—he'd be there to see that. Then there were the Anakt children he needed to monitor, and many after that…

A human's voice stopped him. He halted, and from his pocket he grabbed his gun.

"Who's there?" Ivan demanded. He pointed it at the alleyway. He sounded more uneasy than he'd wanted. Slowly, when there was no more sound, Ivan lowered his gun. He took a few steps forward. "Who are you?" he asked the quiet shadows. "I know you're there."

The human finally emerged from the alleyway. They wore a hood and mask, and only their eyes stared out at Ivan; cautiously, he raised the gun again.

"Shouldn't you be with your alien?" Ivan said. "It's a bit unlike a human to go wandering about."

The human lifted his hood off of his head.

"Aren't you a human, too?"

The rain seemed to roar on louder. Ivan's fingers froze on the trigger as he looked at the person in front of him.

"Oh."

He had gray eyes. Gray hair.

"Ivan," Till said. "Don't think I'm here to mend our friendship. I'm just back for a while."

Chapter Text

Till had arrived at the city before he realized it. His feet had carried him so far across the road, and he'd recognized every inch of it from days ago, when he was so desperate to escape the city; going back almost felt like playing an enemy move on himself. Yet, he continued forward despite it.

And, minutes later, he and Ivan were standing face to face near the barbed fences. Till hadn't noticed how nervous he was until that moment. He stood in front of Ivan at last, with a gun pointed to his head, but nonetheless, he was there with him. Standing close. Waiting.

"You're not going to fire that gun," Till said. It wasn't a question, just a statement. If Ivan hadn't let him die back there—then what reason would he have to kill him there?

"Are you sure?" rebutted Ivan.

"You said it yourself. You can't stand to see me die so soon, and that it's a pity."

"I don't remember that."

"You do." Till cocked his head confidently. "Otherwise, I'd be lying dead by now."

That seemed to be the final word of their bickering. Ivan lowered the gun. Till walked closer.

"I can't stop thinking about you even when I try to. So I'm here to get a few of my questions answered, and you're going to answer all of them. I trust that you will," Till stated. "And while we're talking about trust…why don't you throw that gun down?"

"…I can't do that."

"I'm unarmed. It's only fair if you are, too."

He shivered as a cold wind passed him by. The hood he'd picked from the ground on the streets didn't seem to be enough to warm him up; he clasped his hands together, watching as Ivan unholstered his gun and tossed it a few inches in front of his feet. A second later, Ivan landed his foot directly on top of it.

"I won't hold it," declared Ivan.

"That's fair." He gazed down at the gun under Ivan's shoe. "You should slide it away, too."

"Isn't here alright?" Ivan asked.

Till gestured over to the expanse of dry earth lining the barbed fences. "But I can't trust you, can I?"

"Right. Yet, I'm not risking anything."

Till stared at Ivan. Ivan only stared back firmly.

"Then don't lift your foot from the ground. Do it, and I'll trust you," said Till. "This is okay."

It was all a matter of Ivan. Till was mildly surprised when Ivan listened. He kept his foot atop of the firearm, but Till was ready for the moment he'd reach down to grab it. Because Ivan was truly an unpredictable person, and a traitor at that. Who knew if Ivan would consider finishing off what he couldn't, at first?

"Then, do you trust me now?"

"Do I trust you? Funny question. What do you think is the answer?"

Ivan shook his head.

He said after, "There has to be a reason as to why you're here. It isn't about the questions you'll ask, there has to be something else."

"You never tell me any of your secret little reasons. I don't have to, either."

"Rebels can't know anything about the Segyein. It's for the safety of us."

"But you kept asking me about the rebellion, didn't you? I can still be curious about the aliens," retorted Till. "Don't think you get to act all high just because you think you're on the right side. I'm not oblivious to everything the aliens have going on."

"Do you think you're on the right side?" Ivan bickered back. A hostile look emerged onto his face.

"Well, I think you do."

Ivan's glare did not fade. "Not everything you think is true." His mumble was barely heard by Till.

The rain was starting to stop; the space around them seemed to become quieter as the clouds lightened. Till flipped his hood back on, covering his hair and shadowing his face, then kicked Ivan's foot off of the gun. "Let's head somewhere else," he said. "It's not great to be out here when it's light out again."

He headed towards one of the alleyways, narrow, dark, perfect for hiding in—once he stepped a foot into the shadows, the reloading click of a gun sounded behind him. He turned to see Ivan pointing it directly at the back of his head.

"We're going to head in," Ivan commanded. "If you try anything so much as running loose around Anakt Corp, then I'll shoot you on the spot."

Till took only a glance back. "That won't intimidate me."

When both of them headed into the alley, covered by shadow and invisible to the aliens outside, they stood in that alley facing each other. Till could barely see through the darkness of the place—he could almost make the outline of Ivan, his hair, his face, even the color of his eyes Till was able to faintly see.

"I'm supposed to be heading back in a few minutes," Ivan said.

"Then I'll make it quick." Till looked towards the streets to their left, past the long alley stretching ahead of them. "Listen to me."

Ivan blinked at him. "Go on."

Ivan was genuinely going to hear him. Till decided to take the chance.

"You don't truly side with the aliens, do you? You've got to have some of that sense in there. I know there's something more to this."

He used to blame Ivan for things he couldn't stop, the deaths that still haunted him. He used to paint Ivan as a traitor. But if he could just convince him to switch sides, if he could be saved… maybe Till wouldn't have to deal with that harrowing betrayal for the rest of his life.

He knew he'd never forgive Ivan. It wasn't easy to forgive when it came to murder. Yet, if he could at least make him realize what was wrong. What shouldn't have been done, who shouldn't have been done wrong—then Till wouldn't have to kill him, when they face each other on opposite sides.

His first attempt. There it goes.

"No matter what. I won't believe that you're that thick, rooting for your own demise. There has to be another reason."

"Is this because I spared your life?" Ivan retorted.

"Not just that."

"You came all the way here just to ask me?" He glanced around. Then, he said, "Oh. The rebels made you do this."

Ivan drew a little closer. Till could make out his face more clearly now—the deliberate expression he carried, the hairstyle designed to impress, and the reflection of the shadows in the alleys in his eyes. Maybe there was some solemnity within it. Till wished there was.

"No. The rebels didn't make me do anything. I don't think they would've cared as much as I did. I know you were something different, Ivan. You remember back in Anakt—"

"Don't say that."

His words came out with a pause between every word, each pause bolded by firmness left behind in separate breaths, all rolling off the tongue. Like he couldn't stand being reminded of what he believed in before.

"Did I really like those aliens back in Anakt Garden?" Ivan mumbled. "How do you know if I did and didn't side with them? Where do you think you're headed with my childhood in your mind? Is it something you think is human?"

"You were different. I'm sure. Different in every way, different from the man you are now. But nobody's ever all different, right? I know you're still with us! I know—"

"Maybe. Maybe I'm not so different," Ivan remarked.

Alright.

They could be going somewhere. "So it's true?" Till said.

Ivan lowered his head. "If you want to think of it that way. Maybe I'm just your childhood friend. Maybe I'm the person you thought of all along."

"What does that mean?" Till's voice grew a little louder. "Does that mean you really don't side with them? Does that—"

Ivan cupped his hand over Till's mouth. "Be quieter. You're in the city."

For a moment, the both of them could only be silent, listening to the sound of each other's breathing. Till hadn't seen Ivan that cautious before; his stiff posture and his darting eyes, it made him almost seen like a rebel. Like Till. Not a heartless traitor.

Or maybe he could have been misinterpreting it. The next few words prove that.

"That doesn't mean anything, Till. That means you can think whatever you want about me." Ivan's hand retracted. "I'm not bending to your absurd wants. I'll always be one of the aliens. It's nothing you can change just because I helped you escape. That was once."

"You're only harming your own kind doing that." Till grabbed Ivan's coat.

"So what if I am?" Ivan sneered. He threw Till's hands back to his chest, distancing himself from the rebel. As they were meant to be; separated, parted, because the world they were born into still wasn't kind enough for them.

"You want to kill humans?"

"When did I ever say that?"

"You don't have to say everything for it to be true. You never said you cared about me, but you do. Apparently…"

"I said I favored you."

Till put his hand down from his chest. Favored. Favored. As if that made much of a difference. He wasn't too good with words, but favoring someone meant caring, right? If favoring was enough for Ivan to betray the aliens for him, then it should have meant he cared.

"It's the same, Ivan."

He couldn't see Ivan anymore. On the other side of the alley far from Till, the shadows were stronger.

"Then, it's whatever. I care. Is that so shocking to learn, now?"

Still, Till can't completely wrap his head around it. But it's plausible. Real enough to believe to the fullest. "If you care, you should at least put some effort in making me care, too."

"Why? I don't care if you do. These are feelings I'm getting rid of."

"Getting rid of?"

"If we're on opposite sides, is it any use to keep these feelings? What use is there caring about you when that would only mean no advantage to me?" Ivan's eyes fell reminiscent. "I don't want to remember anything about escaping, or near death, or the days spent in that cell. I don't want to remember any of it. So don't say anything." He glared up at Till. His voice had sounded painfully quiet.

"I didn't mean to make you betray them—"

"It isn't betrayal if they don't find out. I'd never betray them with them knowing. Even if I really care about whether you die or not, I'm not betraying the aliens again. They're who I truly care about."

"You never told me why you care about me," Till commented. He swallowed hard.

When it took Ivan a while to say anything, the sounds of his leaving footsteps filled the alley. He stepped out of the heavy shadows in the deep part of the alley towards the light of the city, bright and public, his body slowly being engulfed by it. Till watched him walk. And walk. And walk, until he was almost out on the sidewalk.

"Hold on!" he decided to at least call. Ivan didn't turn, but he sure stopped. Till frowned, facing Ivan feet away from him. He could see Ivan clearer in the light, but the distance seemed to only stretch them further apart.

"Let's meet again," Till said. "The day after tomorrow, at the exact spot we met today. During midnight! I'll be at the fence waiting for you. Can you do at least that much?"

Ivan considered it. Till would've thought he'd immediately refuse, sticking to the words he'd said earlier. No moee betraying the aliens—no more seeing Till.

"How long will we be talking?" were the faint words he'd caught instead of a no.

A small smile formed across Till's face.

"For as long as we'd like."

"How many times will we do this?"

"As many as you'd like."

"Then I'll meet you here. In secret." Before he left, he stated further, "Don't waste the time I'm giving you."

Till could only envision what their next meet would be like. He ignored how many thoughts were racing through his head; the heartbeat audible in his chest picked up pace. As Ivan disappeared onto the street, walking off as if nothing had happened between them, Till stayed in the shadowed alleyway, processing the situation.

He remembered the rebels, too. Hyuna and Isaac and Dewey and everyone else— they wouldn't be happy to know he was meeting with the human to murdered Jacob. Who betrayed his own species, who imprisoned him.

Yet, like Ivan said— it isn't betrayal if they don't find out.

"It isn't betrayal if they don't find out," Till repeated. He just had to plan his meetings well. Make sure the rebels didn't know where he was going, otherwise he'd be in some sort of trouble. It would be easy. It would be worth it. He knew it would.

"Almost done with the shower?" Dewey called.

"Give me a minute."

He let the water pour over his head, washing the soap bubbles away. Slowly, with hands pressed against the wall, he inched up until he stood. He didn't bother scrubbing his hair; he was sure it was mostly clean, anyway. His back hit the wall behind him. Peering above the shower curtain, he could see Dewey grabbing a few spare changes of clothes for himself and Till. A shirt hit him in the face.

"My bad," Dewey muttered. "I noticed your old rebel clothes were gettin' raggedy, so we got you some new ones."

It was the same, dark gray color, long-sleeved, smooth material. Till rubbed the soap off the sleeve he'd been hit by. "Thanks."

"No problem. 'S the least we could do after you got captured."

Till gave a quiet scoff. "You're still worried about that? Well, I'm not getting taken anytime soon. It was a one-time thing."

"It's not something the brush off. You know, that traitor human. He looked murderous, like he could'a killed the whole rebellion without a single thought of guilt."

Till paused. Ivan? He'd never heard Dewey mention Ivan out loud. He hid the confusion on his face and instead replied, "You saw him?"

"Saw him briefly the day you were captured. Wondered who the guy was. Then a couple missions to the city later, saw his face everywhere. You only see that kinda thing for big Alien Stage stars or entertainers. Hyuna told me when I asked her."

Huh.

"I can't believe he didn't kill you," Dewey said.

"I can't believe it, either."

Dewey threw Till his new pants, and Till barely dodged it. It hit the shower head, resulting in the pant legs becoming drenched in water. Dewey grumbled another apology before tossing him his socks.

Till turned the shower off. The last of the water emptied out on his head, and quickly, he changed into his new clothes. Ignoring how cold he felt after the warm water stopped rolling down his skin, he stepped out. Dewey zoomed past him, and once again, the shower became occupied.

"Watch out for Isaac. He'll be asking you where you went yesterday."

Till stopped at Dewey's sentence. "He's not here now."

"Yeah, but he'll be coming back in a few minutes. And trust me, the moment he steps outta that truck, he's headed straight for you."

"How can you be so sure?" Till threw his head back to glance at Dewey, who was starting his shower. "Did Isaac tell you himself?"

"Nah. He's just been so obsessed over makin' sure you're alright and not going to die on us anytime soon. He's acting like an alien." Dewey hung his change of clothes over the shower curtain. "Well, I guess he's been acting a little strange these days. About everything and everyone. To be fair, every rebel's been acting different."

"Then, tell him I went out for fresh air. If that'll ease his mind."

"Me?" Dewey scoffed. "You're tellin' him yourself."

"Like hell. I'd get scolded again, probably."

"Alright." Dewey peeked his head back through the curtain. "Leave; I'm showering without anyone here."

Till turned to head to the sinks.

The tiles of the floor, square and damp and reflective of the ceiling lights above, disappeared when he stepped over to white concrete. He gave Dewey just one more look, even though he could no longer see the other rebel. Till could only hear the sounds of the shower running and soft humming of a rebellion song in the other section of the room.

He stopped at the first sink along the wall, next to the others lined up against it. He glanced into the mirror, slicking back his wet hair, watching his beads of shower water dripped down his cheek, then his chin. His face was practically touching the mirror.

The mirror was in usable condition, if not the best; the edges were cracked, Till's reflection was a little blurry, but he could still see himself as he was.

Was that what he looked like to Ivan? All that time he'd been looking at Ivan, fixing his face into what Till wanted him to be, the same person he'd met in Anakt, but did Ivan ever look the same way? Was he the same to him?

The same gray hair.

The same eyes.

His finger left a print just right above his eye, wiping a water drop off of the mirror. He smiled back at himself, as if he were smiling back at Till. The one from Anakt Garden, not Till. And he pondered—pondered about whether there was something to love about either of them. What did he have everyone else didn't?

He was good at fighting. The aliens, Ivan, and the rebels alike, and also the mannequins. He was good at guitar. Playing for the rebels, holding the spirit high; he was good at a lot of things, some he didn't notice but others did, something he noticed and others didn't.

Would it be too simple to ask just that? The next time they meet, would Till ask that and get the answer he'd expected?

He placed both his hands on the sink and turned on the faucet. He let the water run until it was warm—he stared at the reflection occasionally, wondering what good came from him. If what he saw was what Ivan saw. A rebel, just like any other on the outside. He splashed the water across his face, resupplying him with the heat he'd been blessed with during his shower. The next time they met…

The next time they met.

To say he was patiently waiting for it would be understating his anticipation. He wished they had more time. Sometimes, he wished they weren't so divided. If they were both raised to die, then maybe they should've died long ago, just so that Till didn't have to wait for his answer. Wait for a reason for why Till was still alive, and why Ivan had changed so much.

The next time…

He killed Jacob.

He killed them all.

He betrayed Till.

Thinking about Ivan only made him guiltier. Those feelings screamed their own names louder, defying the silent thoughts of Ivan, trying to shut him out of Till's brain for good. Another splash of water across his face; he was getting too roped into it. He took a deep breath. He faced the mirror, smile gone. Water continued to drip from his hair, along with the soap he'd forgotten to wash out, down his eyes to his neck. He blinked.

No more feelings of paranoia. Not a hunch that Ivan might be watching him there. He vowed to do something about the nostalgia he just couldn't erase. He hated all those emotions, the things that seemed casual.

Next time—or times— they met, Till would figure him all out. He'd stop hating him so much, and maybe even convince him to switch sides, to show him which one was better. Forgive, and forget.

Then when it came time, he wouldn't have to kill him. Till wouldn't have to point a gun to the temple of Ivan's head and whisper a sorry. He didn't like those thoughts.

"Done?"

Till jumped at the sound of Dewey's voice. "Huh? When'd you get here?"

"Finished showering pretty quick. I've been hearing the tap run for minutes already; I thought Hyuna told you to stop wasting the water."

"I'm not." Quickly, he switched the tap off. "Here. You can take the sink."

Dewey gave a quick little shake of his head. "It's okay." He headed over the sink next to Till's, turning the faucet on, waiting for the cool to become warm. They didn't talk while they waited; mostly because Till stayed silent, examining himself in the mirror, staring into his own eyes.

"You're quiet today," the other rebel noted.

"Well, I'll still sing tonight on stage, won't I?"

"Don't gotta be defensive. I ain't judging you for it. Like I said, we've all been acting strange lately." Dewey stuck his hands under the running water, streams of warm water running down his skin.

Footsteps sounded once the door to the shower room opened. Till and Dewey turned around, the sound of streaming tap water still sounding. Isaac had his rebel uniform on and even a stray jacket; his cap shadowed most of his face, and a singular cigarette stuck out between his lips. And, his eyes were directly on Till.

"I thought I'd find you two in here," Isaac murmured.

"Welcome back," Dewey greeted. "How'd the mission go?"

"Good. Soon Till will be able to join us. I estimate in a few weeks, isn't that right?" Isaac gestured to Till. "I'll try and check those wounds after the sun sets, to see how they're healing."

"I thought you were gonna do another mission at sunset?" Dewey asked.

"Everything went well enough that we don't have to. We've got the food for dinner, 'stead of those canned fruits."

"The canned fruits are good," Dewey protested.

"Hell, we got stuff better than that. Check it out in the garage."

Dewey didn't need a second word of advice. He headed towards the exit, but before Till could follow after him, he was stopped by a hand on his chest. He turned to stare at Isaac, who stared back with an equally unwavering look.

"I assume you know what I'm about to ask you."

"Yes," Till sighed. "Where I was…I was just out for fresh air. I didn't imagine I would stray so far." Isaac suspected him. That wasn't good.

"You disappeared for quite a while. Almost the entire day. We were almost going to believe that you'd been abducted again." There was a small furrow of his eyebrows—he looked tired. Somewhat disappointed in him. "You couldn't have just been out for fresh air."

"I was."

"Were you?"

"I was."

Isaac gave him a skeptical look. Then, a light-hearted scoff. "You don't have to stare me down like that, man," he said. "I don't get to judge where you go. That's Hyuna's job."

Till blinked. "Oh."

"If I were leader…" his eyes clouded over with a darker look. Then, the sound of familiar voices outside the door made Isaac look up.

"The others are back?" Till absentmindedly asked.

"'Spose so." Isaac patted him on the shoulder. "If you're going to go out for fresh air while you're still injured, then you're going to have to stay back a little longer. I reckon there are still alien scum trying to hunt you down and imprison you again. You best stay back for a while, cause those damn aliens don't ever know when to stop."

He'd completely forgotten about that. Of course there would be search parties after him—it wouldn't be long before his absence was discovered. He came to a rather unhappy realization; did Ivan get punished for it, then? Though if he'd just seen Ivan yesterday in that shadowed alley, then the aliens' punishments must not have affected him too much. It was probably favoritism. They couldn't afford to lose an important human, the important traitor human who helped the aliens scout out rebels.

"You'll be able to leave soon. Everyone knows it's miserable to feel useless, don't they?" Isaac began walking towards the door exiting the shower room. "See you after dinnertime. We got the good food, from those alien factories. The Anakt kids will join, too."

The door shut when Isaac walked out. Till stayed in the room, listening to the pitter-patter of the shower faucets' water drops and the distant voices heard from where Till was.

There was one thing on Till's mind; Ivan.

Soon, he'd see him.

Very, very soon.

Chapter Text

There was a time where Ivan would scribble doodles into the surface of grass.

He brushed upon it like a recurring memory. Trying to trace an old doodle but always thickening the lines, going just a bit off where he'd once drawn line. Thinking of Till but never getting his face right, blue instead of teal eyes, dark instead of gray hair. He remembered trying to draw Till once after he was gone—thanks to the tips the other boy had left him with, the only remains of Till that he'd passed to Ivan—and it had come out looking something like a blob.

He'd never remember him correctly. Not even from that week in the cells, where all Ivan had to watch was Till suffering. When Ivan had seen Jacob die the exact spot Till was about to, his blood over the floor, where Till's should have spilled, too—maybe Till was thinking of him. Maybe they both knew.

To Till, Ivan had done everything wrong. He'd screwed with all Till wanted to live for. He didn't know if it was comforting or not that Till had Ivan on his mind all the time, just not for the reason he might've thought; but the feeling was finally mutual. They couldn't stop thinking of each other. Especially not when their meetings had come to a start.

Ivan watched the horizon carefully. It was a bit of a struggle when he mistaked every passing cloud for the running silhouette of Till, and every sound the shouts of greeting from the rebel. He tapped the side of the wall impatiently, wondering when he was going to be here; was he just late, or was Ivan just early?

Minutes passed. No Till. Ivan contemplated going back or staying—Till could've made him wait out there just to waste his time. He might not even be coming. He swallowed that difficult thought down, instead focusing on the earth outside the walls. He wondered if Till had been seen by the aliens on his way to Ivan; he wondered if Till contracted some illness and died; he wondered if Till decided it was all a good prank to stab Ivan in the back, setting him up to wait and never get what he waited for.

He was thinking too much.

Ivan stepped away from the walls. He muttered under his breath what he would say to Till. He waited. And waited. He could wait all day, and yet, never once would he find boredom in such a simple task.

It's all about the reward, isn't it? He'd finally caught Till's eye.

He'd finally caught his eye.

Ivan had come just before midnight, exactly five minutes before it, awaiting the rebel like he'd seen him leave, behind a city wall and looking at the sky. But, minutes after the clock had passed it, Ivan was torn between heading back and staying.

He went a little further along the walls, leaving the unpatched crack in the city walls to scale more of the empty space. He's found a few holes in the barbed fences, presumably pried apart by explosive material—Ivan wondered if he'd had to report them or not.

Till wasn't there.

Fifteen minutes after midnight. Ivan lifted his head up, eyes sweeping over the stars, like he'd find Till there. He didn't.

Ivan turned to the buildings behind, engulfed in shadows and no longer shining, beginning to head back to Anakt Corp. He'd come back tomorrow.

"Ivan."

Ivan felt his feet stop immediately, like the voice had commanded them to. He whipped his head around, anticipating him.

Till was right there.

Dressed in a clean uniform, one hand gently touching the fence. He looked as ready as Ivan had expected him to be—with all the confidence he used to carry. Without anything that said he feared Ivan.

Ivan hid his apprehension and wore a smile for him. "Till," he said, "you're a little late."

He hopped away from the fence and approached Ivan quickly. "I know I'm a little late," he admitted in a bit of a mocking tone. "But wasn't it enough to wait at the walls?"

"It's been twenty minutes. I couldn't wait for more than one."

"Ridiculous."

Till strayed a little farther from Ivan. He glanced at the city behind them; the tall skyscrapers, the streets that were mostly quiet, and there was a vague sense of familiarity when he found them.

"Are we staying out here?" Till asked.

"You want to enter the city?"

"No, just asking."

A pause came after his statement; Ivan didn't know how to fill it. As always, he'd let pauses stay their full run, waiting for Till to break it or something else, some other way. He caught Till narrowing his eyes at him. Silently waiting for him to talk, tension growing heavy like a suffocating bubble around them.

He realized that pause was for him.

Ivan cleared his throat. "Last time you told me to wait there for you, remember that? Peering out through the wall, waiting to see if I could see you through the horizon."

"Oh, yeah. Well. Then I very clearly forgot."

"I think about you more than you think I do. It's been such a while since you escaped, Till. I could've almost forgotten."

"It hasn't been that long of a while. Only a week, I think."

"You wouldn't know how long of a while it was for me."

For a moment, Till's eyebrows furrowed. Then, he muttered, "I wouldn't like to imagine what you do."

They leaned against the city walls; Ivan was constantly on alert, unable to keep his eyes on Till the full time, listening to the slightest of sounds to figure out whether they were being watched or not. The aliens had an annoying habit to spying—a habit Ivan, sadly, couldn't get rid of. It wouldn't do for any of them to catch him there.

"Want a cigarette?"

Till held one up for Ivan to see. He flicked his eyes to the right where Till was standing, and the rebel was holding the butt of it facing towards Ivan. He pushed it away, shaking his head no. Before Till could light it, though, he slapped the lighter and the box away, and they landed onto the ground with a thump.

"What's your deal—"

"They're watching." Ivan kicked sand over the two items.

He didn't question who they were, just stared at the cigarette box regretfully. "There's guards this late into the night? Then how come they haven't heard us?" Till asked, doubt laced into his voice subtly.

"The smoke will alert them."

"Shit, I didn't know I'd have to get past guards. Where are they stationed?"

"That isn't the biggest question here," said Ivan. "I wanted to ask what you were planning on doing here." Planning on Ivan's murder, killing him when it's dark. Convincing him to join the rebels, so that he could be another one of those delusional humans who thought they could escape from the aliens. He slid a little further from Till, eyes trained on his.

"Don't you remember our last meeting?"

In the alleyway, where both of them were hidden. They'd talked of betrayal and feelings, all the things Ivan hated but forced himself to participate in nonetheless. It was his first time seeing Till free of his shackles—a rebel, or at least, dressed like one, acting like one. He wasn't too focused on the rebel part, just Till.

He remembered Till's words very vaguely.

"Questioning me again?" he concluded. "That's very boring. And it can't be the only reason you're here, correct?"

"That's correct. There's another." He glanced to the ground, shuffling his feet. "I've got a lot of questions to ask. And it's fine if you don't care. I just wanted an answer." A pause, then: "What are we?"

"We are nothing. Next question."

"Wha—that's it? That's your answer?" Till sputtered. "Not even enemies? Not even complicated?"

"Why would we be complicated?"

"Well—you hate me, but you don't. And I hate you, but I'm still here, aren't I? That's what complicated means."

"So it's complicated, then?"

"Well, not necessarily." Till looked from side to side, though there was nothing to look for. "Listen, Ivan. You can have your own view on what we are, but I wanted to make it known what I think we are. It's been on my mind for a bit. I want to—"

"Do you think we mean something?"

Till, eyebrows raised when Ivan cut him off mid-sentence, brushed his pocket, then his hand came to a stop next to his thigh. All his nervous fidgeting stopped, and there was a newly rising tension in the air, thick as solid. Maybe it was an answer he hadn't processed through enough—maybe he'd had enough time to come up with an answer, it just wasn't one Ivan would like.

"I think we mean something," he replied, voice too confident. "But do you?"

"I guess I enjoy being the answers to your questions. That's all you've ever needed me for."

Till nodded before the words fully hit him. After it hit, he paused, hand hovering in the air, forming into a fist. He bit his lip, spite in his expression.

"Do we really mean anything? Or do you think we mean it?"

"You've been thinking that this whole time? I don't just use you for the sake of my questions."

"I couldn't be so sure of that."

"Is this because of last time? I said future meetings, too! Future! I want to be more!"

"I don't have much time to waste with you."

Till's expression morphed into a more murderous one (that shouldn't have been possible, because from the start he'd already looked ready to kill). His nails dug into Ivan's coat, firm, unrelenting, leaving marks in the fabric. "You think your time's important, what, because you've got humans to kill? You're all talk, no action. All you've ever said is just shit to make you seem more heartless than you are. Don't try that on me, because it won't ever work."

His fingernails dug deeper into Ivan's coat. Ivan flung him off of him, watching him hit the sand with a thump.

"I don't know what those rebels like to do, but it certainly isn't playing with a 'traitor' in their free time."

"I'm not playing!" Till dusted off the sand on his pants. Then, a glare sent up to Ivan. "You didn't let me finish my sentence earlier."

"Finish your sentence now."

He heaved a sigh. "I came here to propose something to you. I want to be friends."

…Friends?

What they once were?

"Friends…" Ivan trailed off.

Both of their volumes lowered, a sudden shift in their tones.

"Exactly. I didn't intend to feel this way—in fact, I hate feeling this way—but I just thought it would be better to be friends again. To mend what we once had."

"And what's the point of that?"

"Once this divide is over, whether the aliens win, or we do, we'll be able to smile at each other without fearing death. Then, you won't regret saying no to this. I don't want to leave you thinking ill of you."

They'd be friends. Like in Anakt Garden, enjoying each other's presence, unfamiliar to the feelings of guilt inside of them. Except when they had grown familiar to the times without each other, independent, they'd forgotten quite how to exist near the other without thinking of someone else; Ivan used to miss those childhood friends hidden up in his room, but to revive that feeling? It would be impossible, knowing what they know years after separation.

But, he thought, Till was always full of surprises. And it wasn't like feelings passed quick. Some part of Ivan wanted it too, like the first ray of sunlight after a bitter night of silence. Even if he opposed it with all of him, he'd still be left wishing he agreed.

"But this will never end. Not until the rebellion surrenders," Ivan stated as a matter of fact.

Till's hair brushed Ivan's. "How are you so sure of that?"

"Jacob. Don't you remember Jacob?"

Something in Till seemed to snap. He blinked, like the dust of the impact had slammed into him. And when it settled, he smiled.

"Of course I remember Jacob, you ass!"

Ivan felt a sharp pain hit his forehead, and he staggered backwards, one palm above his eyebrows. Till was still standing, his fist pressed against his forehead. There was a slight bruise on his head; he must've hit Ivan's head with his.

"Why do you have to twist everything I say? Are you dumb?" Till laughed, hammering his fist against his skull harshly. "What else? You're living your human life fear-free and easily, sheltered by all those aliens who do it for you. Actually, I'm surprised you haven't forgotten Jacob yet—how many humans have you killed since Jacob? Is it hard to keep count?"

Ivan rubbed his forehead slowly, taking Till's words in but not quite evaluating them.

An easy life, him? He couldn't imagine Till's life much harder than his.

"Sometimes you talk too much," Ivan muttered back. "You've never learnt how to not to spit out every assumption you have, and I can tell."

"Well, it's true, ain't it? You must have it so easy. You don't even have it in you to care about the humans you've slaughtered like bugs."

Ivan planted two feet back in the ground, removing his hand from his throbbing head. "I thought the whole point of friends was to be at peace. This isn't very peaceful."

"You haven't accepted my offer yet. I might considering taking it back just because of your questions." Till blinked and looked away, anger fading. "I considered this to be the best offer I could give. In compensation for the death that never happened. In compensation for saving me. And because I realized there were some things we never talked through, some things we could clear and return to what we used to be…I realized we could be friends again."

"A friendship was all you could offer for me?"

"It's not much. But I figured it's better than never meeting you again—I want to mend our relationship, even if it's just for a while. I don't want to carry the burden of hating you. I want to believe there's still some good in you. I believe you can still be saved."

"I'm not good to the humans."

"Even so, can't we just be friends, in spite of our sides?"

"Us." It took a lot for him to believe it. "You want us to be friends."

"I just said that."

It wasn't a dream.

Till was really running back to him. Even if it were just in gratitude for his betrayal against the aliens.

He remembered the field days—he remembered how Till would never give him as much as he wanted, always in his reach but too far to be his. Till had never cared too much about him; Ivan was never ever cycling in his mind every day, all the time.

"You don't have to accept. I'll leave and we'll both forget this ever happened. I figured I'd need a compensate somehow—even if it's like this. If not, I'll leave and you'll never hear of me again. Your second choice."

That opportunity, it was too hard for even Ivan to resist. When he'd thought himself a sturdy, matured human, he'd never thought of what Till could do to him.

And he supposed he was a fool. But who could deny the sweetest gift on the tips of their fingers? Who was he to turn down a second chance, a second time with Till?

Ivan stared at Till's face, eyes wide but never betraying what he truly felt. He couldn't let Till get away—not the second time around.

But the thought of what had happened to the guards that had been blamed for having leniency on Till, letting him escape—their sudden disappearance and the hush of their names in Anakt Corp, as if it had just become taboo to mention anything about them—Ivan didn't want to end up like that. The aliens were no kind souls, especially not to a human who they'd scrutinized since he'd joined the Segyein.

He'd been debating it for too long!

He grinned. "It'll take you an eternity to ever forgive me. And it's only been a month. How could I mend your hurt feelings?"

Till shook his head, as if he couldn't believe no was truly Ivan's answer. Yet he didn't push it. His back face Ivan, and his hair, dark gray in the night, covered what was his face.

"It was nice meeting with you then, even if it was for a little while. I'll head back now."

Ivan latched onto his wrist the second those words slipped out, his smile faltering for half a second.

"But I never said no." His grip tightened. "Don't walk away with that conclusion just yet."

Before he knew Till was alive, he'd stayed alive for the aliens, for no purpose at all other than to help and satisfy. Surviving to please, to make him feel independent. And it felt good, great even. Just for a little while. He sometimes wished Till had never come back. So he wouldn't have to stumble over everything just to have him by his side. But would it be worth it? Would having his attention after all that's happened make him happy?

He didn't deserve happiness. Nobody did. He knew if he were destined for an early death soon, as soon as the aliens got bored of him, there was nothing he truly deserved. But he decided to take a dip into selfishness, just to see what it was like to have the thing he never knew he needed.

"We can be friends."

"Then, if we're really friends now; I'll see you tomorrow evening. At the place we you suggested, the crack along the walls. Don't forget it for anything, okay?"

He let Till's hand go. Watching the rebel run off into the distance, his voice gone, Ivan could only stand in silent observation. He held a hand up to his chest, eyes lit up in wonder, as if he'd just discovered something new—and he had, indeed.

Everything he'd wished for in Anakt Garden—for Till to look his way, even if for a scarce second—becoming friends was even better. He liked the sound of friends. Ivan didn't want to lose that fleeting chance, so he didn't ask about the wrongs he'd done to Till. He couldn't care more about anything except that.

He stared after Till, and something he'd been carrying lifted for the first time. Like the stars were falling from the sky, streaking across the air and casting a red-orange light down on the earth, just like the day he'd almost escaped, he watched Till disappear out of his sights, wishing for his return. The opportunity he'd never gotten to steal, almost in the palm of his hands years and years later when he'd least expect it.

Ivan was as loyal to the Segyein as a human could be to the aliens. But he wouldn't call himself a traitor just for the sake of Till, whom he'd never let die in his mind.

He wouldn't be a traitor to the humans and the aliens both.

If it was just for that one man.

It was silence until he turned his heel. He headed back towards Anakt Corp, carrying his head as high as it could get. He'd gotten to a stage of status where the guards had no right to ask him what he was doing outside, so late into the night—but he didn't know about Till. He hoped the next time they met, they'd meet unharmed, unsuspected. And as friends. That, too, more importantly.

He'd repent for all the mistakes he'd made, all the mistakes that harmed Till. Though he could never pay back the full price, he'd try.

For the first time in never, he thought he could finally understand what happiness was.

Chapter Text

"A group of rebels were killed today."

Till dropped the blueprints onto the table, nervously watching Hyuna's darkening expression. He let the prints slide over to her, focused on the fist she'd clenched. Understandably, that day she'd carried a bad mood—presumably from their high-stakes mission at dawn. Though he hadn't discovered why until she'd said it.

When Till leaned over to grab a pen from the table, he felt Hyuna's hand grab his wrist. Their eyes met, and he could only stare so far into her's—she looked pained. Tired. Then, they relaxed, as if she'd realized who she was looking at.

"The files I collected and the rebels I brought were destroyed. All of them. The aliens knew we were coming."

"Why're you—"

"We haven't had rebels die in weeks. This is the first mission we've lost so many." Hyuna inhaled. "It has something to do with him."

Till felt Hyuna's grip loosen; he tugged back his hand, grabbing the pen as he did so. "How do you know?"

"I saw him. Amidst the aliens, and at first I thought he was one of us, so I ordered the rebels not to attack. Biggest mistake." She kicked back in her chair, hand over her forehead, staring at the ceiling. "That accursed human. At this point, there's no use trying to convert him."

Till looked over the rest of the blueprints, lining them up on the wall with the tape he'd borrowed. "Were you the only survivor?" he queried, a little quieter when noticing Hyuna's regret.

"Couple of others. Not a big handful, though. We lost some good rebels on the mission." She tilted her head. "Less of an audience for you tonight."

"I see."

He continued working, eyes darting between his sketches and Hyuna. She watched him work halfheartedly. Till couldn't tell what she was thinking at all—she had a smile frozen on her face, sorrowful, silent. Mourning rebels was something they did all the time. He, too, mourned them, but not quite as sadly as the others would.

In the middle of his work session, Hyuna decided to finally speak. "You—you'd seen him. Right? In your time at Anakt Corp. Have you two communicated, at all?"

"We didn't talk about too much." Till's hands froze, suspended so that he could think. "He's not a good talker. And he doesn't stop by the rebel's cells too often. Just to deliver food and make sure no rebels have died in their cells overnight." he exhaled, trying to shake off the unease that came from the lie. He'd had to lie more to the rebels since he'd started his meetings with Ivan a few weeks ago.

"The next time you see him…" Hyuna examined a sheet of paper on the table, yet she didn't seem too interested in it. Her eyes were out of focus, the light from the ceiling unable to reach her. "I'd want you to do what you were planning to do the day you were captured. I'd want you to succeed. And this time I'm not stopping you."

Her expression was grave. Still a little sad. Till swallowed down a hard lump in his throat.

"I'll try."

"It's to pay back those rebels' early deaths. You'd know, right?" Hyuna hit her head against the top rail of the table. "I've told everyone now. The next time we see him, we're not going to give him any mercy." She crumbled the paper between her fingers. "It's been too long. I've waited too long to avenge those rebels he'd killed before, and the prisoners he'd taken."

She glanced over to Till, but Till was deliberately avoiding her gaze. Back hunched, facing the blueprints taped to the wall. He couldn't let his fear seep through.

Fuck.

Should he warn Ivan? Or should he stay loyal to the rebels? If he warned Ivan, he'd be betraying the rebels, but saving him. If he didn't, and let him die, Till wasn't sure he could live the rest of his life wondering about what they would have been. Wondering if he and Ivan could've really mended their friendship.

He hated debating. And it should've been an easy question, too; of course he'd always choose the rebels over Ivan.

"I've also got a question to ask."

Till lifted his head, ignoring his racing heart, and replied, "Yes?"

"…that traitor human was responsible for Jacob's death, wasn't he?"

Till blinked. The pen he'd been holding dropped to the floor.

"I don't know. But I think so."

"Then that'll be a better reason."

He numbly muttered an agreement under his breath. "I'm—going outside. For a walk," he quickly said. "See you later."

She gave him a wave before he shut the door. He leaned against it, trying to elevate his heart rate before he left. Scenarios of the future swirled in his mind; it seemed more and more likely they were going to be found out. He needed to tell him—he needed to tell Ivan that he had a target on his back.

It didn't matter if he was betraying the rebels. After all, Ivan had betrayed the Segyein for him. Weren't favors worth paying back?

He reached into his pocket, shuffling around it for some time before realizing it was empty. He sighed—right. Ivan had buried his box of cigarettes and his lighter in the sand. He'd forgotten to retrieve it when he left.

Till didn't bother nagging the other rebels for a light. He'd find some other way to relieve the stress hammering at him.

A memorial was Hyuna's proposal. A memorial to Jacob, and the things he'd done for them.

His new gravestone was planted in the sand, near the garage.

Till could only stare with a glazed eye, trying not to let his other emotions slip through his face. Hyuna and Mizi walked over with baskets of flowers; popping with vibrant colors, still holding the life Jacob no longer had. The sky was dark, and early in the morning it was indeed, when Till stood in the cold, feeling sensations of freezing winds brushing his skin, things he couldn't shake off so easily—along with the other rebels, huddled alongside him, staring at Jacob's grave with a deep desolation. A few red flowers fell from Hyuna's hands and landed in front of the grave. They brushed past the photos of Jacob, who in every picture was smiling wide, a grin all the rebels had long forgotten until that moment. A grin returned to them like a lost family.

Mizi set her basket of flowers down. She stood by the grave, indifference in her face. Till knew it was no fault of hers—she'd never known the man. But when Hyuna whispered his achievements, his wishes, Mizi seemed to understand.

"I found his photos from the old base yesterday. Today, I've made a memorial for Jacob, one long overdue," Hyuna explained to all the rebels huddled around his grave. "He's done too much for us to forget. Even me, having known him for a short time. He was a great man and a rebel. We'll meet him again, someday. A very, very lucky day."

Purple flowers seemed to blossom on his grave. They popped out from the dull colors of early morning and the sorrowfully tainted sky, like a spark of hope yet to give out. Till realized just how much he'd missed the man in the months he was gone. It reignited in him like a reminder— never forget who raised him. Who fought for him and loved him so.

That was why he couldn't swallow the guilt of betraying Jacob.

"We'll keep his memorial outside, for now," Hyuna announced. "We're leaving the baskets out, for anyone who'd like the flowers."

Even Hyuna appeared somber. She typically never was.

As she and Mizi left the grave to be, disappearing back into the garage murmuring to each other things unheard, some of the rebels left to attend their duties, though threw a look behind their backs to Jacob, a promise they'd return soon. The ones that hadn't turned to leave were silently mourning Jacob. Even months after his death, none of them seemed to have gotten over it—certainly not Till. An unusual heaviness burdened his shoulders. He knelt down, his knee pressed against the uneven patches of grass and sand, pressing a hand to the smooth, cold stone of the grave.

The other rebels stayed behind, staring at Jacob's grave. They took flowers, albeit very few, and laid them out in front of his picture taped to the stone. Then, as minutes grew longer, they seemed to disappear, returning back to their duties. None of them mourned Jacob for as long of a time as Till did; Till sat by his grave, one fistful of flowers resting by his side.

Some of the flowers in the basket was crushed. Ripped from their stems, only the petals remaining. Somehow, Till had only picked the petals, never the stem or the whole flower. He sprinkled them across the grave, little petals that mingled with the sand. It was enough, he thought. The petals were okay, he hoped.

He gazed at Jacob's photos, body frozen to the ground until he could bring himself to tear his eyes away. Jacob, smiling, a peace he didn't know would end soon. Till wondered if he knew. One day he'd be betrayed by one of his own kind, a mistake he'd forgotten to correct when he should've.

And, weeks after his death. Weeks after his death, someone else had betrayed him, too.

"Jacob…" Till began, voice rough and low. The early daylight had yet to shine on them both. "I'm sorry."

His hands were crossed, right over left, on top of Jacob's grave. And his mind was left with a prayer of forgiveness, wondering if Jacob would really forgive him and Ivan. He wondered if he could still escape his curiosity for Ivan, and one day, bring himself to fulfill his promise.

"Please, forgive me."

Silence.

As there always was.

He imagined a gust of wind was a pat on the back, the slight shivering of his arms the grip of Jacob's arms—and maybe even a whisper of what was right and what was wrong. He hugged the grave tighter, as if that would make any difference. As if he would feel Jacob's arms around him, a warmth instead of cold, but both his grave and his body were frozen weeks after death.

"I don't want to kill him anymore. I don't know why."

He'd offered their new friendship a few days ago.

He'd seen the way Ivan's eyes lit up, like he'd been waiting for Till to say those words for a long time. He'd remember the smile he wore, and it didn't seem malicious at all. Genuine. Willing. Something Till had never imagined would ever happen.

And Till knew he wanted more than friends. Probably. Though there wasn't a word for more than friends, not that Till knew. He couldn't afford to be anything but more than friends with Ivan; he didn't want to betray Jacob even worse.

"Every human should be saved. But not every human can be. Does that apply to Ivan? Is his treachery too terrible for him to live free?" Till mused out loud. There was no answer.

Ivan with the rebellion. Wearing a rebel uniform, killing aliens while in the backseat of a car, smiling as he and Till stepped onstage. He knew Ivan was a great singer. He imagined nights with him on the stage, drunk, singing rebellion songs and sharing drinks together. Almost forcefully, it pulled a smile onto his face. Was that the only way they could ever be friends freely?

Everything flipped. He clenched his fist. The pictures of Ivan by his side shattered in his mind, a thousand glass pieces stabbing his brain. A pain he'd felt before, the pain of broken illusions.

"I don't think I'll kill him ever."

He could feel Jacob's hand lift from his shoulder; as if in disappointment, as if he were the traitor himself. And he found it funny—why should he be considered a traitor, the same level as Ivan, if Ivan was the one killing humans and finding no empathy in their death? When he looked at Jacob's grave, he knew why.

A man who had done too much to be forgotten, just to have everything he'd believed in defied by one naive rebel who was resisting a good cause. He knew what they would label him as if they ever found him out. "A traitor to their own species."

"Till," Isaac called from behind him minutes later. Till blinked.

"Hm?"

"Even though you're still healing, you can't waste your entire day sleeping by Jacob's grave. You're going to catch a damn cold dozing off in this weather, and I ain't letting another outbreak happen."

"I'll go back in soon."

After a moment, Isaac approached him. Till lifted himself away from Jacob's grave to see his expression. It was as sad as everyone else's—just a little darker, too, like he'd murder every living organism just to have his brother back.

"We all miss him, man. But we got duties to do; get your ass up and back in base now."

"You must miss him more than anything else."

Isaac was silenced. He grabbed a handful of flowers and laid them at Jacob's grave. It was starting to look like a garden, how adorned the stone was.

"You're strong for overcoming his death so fast. I would've thought you could've been leader if you wanted to, instead of Hyuna."

"Hell are you talkin' about?" Isaac scoffed.

Till turned his head away. "Nothing."

"It's been a rough few weeks without my brother. But I learn to move on quick, not because I want to, but because there are things to be done. Things he would've wanted me to do even if he weren't by my side. And you ought to be doing somethin', Till, you hear that? That's how you move on. Do something that would make him proud."

A laughable coincidence it was, really. Till had fucked Jacob over, even in the afterlife. Something that would make him proud would be something he'd never be able to do.

"Are you making Jacob proud, Isaac?"

"Well, you know what he wanted to do. Save humans, be safe. Of course."

"Nice."

"Nice?"

"I'm sure he'd be really, really proud."

When Till looked back at him, Isaac wasn't looking his way. Instead staring off at the other dilapidated buildings neighboring them, and his expression wasn't readable at all.

"Hyuna said you were healing quickly."

A subject change. Till straightened.

"She said a lot to me about you. You're almost fit for missions now, hmm. I think I'll place you on the next one, Till."

Till nodded. "That's great," he said with a small smile. "Tell her I said thank you."

Isaac took the basket of flowers with him as he left. Till swore he could hear, "Thank your own body for healing quicker," muttered under his breath quickly. Then, he ordered: "Be back in the planning room in ten minutes. We've obtained more rocket manuals I think you'd want to look over, aight?"

"I will."

When he left, Till glanced back to Jacob. Jacob's smiling face seemed to be scrutinizing him more and more the more he stared.

"I won't kill him yet."

Why?

"We're friends."

Why?

"I just want to get to know him. To see what he's like now. To see if there's anything I could get from him, to try and convince him to…be better."

A hand on Ivan's shoulder. An eye to the horizon in front of them, and a promise he'd never forsake, not if his world burnt.

Oh.

Is that what he truly desired, all that time? A new member to his "family" of rebels, in the form of an old friend?

He organized a few flowers to be perched at the top of his gravestone, then he took a red flower from the sand—it was one of the Anakt flowers they used to scatter all over the garden. Till stuffed it into his pocket.

Then, if that was what he really wanted. He'd make Jacob proud that way. Show Ivan his mistakes, and help him prove to be a better person. Forgive him, and convince him to join the rebels. He and Ivan would be top rebels together. Imagine if it worked.

"Every human should be saved, but not every human can be saved," he murmured. Isn't that what Hyuna'd said? Or maybe he'd phrased it wrong… whatever. It was his words now.

Till stood up. "I'll fulfill the promise. Just, in a different way."

And when the daylight befell on Jacob's photos, it didn't shine on Till. He'd already gone—not back to the rebels' base. The other way.

He ran faster than he ever could run. His stamina decreased by the minute, but he couldn't look back; it was still chasing him. Till ran faster, as fast as his feet could carry him, and his voice called out for Mizi.

"Mizi!" He shouted, hoping it would reach her.

Around him were nothing but high walls and dark places—he couldn't recognize anything. He skidded to a stop in front of a door, just in time to hear Mizi's answering cry faintly behind him. Then, stillness.

"Mizi?"

No answer. Panting, he dug his hands into the door, trying to pry it open. He didn't know where Mizi had gone; he didn't know how far he'd run. He continued walking along the walls, trying to find another way back.

"Dammit."

Till cautiously continued. The hush wasn't easily disturbed, and he could only hear his own breaths in the echoing hallway (room? Storage space?). He could see pillars supporting the ceiling through the darkness. He made a small noise of fear, feet trembling with every step. And he couldn't see a single thing above him, whether there were aliens waiting up there or not, he had no idea. Keep going, he encouraged himself. Soon, it'll be over.

A few steps after Mizi's voice had gone quiet, and he'd been abandoned in the secluded part of the facility, he stopped. Sighed, then plopped to the ground pathetically. He waited for an alien to take him back and face punishment. Probably locked away with nothing to eat again, but at least he'd be back and not worrying about where Mizi had gone. He hoped she'd run back to Anakt Garden safely.

"Lost?"

It was another human. One of the grown ones, taller limbs, taller height. Till watched him kneel down and felt a hand on his head. His voice wasn't much lower than Till's. Maybe he was a couple years older, not many. He laughed when Till evaded his touch.

"Sorry. I'm Jacob," he introduced. "What's your name?"

Who was he? A competitor? A pet? His aliens couldn't have been far. "Till," Till replied.

"Well, Till, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Are you a pet?"

Surprised, Jacob tilted his head. "No, I'm not."

"Then, a singer?"

"I'm neither of those things. I don't have any connections with the aliens."

"Then," Till muttered, "What are you?"

"I'm a rebel."

A rebel. "What does 'rebel' mean?" Till asked, scrunching his nose. "I didn't learn that in class."

"It means I don't have to follow everything the aliens do. I'm a free human," Jacob answered in a whisper, as if afraid there were aliens listening in.

Till thought of the collars he'd worn around his mouth, his wrists, and ankles, the times he'd get berated hard by aliens for mistakes he'd made—and the imagined reality of being free form all that seemed exhilarating. When he registered Jacob's reply, his eyes lit up.

"Can I be a rebel?"

The other chuckled. "Let's not jump too quick. First, let me help you return—"

He grabbed onto the man's pants sleeve, unwilling to let go. "I don't wanna go back."

He thought there might've been some pity in Jacob's well-meaning eyes. The second his hands released, Jacob brushed his fingers, trying to hold them in his. And they walked towards the exit, an exit Till hadn't seen before—in the very far end of the building, a door shut tight.

All the while Till imagined life beyond the Anakt Gardens. He could do whatever.

He could see the world as it was without the eyes of the aliens.

"I want to be a rebel."

"You do?" Jacob murmured back. "Anakt Garden's quite constricting, isn't it?"

"It is."

"You don't like it here?"

"Well…" He trailed off, thinking of the children he talked to, the girl he looked to and felt a flutter in his chest. He didn't like it, but she made it better.

Her. And Ivan. He didn't want to leave them behind when he became a rebel.

"I've got friends," he admitted quietly. "Can they come, too?"

"Not everyone can be a rebel. If too many children come with us, the aliens won't be happy."

"Oh." But he still wanted to be a rebel. He wanted to see the world for what it was—even if his friends weren't by his side. Though he couldn't bear the thought of both of them drifting away so suddenly. He imagined Mizi and Ivan. And the things they'd do if he was gone. Mostly Ivan. He wondered what Ivan would do without his presence, and who he'd rely on.

"I don't want to leave my friends," he said, "But I want to be a rebel."

Jacob paused. He turned around and crouched down, and through the dark Jacob's smile could be seen. "Sometimes you've got to sacrifice one thing for another. Think about what you really want before joining the rebels, alright? Being the rebels isn't as fun as you'd imagine it being."

"How fun is it?"

"The aliens don't like it when you're a free human." Jacob patted his shoulders. "There's way more to being free than there is to being under control."

"But I want to be free. I hate the aliens," Till declared.

"Then, would you really like to be free? Be a rebel, and join the family?"

Family.

The word seemed intimidating. Yet he couldn't imagine how great it would be. Being free.

Sometimes he'd watch contestants on stage die—through the screens in the city, blood spraying from their bodies, and they were unable to move, never to think or speak or love again. He didn't want that to happen to him someday. And for the longest time, henceforth, he couldn't accept it. Accept the fact that he'd made all his friends, all the effort, just to give it up in the end.

It must've been something his mother once told him, when he was a very small child. He still thought about her from time to time, her words, her warmth, the arms that used to wrap around him—that one day, he would be free. One day, he'd have all the love the world had to offer to lowly humans like him.

"Can I come back for my friends?" he said hopefully.

"That's part of what rebels do. Save their friends, and fight the aliens who hurt them."

Goodbye to Mizi and Ivan.

Goodbye to Anakt Garden, and to him, the one flower out of many that would never blossom.

"Yes. I want to be a rebel."

They left the building hand in hand, slowly walking towards the exit, and headed for the earth far from the city.

"Hello."

In the blink of an eye, he turned around.

"Till?"

Ivan and Till faced each other, the tension increasing as the rain fell. It was their third meeting, when the two of them had warmed up a bit, as warm as two traitors could be. Till stood drenched in front of Ivan, the rain soaking his clothes the longer he was outside. Ivan widened his eyes at him.

"You came in through the window?"

"You weren't at our usual meeting place. And I saw you looking out the window earlier, so I decided to climb through." He rolled into Anakt Corp, careful not to touch the ground with his hands. He took a few deep breaths, breathless from the height he'd climbed just moments before.

"Our meeting don't warrant that much of an effort for you," Ivan stated, "You could've gone back to attend to your own duties until I was willing to meet you again."

"How could I know when you were going to meet me? There's no form of communication for either of us, not without the aliens intercepting it."

Ivan glanced in disdain at the rainwater dripping onto the floor. "I would've come eventually."

"Does our friendship mean that little to you?" Till muttered monotonously.

Another awkward pause. Till knew he'd said something wrong.

Their relationship was weird, at times, to navigate; it seemed neither of them wanted to stumble into unexplored territory, the questions that would reveal too much and the answers that would hurt. Their friendship wasn't really a friendship yet. They were getting there, one by one.

Despite everything Ivan had done, Till was trying to forgive. Forgive and forget, as they said.

And maybe when it ended, Till would get something out of it.

"What are you carrying behind you?" Till asked suspiciously.

"Nothing of importance."

He revealed a small baby—almost Anakt age, but not quite—with silver hair and light eyes. It looked almost like Till. Till chuckled.

"Little gift?"

"No. Its provider was crushed by a storage box. This product is being used for lab experiments."

He examined the baby closer, and giggles bubbled out of its mouth. Ivan steered the baby away from him again.

"I'm going to put it back. You should head to my room. Walk straight that way, and it'll be the door at the end isolated from the rest."

Till did as Ivan said. When he swung open the door, he found a dressing table with a vanity mirror and some files, as well as a bed in the corner. It was of moderate size; there was some alien equipment left on the floor he didn't recognize, as well as a red rug for decoration. Other than that, the room was bleak. Empty, cold, and sparse. He sat on the tiled floor, waiting for Ivan to come back. He kept his ears alert; he regretted a little not thinking through climbing the windows. What if an alien had seen him? Would that cause more trouble for Ivan?

The silence stayed for a good while. He decided to take the chance a flipped through the files. In there was Ivan's schedule; performance. Modelling. Some tasks left to him by the aliens. They were sometimes repetitive, sometimes had a splash of variety. Then, letters he'd received from his caretaker. (Unsha was the name—and Till felt as if he'd heard of him somewhere, back in Anakt.) Praising him for his performances, or judging and criticizing mediocre ones. The majority of the file contained letters from his caretaker. Then, as for the other papers—

He didn't notice the footsteps approaching. When the door swung open, Till barely managed to close the files. Ivan narrowed his eyes at Till in suspicion.

"You opened the files?" Ivan questioned.

"I was looking in the mirror."

His face grew more light-hearted. "If you really were, you would've noticed the dirt and blood on your cheek."

What?

Before he knew it, Ivan had his thumb on Till's face, wiping the cut that Till hadn't even known was there. He smiled, digging his thumb deeper into Till's cut, as if to drain him of blood to clean. It was a motion Till recognized from their first "meets". He pushed him away.

"Stop doing that!"

"You don't like it?"

"Obviously not."

Ivan pressed his bloodied thumb to the bottom of his lips, and he gave it a small lick. Till quickly wiped the rest of his blood off of his cheek. He supposed he'd gotten it when he'd climbed the building, planting his face into the walls too many times. There was a new sting of pain in that area. He cupped his cheek.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Ivan's eyes, genuinely wondering, reached a hand forward to lift his shirt. But from the glare Till gave him, he instinctively put it away.

"I'm fine. I'm just really cold."

"No wonder. You're getting my bed wet."

A pool of rainwater was dampening the bed; before Till could stand up, Ivan grabbed his bedsheets and wrapped them around Till. It didn't help with the water dripping from his clothes, but his body relaxed at the extra layer of warmth. He muttered a quick, sincere thanks before shaking the water off his hair. He hadn't expected rainfall for a long time; he'd severely miscalculated when the leave that day.

Also, Jacob's memorial. He'd had that to attend to, so it delayed their meeting.

"You're here again," Ivan said.

"I promised to be friends, didn't I? Being friends means talking and being comfortable around each other. That's what we've been doing for the past meetings. I thought you'd caught on the third time I visited you."

(He'd thought Ivan would've stop thinking about their past after a few of their meetings. But the hints of it were subtle, small—so internalized it could have just been human nature to be awkward. That was set as their norm, the small pauses of discomfort and life contemplation. It was funny when Till thought about it.)

"I thought you would've lost interest a few meetings in."

"Of course not."

Ivan flicked through the files wordlessly, leaving Till to sit on the floor. The vanity mirrors reflected his face back to Till. Calm when he worked, calm all the time, honestly.

"Do you want these meetings to end?" Till queried.

"Well…" Ivan grabbed a pen from the drawers of the table. Red and shiny. Ivan seemed to like red things. "No. But wouldn't it be better if they did?"

"You're contradicting yourself."

"It's your choice to have these meetings. You're the one who has a say in it."

"Then suppose this is payback."

"For what?"

"Let's meet for the rest of our lives—these short, little meetings, and we'll talk about ridiculously stupid things shared between us. Let's see where it takes us."

"The rest of our lives? You know, commitment's hard to commit to."

"Let's try."

"I think that's called delusion, Till."

"You owe me every meeting, though," Till said. "But alright. Let's talk about something else. How was your day?"

Ivan took a weirdly long time to answer. "Good," he mumbled.

"My day was great. Especially when it's time to meet you. I wish we could meet at a better place, a better time."

"Like…what?"

"A different circumstance. If I didn't have to walk all the way to Anakt Corp to meet you. If we could be friends a different way."

Ivan sighed. He dropped his pen on the table, in the middle of a scribble. "But I like us as we are now."

"But don't you wish we could meet without secrecy? Without the fear of betrayal?"

"Till."

"Hm?"

Ivan had stood from his chair and was facing Till, towering above him watching him sit.

"Let's talk about something 'ridiculously stupid', then." He grinned. "Let's get to know each other more."

For many minutes, they sat. They talked. About small things—the things they hasn't said before, in their past few meetings. Ivan's life. Till's life. The memories in Anakt Garden, the early early days, Mizi, her and her friend, the flowers.

And once they had nothing to talk about, they faced away from each other.

For the rest of the time after their little conversation, they sat in silence, and Till waited for Ivan to finish replying to every letter he'd received. It was nice, he supposed, to be uncaring for a time—even if he knew it wouldn't last. Ivan seemed to think that, too, the occasional glances back and the questions asked once in a while.

When the moonlight pooled in, Till stared outside the building, facing the gleam of the stars. Ivan followed him outside the door. He stood close by, surveilling the hallways for any aliens. Till gave a chuckle, immediately muffled by Ivan's hand.

"Shush."

Ivan pulled Till away from the window, still with a hand over his mouth. Till, in annoyance, tried wriggling free of his grasp.

"Le' go," came his softened voice. His attempts to push Ivan away were weak; probably because of how sluggish he felt during the evening.

"I can't have you trying to escape at night. They put up extra guards after your escape."

He felt the softness of the bed underneath him as the world started to fade from his grasp. He sighed; staring up at Ivan, who stared down blankly, Till remembered his time in the cell. The same feeling, the same notion that the things he tried to reach for where out of control. And somewhere in the back of his mind was the panic about falling asleep in Anakt Corp and waking up in the morning—he didn't dwell to much upon it.

"Sleep, Till. I'll wake you in the morning."

Ivan's hand grabbed the sheet and laid it over him. His fingertips were close to Till's chin, nails brushing skin every so often as he adjusted the bedsheet. His sense of urgency slipped. Everything slipped.

It was like he was sleeping in a warm embrace again. Every human was damned to succumb to their happiest memories, and Till, with his consciousness slipping away at the thought of sleeping so peacefully wrapped with warmth,—Anakt Garden's beds? His mother's arms?—the last thing he saw was Ivan.

Oh, right.

He'd forgotten to tell him about the target on his back...

...

There was a darkening look on Ivan's face.

He lifted his fingers from Till. He crouched by the bed, watching him sleep. He did not stand up to leave—he instead tilted to the left and laid against the hard tiled floor, facing Till's side, with curiosity humming at the back of his voice as he spoke.

"You never tell me anything about you," he stated. "If you've forgiven me or not. Why you're so kind to me all of a sudden."

His lips quirk at the edges. Like an unheard haha.

"Is it because you really do like me? You think I'm special?"

Ivan rolled to face the ceiling, a smirk still bright.

"Is it because I'm cool?" was the last thing he said that night.

Chapter Text

Hyuna wasn't sure what to do. She watched Till run off to the city, a sense of regret stabbing her in the chest. She knew what he was doing wasn't right.

She'd seen him and Ivan at the city walls one day, when she and the rebels were heading inside for a mission. It had clicked. She had realized. Them, back in Anakt Garden. Them, sitting under the trees and fighting. It was only expected, right? That the both of them would go crawling back to each other after years of absence. (Maybe when Till decided to skip a performance night was when she should've started getting suspicious. He never skipped performances. Or club nights. Or both at the same time.)

He still hadn't returned from the city. Hyuna glanced towards the city outside, tapping her foot on the sand. She lifted her sunglasses to get a better look—the sun beat down on her back, yet there she stood, pinpointing the silhouette of Anakt Corp. What if Till had been killed? Hyuna should've confronted him the moment she'd seen him and Ivan talk. She thought mentioning that Ivan was a new threat to the rebels might've discouraged him—it hadn't. Hyuna wondered if he'd thought to tell Ivan that he was being targeted. But he was loyal. He couldn't betray the rebellion, after being in it for so long. And she trusted him. She knew (trusted) that he must've been planning something. Something that would stop Ivan faster than they could.

"Am I a…bad leader?" she mused loudly.

"You aren't."

Mizi came up beside her, staring in the same direction she was.

"Unnie. What makes you think you're bad at leading?"

Hyuna cocked her head. "Mm, nothing. Just asking myself questions."

She should've asked Till why. Why even bother to talk to a traitor like him, when he knew the damage he'd done to the rebels. Till had even planned on killing him that day—yet he was talking to him now like they regularly met up from time to time. She should've said something to stop him.

But…she didn't. She'd wait. For some ultimate betrayal reveal or for the day Till came to her and admitted his guilt. But was waiting for him to confess waiting for his death? Hyuna had waited to rescue Jacob, and he'd died. If she waited to pull Till away from him…

"You're a great leader, Hyuna. Isaac thinks you are." Mizi was tying her hair up in a ponytail as she spoke, combating the morning's winds. "There are some things you haven't gotten over, he said, but all in all. You shouldn't doubt yourself."

Her eyes kept scanning the city buildings until she saw commercials among commercials displaying on the buildings; she caught a flash of blond hair, pale skin. Her breath caught in her throat, but she shook that feeling away.

"I guess I shouldn't say such things." Hyuna hung her hand around the back of her head, then using her other arm, she pulled Mizi closer. "Thank whatever gods are out there for a girl like you, Mizi."

Inside, though, she had the same question playing on repeat. Am I a bad leader? Am I a bad leader? If only someone else would've taken the position. If only she'd known what Till was thinking earlier.

What was she doing wrong?

"Isaac bought more mannequins for you to shoot. He said you should go over mission planning with him later, too," Mizi listed, finishing the last loop around her ponytail.

"I'll see to it."

She wouldn't call Till a traitor yet. She'd have to find out more about them before losing a life-long and loved rebel like him. As she skimmed through the city's buildings, she caught the commercials of the blond-haired performer again, on a giant glass skyscraper she'd never cared to look to before.

She tore her eyes away. "Make sure you're training well, alright? I'm giving you less supervision next mission. You've got great potential, Mizi, don't waste it all."

"Ivan."

Ivan stopped in his tracks. He turned to see Unsha standing a few feet away, his hat casting a long shadow over his face. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"Unsha…"

"What were you aiming at in your performance, young lad?" His voice was scolding and a little cold—he approached Ivan in a few swift footsteps. Ivan instinctively stepped back, but was stopped by a single claw.

"Today's performance was terrible. Son, I would've expected better from you. That Luka human is nothing but a fraud—and yet, he's gained the favor and more and more aliens. Especially today." Unsha pulled him closer, and leaned down close to his ear. "You know what they do to performers who stop getting traction?"

Ivan remembered. He glanced at Luka, still performing on the stage, his smile bright for the cameras and singing echoing around the stadium in light, pleasant tunes—and hatred, somewhere from the bottom of his heart, started to brew up. He might've been scared, if he were any younger and naiver, in a new performer's clothes.

"Exactly." Unsha straightened back up, seeing that Ivan had gotten the cue. "And you're worth more than a performer, Ivan, you're a valued member of the Segyein. I'm expecting better of you than that bland performance today. The aliens told me you're already slipping with your performances, and I'm predicting soon—someone will take your spot on the stage."

Ivan only nods.

Unsha pivoted quickly away from him and turned to leave. Ivan, despite not showing it, felt himself thinking of his death. He thought of Luka next to him, watching with glee as he fell to the ground, watching his own blood splatter across the stage when it used to be the other competitors. He clenched his fist. What had distracted him? Unsha never gave a damn about most of his performances unless they were amazing or terrible. Something had thrown him off guard that performance. Something…

That day's performance was a failure. The first failure he'd encountered, ever. But next time, he'd make up for it. Next time he went onto the stage, he wouldn't disappoint Unsha like he did the previous performance.

He made it back to his room silently. He didn't make conversation with the aliens, hadn't bothered to say a single hello—maybe they were scrutinizing him for his odd behavior, or for the lack of manners he carried with him that day. He swung open the door to find Till sitting on his floor, a paper under his hands. Ivan widened his eyes.

"Did you take some of my letter paper?" He asked.

"Shit. That was your letter paper?" Till flipped it to the backside, returning it back to him with a sheepish smile. "Hah. Well, I didn't see a label. My bad."

"It's alright." Ivan flipped it back to the right side up, and saw himself, drawn in thick pencil strokes, on the paper. A drawing.

It was scary how accurate the details were; down to his eyes, his hair, his snaggletooth. Sketched with faint eraser lines showing in-between the strokes.

"I drew you." Til grinned.

…Oh.

"It's great, Till." He held it close to his chest, wrinkling the paper slightly, just so slightly. "I don't have any advice for you. It's beautiful."

"Keep it."

"Thank you."

He stared at himself again—though his face was without color, though he knew the calm, content expression on the drawing was completely imaginary, it was so like him. He realized it had been a while since he'd seen one of Till's drawings. It was a shame, Ivan thought, he couldn't keep Till as his personal artist. If humans a part of the Segyein could keep other humans as pets. He'd have Till draw every day, and he'd be there to admire—every day.

But, he was getting too ahead of himself. He placed the paper next to the vanity mirrors. "I appreciate it, Till. Is there anything else you drew?"

"Only thing I could draw. I woke up relatively late."

"Then shouldn't you be on your way now?"

Till sighed when Ivan reminded him. He stuffed his pencil into his pocket. "If I head back now, they'll still get mad at me for disappearing on them an entire night. I can stay for a while."

Ivan acknowledged it quietly.

"And, by the way, I heard you over the TVs. I saw you on stage earlier, too, after I woke up."

He lifted his head to meet Till's eyes. The rebel's expression was a mix of quiet, simple content. Like he was enjoying the moment—a stark contrast to the anxious looks he'd worn before. He didn't know what had calmed inside of him, and he wouldn't dare to guess. He'd just enjoy the good look on his face.

"Oh, really? Was my performance good?"

"It was great. It's not a wonder you won Alien Stage."

He sat back down on the mattress. The bedsheet Ivan had provided him with was folded neatly at the foot of the bed, and he'd taken off his shoes. Ivan wouldn't sugarcoat his presence, but he seemed to bring some warmth to the cold room sitting in his room there. Ivan remembered last night—he'd fallen asleep rather quickly, then risen early to attend to the duties he'd skipped for Till. It took him a few hours, then he'd had another performance with Luka. Of course, performances are no short things; he wondered why he hadn't seen Till amongst the crowd.

"They didn't quite like it. The crowd."

"They're used to things that are better than they deserve. Your singing was still the nicest thing I've ever heard."

He didn't know if Unsha or Till was right. But in the end, he knew only Unsha's opinion mattered. Some knots in his chest tied. It reminded him of the next performances he'd have with Luka. Ivan knew if he gained the unpopular vote again, there would be consequences.

But he'd let it go for one day. He had to focus on Till.

"It's just my duty," Ivan said stiffly, refusing to take the compliment. "But, thank you."

"Speaking of which, can I accompany you on your duties today?" Till casually asked.

"You know the answer to that."

"No? What about anywhere else?"

Ivan pondered it for a tad bit. Then, replied again, "No."

"There's nothing much to do in this bleak room. I'd love to see something, at least, before I leave this place."

There was nothing he could visit. Nothing without revealing a little bit of the aliens' information. Ivan looked back down.

"Anakt Garden?" he suggested, without much intention.

Till blinked. "Anakt…Garden?"

"Sometimes humans are allowed to go in and visit the children, if their alien permits it. Only from afar, to prevent attachment. I'm sure the children will love it when new humans visit them—they are curious little beings, after all."

Till tilted his head and squinted his eyes, putting on the display of thinking. "Sure. But don't you think someone will recognize me?"

Ivan quirked his eyebrows. He didn't expect Till to accept. But his surprise faded quickly.

"I've got a solution to that. Come over here."

Ivan shuffled through some of the lower drawers on the dresser, and opened one where his performance clothes were folded neatly, and hats were organized by color and size. He gestured to it.

"This is where I keep my performance clothes. What you'll see me wear on stage." He was thoughtful with his words, careful not to let the most unnecessary ones slip. "I think it's alright if I lend you a hat and some clothes. Just to cover you up, make sure there's nothing to recognize about you."

"That's fine."

"Then, which one do you like?"

He shuffled through them, looking through the clothes, while Ivan kept close watch over him, carefully making suggestions about which one would stand out less or more. They picked out a few of the less eye-catching ones, the plain monochrome coats that Ivan never wore on stage. Ivan placed a small, brown hat just big enough to fit a human head on Till, covering his gray hair. His hand brushed Till's forehead, and he paused momentarily, before he resumed wiping the the bangs off his forehead. Then, Till shrugged on the gray coat he'd given, doing the buttons up.

"Looks good, doesn't it?" Ivan stepped back to admire his work. He was almost unrecognizable, if not for his teal eyes and the expression he carried on his face.

"I look taller."

"You're almost my height."

That earned him a scowl.

Ivan made sure all the cameras were disabled from their live feed and no aliens were patrolling the halls, holding Till close to him with an arm wrapped around his chest—then, they set out, walking across the hallways with confidence. There was an exit near his room, and they opened the door cautiously, staring at the dark stairway in the exit path. There were vines hanging from the rusty railings all the way down the stairs, and overall, it was in no brilliant condition. Though, when the sound of the squeaking tires of a trolley started to sound their way, Till pushed Ivan first into the dingy stairwell, then turned to close the door behind them.

"How many stairs are there?" Till muttered, starting to climb down. "Your room's at a pretty high height, isn't it?"

"I'm guessing it is. There should be a good number of floors before we hit the bottom."

"Want to race?"

"We aren't children anymore, Till. And the exit doors aren't exactly soundproof."

"Well, you must be a fun person," Till grumbled, though he kept his voice lower.

They made it down several flights of stairs, staying silent and sticking to each other. Occasionally, there would be extra dark areas where they'd almost slip and fall; Ivan admitted he'd never been through that stairwell more than once, and that once might have been a long time ago, when he had no idea how untasteful walking up and down an abandoned stairwell must have been.

When they reached the bottom floor, finding the next set of stairs barricaded off by an electric fence, Ivan gestured for Till to stay behind while he checks what was outside. There were a few offices lined up on both walls, and further along the passage divided to the left. Ivan scanned the offices—no aliens yet. They quickly ran along it, heading towards the left divide.

There was an exit to the building. Pushing open the door, they ran through it to see the sun beaming down at them; Till shielded his eyes from the harsh rays with his hat, which he'd tilted down to cast more shade. Anakt Garden's silhouette was visible a long distance away. Till pointed to it with interest, and Ivan nodded.

"That's Anakt Garden. All we've got to do is run over and notify them you're there to see the Anakt children."

"What about my non-existent alien? Aren't aliens suspicious of humans by themselves?"

"They know who I am and how trustworthy I am to them. Don't worry about a thing, Till."

They started walking; and Ivan was compeled to admit, minutes into their long stroll, to Till that he'd made a foolish decision not bringing one of his hats on a sunny day like that one. And, unprompted, Till placed the hat on top of his head. He felt the hot sun stop beating so harshly on his hair, instead replaced by the cool shade of the fitting yet ordinary hat. He felt something like surprise hit him.

"I've had my share of the cool. Get a little of yours, too," was what Till had said in response.

They continued walking, with a little smile on Ivan's face thinking about how nice Till must have been to forfeit the cool.

"I haven't been to Anakt Garden in a while. It's…still the same, right?"

"If you mean the rules, the classes, and the structure of the place, then yes. If you mean everything else, then no."

"Of course I mean not everything would be the same. Nothing ever stays the same." Till slowed his pace and let Ivan catch up to him, feet taking smaller steps. "I guess not much will be different for me. It's just going to be nostalgic."

They walked closer to the sewer system, running from Anakt Corp to Anakt Garden. He caught Till staring at them oddly, like he was trying to figure out where he'd seen them before.

"The youth are quite different than what we've been. They're quieter, more obedient. I suppose the aliens learned a thing or two from your escape and a few others," Ivan began.

"You visit Anakt Garden?"

"Of course I have. I visit it sometimes and say hello to the kids. I'm there to deliver supplies and support them vocally every once in a while—the aliens there are used to my presence. I'll say you're a Segyein's pet that they sent me to take you there."

The silhouette approached, closer and closer. They were just steps away from the entrance.

Till looked down at his feet as he walked.

"That's a good idea. They won't recognize you as easily," Ivan remarked as he opened both of the doors with his entry card. The metal doors swung open, and they were met face to face with an alien standing at the door. It took one long glance at them, at Ivan, but saw Till immediately.

"What is that thing doing here?" The alien sneered, jabbing his pen at Till. "Isn't it supposed to be with an owner?"

"His owner let him come to Anakt Garden today. It's a special day for him."

The alien wrote something brief on its clipboard, then walked closer to Till, peering at the rebel with unfriendly eyes. "Adopted from the slums? He doesn't look like a rich one."

"Yes, but his owner's quite wealthy. He's just wearing plain clothes today."

"Then I'll let you go in." Still, with a disdainful attitude towards Till, he let them pass through the doors.

They walked through the empty hallways; there were posters with vibrant colors and smiling children plastered on the walls, advertisements Ivan had seen a million times before. Till stared at them with silent curiosity. Normal for a first-time visit—after all, no children were allowed near the entrance, or the hallways connecting to it.

They began to head deeper into the building. A fake sky surrounded them on all sides, along with a fence closing the children in from the walls. It had looked so real when they were young. The skies, the grass, everything. Ivan and Till watched the Anakt children from the windows, all sitting in a circle with composition sheets clenched in their small hands. Till's eyes were lit up in awe.

"This…really is Anakt Garden," he murmured. He touched one hand against the glass. The children didn't notice the either of them; they faced their alien instructor, singing a stage song for the fate they'd have to face someday, for the stage they'd die on. And yet they remained clueless to what exactly their fate was. Ivan had gotten used to it, their smiles, their bright eyes.

"Must seem familiar," he muttered to him.

Till nodded hesitantly. "I haven't seen the inside of Anakt Garden in ages," he admitted. "I'd almost forgotten what it looked like. Almost." Fingers curling up on the surface, eyebrows furrowed, Ivan watched him watch the children boredly.

"Want me to get a muffin for you?" Ivan lightly joked.

Till's eyebrows pressed down on his eyes, squinting. "They'd probably be stale. I didn't like the food here."

They walked through the building; past a few rooms stocked with alien lab equipment (a few with children strapped down to test beds—Ivan made sure Till didn't see any of that, of course. He wasn't one to ruin a trip down memory lane), past ajar doors that secured rooms with bunk beds near each wall; until they exited the childrens' bed quarters and out onto the open Anakt Garden. The lesson had ended, and the children were running about in the garden, a little bit of free time before their next evaluations. A few of them had seen the two humans standing at the door, but none of them approached them yet. Ivan pointed at something out of their reach.

"Hey, look. Red flowers."

"What?"

Small flowers were scattered across the grass, in some of the childrens' hair, crushed, broken, or still intact stuck deep in the ground.

"You remember those?" Ivan asked, somewhat wistfully.

Till stared at them for a little while, something uncomprehensible on his face. Ivan looked at him, finding the reflection of Anakt Garden in his eyes. Oh, well. He'd leave him to marvel at the garden—he'd done almost the same thing when he'd visited after winning Alien Stage.

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember." he lifted his gaze up. "And the trees, and the sun looking down at us. And when I thought the sky was real. It was so much dimmer than I thought it would be, the first time I stepped outside and saw the real world."

They walked along the fence, eyes sweeping the clouds above them. For a moment, Ivan forgot about everything else outside of him and Till; he couldn't have imagined walking side by side with Till one day, in the same fields that once kept them together, newly reuniting them again. It was almost like a dream. It didn't matter if he was a rebel, if he hated Ivan for who he'd become. He wanted to be true friends. The things that Unsha and the Segyein had said about the rebels and their cowardly hiding from the aliens—maybe they weren't all true. They could really be friends, if they just tried.

Ivan didn't know what he was clinging onto. What prejudice he wanted to hang onto like a blind sheep, for the rest of his life, or for the rest of eternity. When he stared at Till, shining in the sunlight, silhouetted against those fake Anakt clouds, he thought there was no reason for good things to end so soon. He thought he could, at least, cherish their second friendship long after the first one ended now.

"Do you enjoy walking here?" Ivan asked quietly. He took Till's hand into his, warm, rough skin. Like two children walking together—a little childish, he supposed, but there weren't any aliens watching him to stop him. "If you want, we could come back here more often."

Till shook his head. "I think I'll stick to meetings at Anakt Corp. But still, it's nice."

"The children here are kind, so you can talk to a few if you'd like." He found a few children playing off in the distance, tackling each other under the shades of the trees. "But I imagine the alien instructors wouldn't be too happy about a nobody human pet talking to a bunch of Anakt children."

"Am I a nobody human pet?" Till said under his breath.

"You are, to them. They don't take to humans outside of Anakt Garden too nicely."

"Hmm. The new alien instructors don't sem like the friendliest of beings."

They stopped at a corner of the fenced off field, feet firmly planted in the green grass and looking out at the entire garden.

"Can we go to the kitchens?"

"Why? Want a muffin?"

Till sharply elbows him. "That's not funny anymore. No more of that, you moron. I mean really."

"The aliens won't allow me. I've tried to ask them." Ivan gave him a wide grin. "Is there anywhere else you'd like to go? You've explored most of what you're allowed to, so I'm going to suggest we head back to Anakt Corp, if you must."

"Let's walk a little more. I want to remember this scenery more vividly when I'm gone." There was still some awe left in his eyes. Ivan grabbed onto his hand again, and they started walking into the center of the garden, past playing children, past tall trees.

When Till decided they were done, he tilted his head in the direction of the exit quickly. They quickly ran over to the door leading back to the entrance, and the sunlight disappeared from above their heads soon enough. They exit out through the entrance, passing the alien who'd scrutinized Till again, and the second time it let them pass without a word, only a glance of suspicion. They made it out into the horizon enough, and Till let out a sigh.

"Anakt Garden looks…duller now."

"Maybe because you're all grown up?"

"Maybe it's that. Maybe I just expected it to be more colorful than it actually was. I thought the sun would be brighter and the clouds would be prettier."

The horizon in front of them was nothing like Anakt Garden.

"You were wrong."

Till took his hat and clothes off, and threw it at Ivan, who caught it into his hands albeit with some difficulty; once he was out of those clothes could Ivan recognize him again. He smiled, placing the hat onto his own head.

"Once, the entire earth looked like Anakt Garden. Green grass, tall trees, flowers. It was colorful. That would be fun to live in, wouldn't it?" Till mused out loud.

"I…guess so."

"Not everything's as colorful as Anakt Garden is. But I think color doesn't really matter. Let's not come back here again when I visit, shall we?"

"Hit too hard with the memories?" Ivan asked.

Till raised his eyebrows. "…In a way," he responded, thinking of something inside—something Ivan wouldn't care to decipher.

The sun's still shining bright on both of their backs, and the sky's a light, light gray. There were no clouds in the sky, compared to yesterday's heavy rain. Ivan pressed a hand to Till's chest, looking around, making sure there were no alien guards as they spoke. (There weren't. But paranoia's not an easy feeling to shake off.)

"Should you be leaving now? The sun's high in the air."

Till slowly turned his head upwards. Then, with a few blinks, he said, "Huh. You're right."

"We must've killed a good amount of time in the garden."

"No way. We took forever walking. If only you hadn't been so slow, perhaps the sun would be a little lower in the sky."

Ivan chuckled. "Blame me, then. But I believe it's a goodbye I'm supposed to be hearing from you."

Till raised one hand, and waved him a goodbye. "See you tomorrow night. Don't forget to wait for me by the walls this time—please."

Ivan squeezed his clothes closer to his chest, gifted with the warmth of Till, who'd just worn those. "When will you meet me?"

"Early evening, how about it. I want to explore the city."

He took that request into mind. With his own, returning wave, he watched Till run off with a smile still lingering on his lips. Then his smile disappeared, just as quickly as Till did, and he started to walk back to Anakt Corp.

Ivan wouldn't have guessed his meetings with Till were going to be fun. Something he anticipated. There was an unsettling change in his mentality, and it was surprising how one rebel could flip some of his world view like that. The sun only continued to rise the longer he walked.

Anakt Garden disappeared from eyeshot eventually, and he knew soon he'd approached Anakt Corp. But he'd visit Anakt Garden some other time again, even if Till didn't want to. Maybe to relive the memories he'd relived a hundred times—and the new one he'd gained, too, just for an extra sense of warmth when Till wasn't there.

Ivan couldn't stop thinking about Till and his stupid expression in Anakt Garden.

He stared at the composition papers in frustration. With one pen in one hand, a clenched fist in the other. Sometimes, he snapped his neck to the bed just to see if Till was there—he wasn't. He never was, no matter how hard he looked. He inhaled, and wrote a couple additional lines on his sheet of paper; then, quickly crossed it out. He'd crossed out about ten sentences by then, and was running out of space.

"You know what they do to performers who stop getting traction?"

Dammit.

He'd crossed out another sentence at the bottom. He grabbed a new paper from the drawers and slammed it down on top of his messy draft. He was so close to just giving up. But he needed to release a new album soon, just to rise to the top of the industry again. He thought back to Luka, getting more popular by the second, and felt something like determination fill his chest. He wouldn't lose to Luka. He wouldn't lose the position he'd fought for so long.

But thinking of Till. Him and his voice. The clothes and hat he'd worn that day, still sitting on Ivan's bed, unfolded. Ivan was getting distracted, with all of that Till nonsense. He wrote another line down on the paper, probably another one to sacrifice later—he'd been making a big number of mistakes, and he never made mistakes. Ivan was sure he was getting off track.

Eventually, he gave up. He tossed his song's rough drafts into the trash can, deciding on sitting at his vanity stool and mulling over nothing. Then, he spotted a paper on the ground, something he'd forgotten to throw away.

Till's drawing of Ivan. He took it into his hands. Well, there was one thing he could do. He grabbed another sheet of paper and hovered his pen over it, thinking for a while. Unkept, grayish hair…teal eyes…an annoyed expression…he tried drawing him like Till did to him, just for a gift to surprise him with the next time he saw him.

Drawing was a lot more difficult than he'd originally thought. His drawing looked nothing much like Till's—his lines were crooked, his accuracy was off, and the drawing didn't look much like Till at all. He held it to Till's art, comparing the two. Close enough. He was sure Till would appreciate it the next time he came over. He hummed and taped Till's art next to his vanity mirrors, smiling at it for a few seconds, before taking his own art and scribbling a little note of gratitude on it.

A big step into their friendship.

Maybe they'd be something more than just friends, someday, came an absent thought in his mind. How truly ridiculous that might be.

He left his own drawing of Till on the vanity, with the note, To Till, from your grateful friend. Though he'd crossed out the 'grateful' adjective about three times before deciding to rewrite it again—because there was nothing that he was other than grateful. Grateful for Till.

Chapter Text

Till needed to hide himself. Quick.

He nearly stumbled over a rock as he made his way into the garage; heart beating, he quickly slid under one of the metal tables to the left and looked at Dewey, who had just watched him come in with wide eyes.

"Don't let Isaac or Hyuna know I'm back," Till whispered furiously. "I'll deal with them myself."

He was going to be in trouble.

"You've been missing for an entire night, Till!" Dewey said, concerned, approaching the table he'd ducked under. "Everyone's been searching for you."

"Go!"

"Isaac told us if we found you, we—"

"Just go. I'll pay you back if you be quiet!"

Dewey took a step back, then for a moment he paused, giving Till an uneasy expression of indecisive trouble. When he finally decided, when the footsteps of more rebels started to approach, he muttered a "Fuck this" and turned to the exit. Till didn't know if that was a good thing, or not. He curled up into a ball, hoping the shadow of the table would be enough to keep him hidden for a while.

The rebels came through the exit Dewey had just darted through. Till burrowed his face into his knees as he heard them distribute evenly in the garage. He'd wait until they'd gone to come out and find Isaac. He listened for their footsteps—which, frustratingly, never seemed to fade from the garage—and their voices, arguing about a mission Till had no idea was coming. He wrapped his hands around his chins, in a fetal position of sorts on the dirty garage floor.

"Isaac said to bring explosives. We're rescuing humans, not killing aliens."

"You think we can't bring one or two throwing knives to defend ourselves?"

"The explosives will work just fine!"

"Like hell they will. I'm not dying in a friendly fire."

The cluttering of a grenade falling onto the floor sounded. A few yells sounded from the rebels, then the grenade was picked up hurriedly and stuffed into a bag.

"Do that one more time, and I'm asking Hyuna to place me on solo missions only!"

"What a coward."

Till heard new footsteps come into the room once the door opened again; he felt his heart beating faster and faster each second that passed, and he wouldn't dare move. Each scrape of a shoe's sole, each sudden loud word made him panic. He dug his shaking fingers deeper into his pants. Till held his breath when he realized the next person to walk in where the two people he least wanted to see then.

"Isaac. Hyuna. We were…"

"Just about to leave?" Hyuna added with a slightly amused tone.

"You were supposed to leave minutes ago," Isaac scolded more firmly. "I've already sent another bunch out. Don't bother going if you can't listen."

"But we've already got—"

"Hand them back."

There were a few mutters passed around the rebel group, then a heavy bag collided with the floor. Till nearly stopped breathing when a shadow began growing on him. Then, a thud sounded, and Till dared himself to peep up, just a little. The bag of grenades of sitting in front of him, but no one had noticed he was under the table. He grew relieved.

"What were you doing the whole time?" Hyuna interrogated the entire group.

"We don't know?"

"Give me a plausible answer."

"Arguin', that's what it sounded like," Isaac retorted. "And I didn't say anything about only bringing explosives. You bring as much as you can carry."

"Where was this group assigned to again?" Asked Hyuna, to the other rebels.

"One of the other wealthy human-owning buildings deeper into the city, besides Anakt Corp. The one we haven't raided in a while."

One rebel piped up. "We'll join the next mission, we promise—"

"There won't be 'another mission'. Not for the rest of the week," Isaac said. He saw the silhouette of Isaac approach the bag of grenades, then lean on them, back facing Till.

"Take this bag back to the storage, and the best you'll get to do is staying back and piecing together rocket scraps."

Oh, no.

Till quietly maneuvered deeper into the shadows of the table until his feet hit the wall behind him. He hoped the slight movement he took wasn't enough to reveal his position; luckily, there was no sign that the rebels saw or heard him. He exhaled the breath he was holding.

The sack of grenades in front of him was picked up, and the shadow turned to loom over the empty, flat ground of the garage. He heard footsteps leading out of the garage, until the door shut, and there was nobody left. Till hid under that table for a few seconds longer, so that he could be completely sure. When there really was no sound left, he got up. Dusted the cobwebs and the dirt off of his clothing. Took a few looks around the place. Then promptly followed the group of rebels that had just left.

He didn't know how to reveal himself. Would it be awkward to march up to Hyuna and say, "I'm back"?

Or, what if he continued on with his day like everything was normal? Would that be better?

Till, hands shaking, closed the door gently behind him. He continued down the corridor, ignoring the rooms to his left and right. The old, unkept corridor with the paint peeling at the edges—white paint—and the wooden floor that seemed to have been there for so, so long. The longer he walked them, the longer he existed in discomfort. He didn't look down, instead at the white-painted walls, which he pretended were smoother than they looked—the only things missing were rebel posters, Alien Stage advertisements, and Ivan's room, at the very end of the corner, with a vanity mirror and the bed he tucked himself in not too long ago…

No, no. That was Anakt Corp. He was in the rebel's base. Ivan's room was not there. Neither were the mirrors, the blanket, the letter paper that Ivan had disapproved of him taking. Momentarily distracted he became by the thought of Ivan, but he continued on, coming back to reality in a snap.

At the end of the corridor, the walls were wooden again. And there, he saw an ajar room. He was tempted to look inside, but kept going forward.

He came to a wide space—the bunk room. He found his bed in the very corner, amongst all the other beds with stained mattresses and thin blankets. Till rushed over and found a small red band lying on his mattress. He forgot he'd even carried that with him. He tugged it back around his skin, turning his wrist a few times to admire it. The color of crimson Anakt flowers—as bright as they could be, when they shine in the sunlight. Ivan's. And since they were on relatively okay terms, he planned on returning it to him the next time they met. He didn't have much use for it, anyway.

Till could hardly contain his glee. Tomorrow night. They'd visit the city, and Till would get to know Ivan a little better. He knew a few things about him already, if he hadn't learned all of them in Anakt Garden.

He wasn't…all that bad.

He listened.

He replied.

He, at the very least, was respectful.

They could've been the best of friends in another life.

His back hit the mattress. Staring up at the ceiling, catching his breath, he was still listening to the footsteps that he knew would come eventually.

The red band grew close to his eyes, and his wrist turned a few more times to allow him to look it over. When it was held close to his eyes, he could specks of dried blood splattered across the band. Probably his own that he hadn't washed off with enough force. Till didn't know how long the dried blood had been there. He'd had that band for almost all of his life; through his rebel years, through his years of just being a lost Anakt Garden child under Jacob's care. Little had changed about it. And he wondered what he'd do if he'd lost it one day, through some misfortune or very unhappy chance—if one day the one thing he'd held onto for so long, would he even notice? Would he brush it off, or would he try to find it again?

He hummed softly a rebellion song, and laid his wrist to rest beside him. He hoped Ivan would appreciate how long he had kept the band in condition for him.

When the time that passed him had run a good distance, he sat up. He couldn't hear the sounds of rebels or their talking, at all—and he furrowed his eyebrows for a second, glancing around at the empty bunk room. In its usual, crispy coldness. Except something felt off. He couldn't tell why.

Quietly, Till tiptoed out of the room. He made his way to the stairs that took him above ground to the club. No one there. Feeling a bit more adventurous, he dashed out the doors and then outside again, casting his eyes towards the city. Just minutes ago, he would have been running back from Anakt Corp. Just minutes ago, he would've been enjoying every moment.

Hit too hard with the memories?

He really enjoyed their visit to Anakt Garden. More than he could've imagined.

The way they held hands, the way they walked through the field as if nothing mattered, only the warm solace of a garden with fake clouds. Too early, something in his mind reminded him, it was too early to already be feeling like that bliss would be with him forever. Somehow he didn't mind that thought.

"Little trip to the city?" Isaac asked from behind him. Till smiled, unsure about his next course of action.

"Hello, Isaac—"

"Cut it. You've been gone for a day."

He felt two hands grip his shoulders then spin him around. He came face to face with an exasperated Isaac, cap shadowing his eyes.

"Why don't we take this somewhere else?" Till said. "Not outside of the club…"

Isaac grabbed onto the back of his jacket and led him over the fences separating the club and the other buildings. Then, farther than that, over to an empty stretch of sand, where only the wind whistled in their ears. He faced him with a irritated expression on his face.

"A night. A single night. We thought you'd been up and abducted by those aliens again."

"Quit it," Till snapped. "You've got no right to fuss. It was only a night."

"I wouldn't 'fuss'," Isaac snapped even harsher, "if you'd left a note on where you were going. Did you think you were being smart, you jackass?"

"Whatever, man. Give me a break."

Isaac sighed like with the most disappointment Till had ever heard in a breath before. He tapped a knuckle against Till's head, eliciting a small "ow" from the other rebel.

"Besides being gone for one night, abandoning the rebels and running off to do whatever mysteries you're up to isn't any way to help us."

"I didn't mean it to harm the rebels!"

"Clearly not, since you came back. Now I'm going to press you anymore on this, Till. Just know you're not joining us on missions anymore. If we can't trust you to not disappear one day, then we can't trust you with responsibilities, either." Isaac turned to walk back.

"Hold on. That's bullshit!"

Isaac stopped. "And how is that bullshit?"

"I was planning to come back eventually! I just lost track of time, I'm telling you."

"But since now, you haven't even told me where you went."

"I found a place to sleep! At one of those dilapidated buildings! I was planning to visit the city—"

"And you didn't tell Hyuna you were?"

"Okay, I didn't. But it was a one-time thing. I'll tell her the next time I go out." His eyes turned a bit sincere, a bit pleading, too.

Isaac looked at him one last time, said, "I'll tell Hyuna we discussed this—but don't abandon us again without any note. And forget what I said about the missions. Hyuna's placing you on a solo in a few days."

Following Isaac back into the club, walking in a painfully slow pace, he felt his heart lighten. He couldn't believe he'd gotten away with only so much as a warning. It made him a little grateful, at least, that he was still going on missions.

"How you been feelin'?" Issac asked, sitting on the edge of the performance stage, where Hyuna and Till used to have their nightly performances.

"Good to be back with the rebels."

Isaac seemed a little uncomfortable, as if debating something inside.

"You really feeling okay?"

"Yes."

"Well, rescued rebels heal at least a month after their capture, but they don't fully recover. You know that?"

Till shifted in his seat at the edge of the stage, crossing his legs. He estimated the height from the stage's floor to the ground floor—he did anything else, not meeting Jacob's eyes. "That doesn't make sense."

"We've got a few rebels who were previously captured and never fully healed. Their scars and wounds may mend with enough time, but they never forget. You should really stay away from the city now. And maybe, for the rest of your life."

"But what if I don't want to?"

Isaac snapped his head up, like he'd never heard those words arranged in that order. His smile was a little hesitant.

"You don't?"

"I don't want to stay away from the city now," he parroted. He gripped the edge of the stage with the tips of his fingers, swinging himself back and forth a little.

"You've got determination practically wired in your brain, I know that. But a week with the aliens is no easy thing to forget."

"You're clearly underestimating me." Till released his fingers form the stage, and leaned back until his back hit the floor of the stage. He looked at the shabby wooden roof above their heads and the lights attached to it, realizing he'd never thought to look up once before. He sighed, and turned to face Isaac, lying on his side. "Oh, I get it. You don't trust me."

"…That makes no sense. 'Course I do."

"Not anymore. Since I returned, you're always acting so off around me."

Isaac was looking the other direction, staring apparently at the windows. "Won't believe anything with no proof."

"Proof's right in front of you. You've just turned the other way," Till claimed. "It's your behavior. It's like I did something to you!"

"And what do you suppose that is?"

"It's like you didn't want me to return back alive."

"Don't make those jokes." Isaac grew solemn again. He stood from the stage, his hands pressed against his body. Till sat up, blinking slow, watching as he started to head out the door. He must've offended Isaac in some way.

Hearing those footsteps stop fast, seeing one hand opening the glass door, he still couldn't catch the look in the other rebel's face. Till jumped down from the stage. He landed on his feet, wobbling but balancing soon enough. Isaac was almost out the door.

"Heading to the memorial?"

Hearing his question, Isaac lowered his cap, so it shadowed more of his face. He gave a prompt nod.

"Some of the flowers have shriveled up already. Mizi put an extra basket with the Anakt kids in the other base."

"Right."

The glass door closed behind Isaac when he left. Till's eyes widened, thinking of Mizi. He wondered where she was. She couldn't have been out of base that day…there weren't any missions, after all.

He went skipping through the base. Past the initial hallway one would enter when they climbed down the stairs. Past the room full of the rebels' bunks, past a few planning rooms, past the wide living space with the only static TV in their current base—

He paused. Turned.

His eyes never deceived him. Sitting there was Mizi, hair tied up watching the static on the television with glazed eyes, not really paying attention. He grew nervous, seeing her sitting on the raggedy carpet without much expression in her face. Till tested the atmosphere, and the results seemed fine. She lifted her head and turned to see him, but not much on her face changed.

He sat down next to her. Staring at the static television, too, trying to see what she saw, and decided there was nothing to see in a sea of black and white. The remote had to be somewhere. His eyes trailed from the carpet, to Mizi, to the remote in her hand, loosely caged by her fingers.

"You should change the channel to the news," he suggested awkwardly. "That's what most of the rebels watch."

She picked the remote up almost robotically and flipped through the channels, letting the static screen disappear at last, until he uttered a small sound at the news channel. She dropped the remote back onto the rug. On the screen were a few commercials for alien food that looked severely unappetizing.

He watched Mizi's face as the commercial's colors flashed across her face. She didn't look at him back. Almost dazed at the screen, unresponsive to his gestures.

"Are you…feeling well?"

Her head cocked. Expression brighter, looking as if she were really watching the screen and not the lights like a lost moth. "I think I've been here for a few hours. I'll let you have the remote, if you want." She seemed to have snapped out of her pondering, smile on her face, sliding the remote over to him.

"I don't need it. I'm just here to, uh—"

"I guess it's okay if you talk to me. I've gotta go in a few minutes, though." She moved herself farther from Till, just to turn face to face to him. "I've just been down here watching TV. Dewey says I shouldn't watch too much, just so we don't waste our electricity."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Something personal."

"Alright, fine, then I won't ask." Looking at her one more time, he added, "You didn't seem like you were watching much else besides that static. Or is black and white more entertaining than the alien news?"

"You don't have to worry about me."

She took the remote back into her hands. Mizi closed the TV, letting the dull sunlight be the only source of light in the room.

"I think you've got your own problems to deal with. It would be too selfless of you to concern over something else."

Oh. "Wait, did you hear Isaac—"

Mizi patted him lightly on the arm. "Isaac already told me how worried he was for you. He can't quite look at you the same way—I think that's what he said, too."

Bitterly, Till nodded back and muttered, "Thanks." a little heat crept up onto his face, and he turned to the side of the hallway leading back up to the surface.

After Mizi left, Till leaned against the wall, repeating her words in his mind. He looked towards the outside. Reached out a little, as if he could hold Ivan right there and then, and wondered why he even bothered reaching for him. Then, he left. And the TV, which had been previously playing static on repeat, started to stand motionless, dull.

Whatever comes to mind, give it a chance. . .

He hummed the rest of the final verse, trying to remember what came to mind first. Tapping his pen against the table with a too heavy force, maybe, enough to have some other rebel peek their head in and yell at him for the noise disturbance. The paper in front of him lay untouched, the rest of the lyrics up to interpretation, up to whatever Till could remember.

Whatever comes to mind, give it a chance. What were the last lyrics? He couldn't remember. It were as if his brain was deliberately trying to screw with him—he knew those song lyrics. Till had sung them on stage at least a hundred times or more, he knew them by heart. He could hear the ticking of a clock in his brain, like slow metal, rusty with time, and honestly, it was exhausting just to try and remember. He tapped his pen on the wooden surface again for any luck that would be miraculously granted to him. None came.

Under his breath he wondered about the song again; uttering about the useless silence he held, drawing little stars on the paper while his brain worked itself towards a solution. He shaded the small shapes in, staying inside the lines strictly, and by the time he came to his senses he'd drawn six stars. All colored in. All a waste of ink. He put his pen down to think, staring at the six stars in the corner of his sheet music paper.

Till tried to rise from his seat, but sat himself down seconds later, just because he didn't will himself to give up on songwriting so soon. He picked up his guitar, the one he'd propped beside his chair earlier, and gave it a strum. Then, his hands hovered over the guitar as he reran the familiar notes of the rebellion song, forgetting the lyrics he once thought he knew.

Which song should he play?

Anything that lightens the mood?

Taking a look back at his notes, he strummed his guitar again. On the brink of quitting and calling it a day he was, after a few more plucks of open notes on his out of tune guitar. He just…couldn't focus that night. On the notes, on the lyrics, on reality as it was. His hands, trembling as they came down, rested across the strings and desperately wished the night to end.

"Of course I can't stop thinking about him," Till muttered to interrupt the quiet. "Fucking hate that bastard." He strummed the strings angrily, the harsh sound bouncing off the walls of the partially empty room. Mostly empty, with only a desk, a chair, and the window. Whatever comes to mind, give it a chance. He took a glimpse outside the window, to the fading afternoon sky, and to whatever beyond he couldn't see. There in the sky were stars beginning to appear; no constellations to match, but soon, there would be. Someone else stared at those exact stars, too. And Till hoped that someone knew the same thing he did.

"I'll be there soon." Till strummed his guitar again, just so he didn't have to hear the silence speaking back to him. "For a little visit. Don't bring me any muffins this time."

The fourth and the fifth time they met was all in one week. Impressive, right? Till, the ever so impatient idiot. Desperate to see Ivan again, he visited him more often that he should have.

The fourth time he was cautious. Exiting early in the morning, he took a slice of fresh bread and canned vegetables in his pocket to meet Ivan, if he was ever hungry on the way there, and a large robe with a color that would match the color of the sand below his feet when he walked. More 'luxurious' than the previous treks he'd pursued to walk to the city. The fourth time, he was more prepared with excuses and evidence in case the rebels truly got curious and started interrogations on him—he didn't think he'd ever admit the secret meetings. Secret, but indulgent. Only Anakt knew how much those meetings would mean to him.

The fourth time.

He spotted Ivan walking along the wall boredly, glancing up at the sky every second. Till wanted to run forward and approach him, but noticed the alien guards posted above him on top of the city walls. Guns pointed outside, startled alert after movement on the sand. Till didn't move. He just hoped that they would turn away for a second.

His footsteps became slow. He walked forward very slowly, hands shaking, careful so that they would not be alerted. Closer he came, and he was surprised none of them had seen him. Most of them were chatting with each other, or on guard at the further sides of the walls, but as for the other half…

He threw a can of vegetables far the other way. It disappeared in a rain of gunshots, and Till was covered in a cloud of dust. He coughed. He thanked himself over and over he'd brought his robe.

Not his, actually. He stole it from Hyuna. Till wondered how he'd sheepishly explain the disappearance of it.

Ivan seemed to spot him. The moment they locked eyes, the other's widened, and he signaled for Till to head back. The alien guards above were wasting bullets on every slight movement, and Till wasn't sure he could risk turning back without getting pelted by gunfire. Ivan held up a few fingers, and Till tried to decipher his meaning.

Five? Five o'clock? Or five minutes?

He squinted, dumbfounded. When at last he agreed inside that there was no use figuring, Till kept walking forward, clutching the robe tighter around his body. He was almost suffocating himself.

And then, a gunshot hit the sand next to him.

He slowed his pace. Did they suspect him already? They couldn't.

And they didn't, anymore. When he reached the city walls at last, gasping after holding in a long, baited breath, he looked up to find Ivan gone.

Oh, well. He'd wait there. And that concluded their fourth time meeting—it wasn't much of a meet, just a sighting…but he'd count it. Just because he wanted to count every moment.

And so the fifth time came around.

Ivan was still performing when he arrived at the city. He spied him in the theater, sneaking in through the hallways wearing a hood over his hair. He, somehow, got front-row seats. And from underneath Ivan's place on the stage, he watched him sing to the aliens with the most grace he'd ever seen him perform.

His singing.

If they had to compete with each other on Alien Stage, all those years ago, Till would surely have lost. What a funny thought that in another life, Ivan could have killed him. Stood over his body while the blood seeped underneath his shoes, and the reflection of a scoreboard shined in the red liquid. Found himself the Alien Stage champion, not once looking back on Till's death in his life going forward.

When Ivan was done, letting the crimson lights fade to a simple, small spotlight, deafening applause roared around the theater. He disappeared behind the curtains and backstage soon enough. Till knew at that moment he had to chase him.

He found Ivan not far from the theater, standing on a mezzanine balcony overlooking the floor below it. Till grabbed him by the arm.

"Nice seeing you here."

Ivan turned, and saw him, and the illusion of stoicism shattered when a surprised eyebrow raised. "Till."

They disappeared into an elevator.

"What do you think of that performance?" he asked when he closed the elevator door.

"Great. But deep red lights aren't exactly my thing."

"Then next time you'll just have to attend the outdoor performances. They've got lights more…suitable, for you, I guess."

"Sure."

Till couldn't help but stare straight ahead at the elevator door. Never once at Ivan. His feet tapped restlessly. He could tell Ivan was trying to catch his eye, but he glanced the other way. At the shining metal elevator walls, which reflected colors in his shape and size, and one in Ivan's.

"Keep your head lower when we exit. Avert your eyes to the ground and walk slower. They'll think you're a captured human."

He already had his head hanging with his eyes pointed towards the ground. "Got it." He stopped tapping his shoes. The elevator became silent. Not intimate silence, just silence. And Till was still working out the perks of being Ivan's…friend. Yes, Ivan's friend.

"What you said about our friendship," Ivan said suddenly. "Earlier, you came when the guards were on shift, saw them, and decided to approach me, anyway. You came uninvited, so there was a chance you could've been seen."

"Sorry. I wish I dealt with my stuff faster so that I could visit you at a better time."

"Don't worry. I should've sung my songs faster so that I could meet you at a better time." His tone sounded a little passive-aggressive.

"…We've got to confirm future meetings before we end a current one?"

"Our friendship isn't supposed to be comfortable, Till."

Isn't that the point of a 'friend'ship, though?

"Comfort in a friendship is what makes it a friendship. Have you never had friends before?"

"You're the one who's never had friends before. You don't even know what the word means. Friendless loser."

Till stomped on his foot. "Then what does it mean? If you're acting so nice and conversable, what else are we besides a comfortable friendship? I thought we were getting somewhere with this."

"Of course we are."

His words scrambled. He looked up to find Ivan staring at him, feinting obliviousness.

"We're friends."

"But friends…they…learn to accept each other and let go of themselves. You know a lot about what I like, what my experiences are, but—"

"Your favorite color is teal. You hate how dry the ground is outside the city. You draw. You play guitar. You're not into muffins anymore. You count the stars every night."

"—But I don't know a thing about you. It's starting to feel one-sided."

"A friendship is when two humans gain mutual trust and support from each other. In which case, we—"

"Don't do that. We're not comfortable, at all."

Ivan lowered his eyebrows and clenched his jaw. Till hid his frustration better than Ivan did, because he too wanted to do the same thing.

He realized how embarrassing their last meeting must have been, with him falling asleep in Ivan's room and getting 'comfortable'. He couldn't grow too safe around Ivan, of course—he'd never know the day he'd find himself laying at Ivan's shoes bleeding out after a betrayal. He never knew what Ivan was thinking, not judging by the looks on his face.

So in all truth, he realized he didn't want them to be friends forever. Thinking back to Isaac, and Hyuna, and Dewey—they were what real, forever friends were. Not him and Ivan.

"Let's meet for the rest of our lives—these short, little meetings." He remembered what he said last meeting. But, if he had been entirely truthful, he would've added that he could only wish they were able to. The rebel knew, meeting again and again for the rest of their lives would only make their lives short, ending at the wrong end of a loaded gun or at the sharpest end of a knife. Why couldn't they meet, for the rest of a long life? Why did they have to meet, in secret, for fear of shame? Sometimes Till thought it was unfair they had to hide. But he knew it was only the real answer. Both of them were too stubborn to leave their sides, to truly know the meaning of having a friend without hiding it.

Because they were so stubborn to stay loyal, there was no point in staying friends, right?

That was what he initially thought.

"If we're not friends, what are we?" Till asked, voice growing a little louder.

"Well, even if we're not friends, I still want to be something good. Besides enemies." Ivan's fingertips brushed Till's. His expression was completely serious, a little drained, too.

"You still want us to meet every week and talk? It sounds like you're using me, you know?"

"Not too funny of a joke."

"You're using me, after hurting me so much. This recompensation isn't as fun when I know about your manipulation agenda." Till tilted his head down. "It's funny. I bet you even plan on killing me when you make me believe you've changed."

He must've said something weird again. Ivan rocked his feet back and forth, height going up and down, the classic mannerism to suffer through a quiet, awkward moment. He didn't even deny anything Till said.

"I like the color blue. I like singing. I'm not against the colors orange and red, but black and blue is a better duo. I'm not a fan of daytime, or the pitiful crying of humans."

"That's a vague idea of what you're like. We're still not friends, though. We don't fit the description."

"Is that good?"

"Let's just be something. And hope, that soon, we'll match the definition of a friendship—forget the labels. I'm gonna think of something eventually."

Ivan's hands slid up and brushed Till's cheek. "That's great."

"Where're your hands moving?" Till demanded, but still he let those nails scrape his cheek. And yet, it wasn't a bad feeling at all. Without much thought or much worry, he let those nails brush aside the hair in his face.

"Can I kiss you?"

"What?!" Till jumped away.

"It'll be quick. On the cheek."

Till, despite grimacing, muttered a, "Sure. If that's what we can do."

Like he said, it was a light peck, slightly warm. Till rubbed a hand over it, staring forward.

"Where'd you get that form?" he whispered, eyes wide and dazed.

"I've always wanted to try kissing you. When someone likes the other, they kiss. I learned that somewhere in Anakt Garden, but I don't remember."

"We're…"

"…not friends. So I won't kiss you again."

Affection?

Till rubbed his cheek harder, creating a red mark over it. He didn't think they liked each other enough to be affectionate. Or intimate, at all, and Till didn't know why he even tried to get any closer when their distance then was as short as they could get it be.

"Give me a kiss back." Ivan pointed at his cheek.

"I don't want to."

"But I gave you one."

Till grumbled something in frustration, then leaned forward and, as fast as he could, gave him his kiss. He heard a small huff. Pulling away, he faced the elevator door again.

"It's taking an awfully long time for us to get to ground floor."

"No, I just didn't press any of the level buttons. I thought it would buy us a little time for a talk."

"Well press one now!"

"Alright. Ground floor."

For the rest of their fifth meet after stepping out of the elevator, into an abandoned stairwell, they simply talked. (Not quite, actually—they walked in silence for most of it, up and down the stairs trying to find something to say.) Even if they decided not to be friends— it was still okay to enjoy each other's presence. Right?

When only a few minutes passed, Till tore away from Ivan, stating he needed to leave.

"Isn't it still early?" Ivan muttered.

"I don't want to disturb you any further. You've got work to do, right?"

"Our meeting's been…short." Ivan blinked, almost disappointed.

"Next time, we can visit the city," Till declared, "and it won't be short."

For their next meeting, they'd visit the city. Ivan gave a nod of agreement, to confirm the time. "In three days, we'll meet again, and we'll go to the city."

Ivan raised the tips of Till's fingers and gave them a little smooch. Till instinctively slapped his face.

"Don't do that."

"I apologize." he looked ashamed. Till carried an exasperated look on his face, until he turned around and sped out of the stairway, ignoring the hand that brushed his jacket. He rushed down flights of stairs, until he reached the exit, and traced the path they went that day to get outside.

That was their fifth meeting summed up.

Till thought they'd gotten somewhere—but maybe they were taking a different path than he'd expected.

Affection. Maybe it wasn't all bad. Maybe he could get Ivan to like him enough so that he'd come to the rebels with him. And they would be able to live a life with the rebels, like a true family…

He wouldn't break his promise to Jacob.

Till would embrace the idea of affection as long as it kept Ivan with him.

Chapter Text

He remembered what Luka had said to him, the day after he'd had that elevator talk with Till, breaking the silence and striking up the first conversation he'd had with Ivan in possibly days.

"What was that?" Luka had asked, when Ivan was sent to monitor him.

"…What?"

"That human."

And he had no clue how to respond at all—not when the aliens were within earshot of their conversation. Speaking of, Luka had been talking rather loudly. Almost as if he were taunting Ivan, in a way, forcing him to confess or he'd start asking more questions.

"An alien's pet, from Anakt Corp. I was escorting him back to his owner."

"They don't teach them to dress in rags."

And Ivan had begun to shake very subtly, trying to find ways to push himself out of the conversation.

"He was feeling shy. And very hungry, too, I think."

"It couldn't wait for its alien to bring food?"

Ivan shook his head. "His owner hadn't fed him for days."

"Oh. Is it your alien's pet?"

"Unsha doesn't own any pets," Ivan said.

Luka blinked, glancing towards the posters above his bed again. The one with the brown-haired woman, a rebel bounty. "You like the human."

"I think he's interesting."

"Will you see him soon?"

"No, not again. So not today—today, I'm going to be staying in this room, with you, watching over you as the aliens have ordered me to."

Luka cut the conversation up there. He wasn't a big conversationalist, which was surprising, considering how charming his personality seemed on stage. Off stage, he acted like a nobody. Even better, if Ivan was planning on surpassing him and reclaiming the fame Luka had stolen. It was only a matter of time before he rose back up to be everyone's favorite.

He kicked the door back and forth with his foot, remembering every performance he'd had with Luka. There was just something about him that seemed almost robotic, that no other human could mimic even if they tried and tried. Luka moved in a way that was smooth, connected, rehearsed his entire life. And each time his hands would touch Ivan's, every dance segment, it wouldn't feel like Luka's fingers ghosting his, but Till's. His movements—they reminded him so much of Till's, for some absurd reason. He couldn't describe it. Which wasn't good if he was going to find a way to surpass him. It was…those movements.

It was like Till. Though, not at all. It was another one of those words that would get lodged in his throat and never come out, because there was no language that could pinpoint exactly the term for it. He'd see Till's face on Luka's, smiling down at him, and sometimes he'd feel the fingers on his shoulders, making him pause temporarily in his song and just wish for the feeling.

Later, he'd had more to add to that. Their next performance, he'd have to study his movements closer. Memorize the way he walked, the way he talked, and make sure whatever it was, it wouldn't beat his performance ability.

Luka opened his eyes a bit, staring at Ivan from across the room. Head on the wall of posters, hands interlocked. "You know what they do to…performers, who stop getting a lot of traction?" He asked, as if he could read Ivan just from all the way across the room.

"I'm hoping you do, because I do already." He kicked the door to the right side, then moved his foot behind it to shut it closed.

"They take them from the spotlight and they gut them backstage. Then, they feed their leftovers to the children to pass on the genes." Luka shifted in his place on the bed, facing the ceiling. "Gut them and feed them to the children…" he whispered.

"Which children's story did you read? I liked that one, too." Ivan grinned back. "Who do you think your leftovers are getting fed to?"

"He said it wouldn't be me."

Ivan froze. Luka kept staring, eyes glazed but so sharp at the same time. There was something monotonous in the way he said it. He was so sure—hands clasped. Hiding his mouth. Hair tickling the top of his knuckles, and the aliens were right. He was made for the stage.

"I'm going to the restroom."

Luka had said nothing when he exited.

"What do you want, Ivan?"

The sound of his voice could just be heard distantly. Ever so faintly. Ivan saw Till on the other side of the room—no, it wasn't a room. It wasn't anything. The room around him was unfamiliar, not his own that he'd fallen asleep in. Not any room he'd ever seen in Anakt. He backed up as Till approached him, without an ounce of recognition on his face.

"Do you want to kiss me?"

"Only if you want to." He didn't want to kiss Till at all. The kiss on the hand he'd given him in their last meet should have been enough to strengthen Till's trust in him. He'd only done it to try and keep Till for as long as possible, so the thought of it never came to him again—kissing Till. It was such a bizarre thought. Yet he was sure he'd thought of it once in a while. Once. "Where are we?" Ivan asked suspiciously.

"That's not important," Till replied, leaning in. "Ivan, we've been friends for a while."

Kisses were supposed to mean love. "Of course," he said hesitantly, "You love me, don't you? Friends love each other, and you are no stranger to my affection."

"Aren't you going to kiss me?"

"On the lips," Ivan responded almost immediately. "To show you I love you. that must be the best place for a kiss."

Till gave him a disbelieving look. It faded, and was then replaced by a smile as wide as Ivan would have liked it to be. "A kiss on the lips. And one on the hand."

"A kiss on the lips is enough, for you."

His hands were resting in the palms of Till's hands, slightly warm and soft, if not a little rough. And Ivan realized he'd never thought to cherish how his hands felt. They rose, until their hands were at level with their chest.

"What about one on the cheek?" Till tightened his grip on Ivan's hand. "One on the neck?"

He wasn't one to shy away from affection, was he? And Ivan wouldn't, if it only meant keeping him closer. To have someone to love. To have someone to trust in him. Though those words felt empty. He didn't know what they meant precisely, but he knew he must've wanted them badly if he was going all that way to get Till closer.

"Just one on the lips is enough, for now."

"Are you going to kiss me now?"

He couldn't say no to it. "I will," he accepted. He dipped down and give him a swift peck. Nothing too deep, just the quickest touch, the brush of lips. And when he opened his eyes and looked back at Till again, he could tell he was still unsatisfied.

"That was too quick," he snapped. "Too shallow."

He gave him another kiss, deeper the second time, with an effort to hold the duration for longer. He tried savoring it; and when they pulled apart, Till seemed a little better. Ivan poked a finger into his cheek, right where the shoulder met it. "Here?" he asked. "What about here?"

"You don't have to."

He gave him a third kiss on the lips, mouth parted a little but expecting nothing at all from him—then, he looked to Till's cheek, and planted one kiss one there. He was starting to get tired of giving kisses.

"Give me a kiss, Till," Ivan demanded, pointing to his own face. But Till didn't respond, instead, stood still, staring up at Ivan.

"Why won't you give me a kiss?"

Till shook his head. "Kiss me again."

He gave him another kiss on the lips, with a little more force, hoping he'd like that one better, enough so that he could kiss back. One of his hands cradled Till's head the longer he held the kiss. Till made a slight sound, and hands pushed at him to break away, which he did so as instructed.

"I'll kiss you again." When Till nodded silently, Ivan added, "Only if you give me a kiss first."

He stayed silent. Then, shook his head firmly. "Kiss me," he ordered. One hand fisted Ivan's jacket, and he said again, "Kiss me."

"You should give me a kiss, now," stated Ivan.

"Just kiss me again."

Before he could, Till had disappeared from his vision, and the room around him grew familiar again. His vanity mirror and table, the mattress underneath him, the drawing of Ivan Till had gifted him, and his own drawing of Till, right underneath. The rebel was gone.

He stared at the ceiling wondering if it had been real. If the kisses he'd given and the kisses he'd never received were real. They must've been, because they felt so grounded, and Ivan could remember his thoughts. He turned to his side, blinking his eyes rapidly so that his room came into view clearly, and there everything was in their own order again; his mind and the work he'd had laid out for himself, already looking ahead into the day. He smiled slightly. He realized that he was beginning to smile a lot more, but there was no telling whether he should be happy about it or not.

No use stalling. His feet hit the cold floor beneath him (he wondered if he should ask for a rug, just so Till had somewhere warm to sit other than his bed) and the day ahead of him began to dawn. It grew a little less hopeful when he remembered Till.

Till hadn't had time to visit him any day that week. He didn't tell Ivan that, but Ivan figured out anyway, when the week passed and Till had yet to show up. It felt like he'd wasted every second of his week waiting for him when he wasn't going to be there at all. Why was he disappointed if he knew he shouldn't expect so much from him? An unexplainable answer, something most of his questions were left with. And he found it so frustrating, too, that he simply decided to forget about Till until he came back, so nothing else would plague his mind whilst he waited. And waited.

It made his week a little worse, waiting.

He examined the blue robe he was wearing for any dirt that hadn't been washed off. (And maybe fire the alien who did such a poor job at cleaning his new coat, but would that make his week any better, or just ruin it even more?) When there appeared to just be spotless fabric, Ivan left it to be. It was alright, but not better than his plain look. The one with the white jacket and white pants. He was told Luka was borrowing it that day. The man getting bombarded with love and interviews and photo shoots when it should have been him.

No. He shouldn't think that way.

His grip on his fame, his singing, and the favor he held in the aliens' hearts—they could slip. Start to, if Luka kept up his performances any longer. He stepped outside his door, blinded by the sunlight the moment his eyes strayed from his room. He was thinking of going somewhere, somewhere outside Anakt Corp probably that day, just to forget about how his public reputation appeared to be slipping from right underneath him. To forget about Till for a while.

He bit his lip, looking at the TVs, finding Luka staring straight back at him with a neutral expression that seemed patronizing to Ivan. Legs crossed, hands clasped, having stolen Ivan's jacket, eyes flashing in the photo shots. He'd gotten so far up in such a short amount of time. Another reason he needed to forget Till; demands for his appearance on stage were dropping, and Luka's was rising.

At least, Luka only had one importance to the aliens; his performance skills, his star potential. Ivan had multiple. He was important to the aliens, luckier than any human would be in his timeline. He was important. He wouldn't die so soon. His body, which had noticeably tensed, relaxed only a little. He kept walking forward, wherever his feet carried him to, ignoring how empty the hallway leading away from his room was and how, as days passed, aliens had stopped coming through that passage.

There were better things to worry about other than how he'd kissed Till over and over (and whether it was real or not, he couldn't tell), but that seemed like the only thing he could keep on his mind when his room disappeared down the hall.

"You don't deserve to go on those rebel missions. How they would ruin your perfect appearance."

Her voice rose no louder. The alien tucked his hair back at little more after toying with it. She had stated that reason at least a hundred times, and had yet to say another; Ivan kept his hands tucked by his sides, letting her fix his appearance however she wished.

"The dirt got between your nails, the blood couldn't be scrubbed out of your shoes for days, and your clothes were all filthy. If you want to pursue another assignment, human, at least have some grace when it comes to maintaining your appearance."

She sat back down. He stood in the aliens' room, barely hiding his temptation to give them a couple more reasons to bring him on important assignments. Facing what seemed like the head alien of the meeting, he hoped for some approval.

"Ivan wants to go on a task? Outside Anakt? Boy, there's a clear line between where you should be and shouldn't be. Tasks like those are in the latter. We think you are better equipped for tasks here."

Because he was a human?

"Poor thing can't get his clothes so dirty again. What will he wear for the stage?"

"And what will happen to the humans without his hand?"

He heard questions left and right, and it only shrank the size of the room. He felt cramped in such a spacious room, looking around at the aliens seated, concerns muttered.

"I will be careful," he stated. "I swear it."

"It's better if he doesn't go. We don't need him on these assignments anyway—they're too low ranking for an idol like him."

One of the aliens came to hover next to him. "We've got better use for you than scoutin' out the rats outside the city. No alien likes to do the dirty work." A chorus of laughter rose again, and Ivan could feel everything he wanted to say back be extinguished in his throat. He couldn't keep fighting them—it would only look worse for Unsha, and he knew it couldn't come to that. So without another word to say or a way to win, he dipped his head and muttered to them an insincere apology.

"Ah, speaking of, how many humans has he killed this week?" Came one of the aliens' questions.

"None so far. The number's dropped since they've realized that Ivan's been watching them. Keep it up, and maybe we'll give you something good to eat." Laughter again, laughter that bounced off the walls and clawed at Ivan's ears. He nodded along silently. He still hadn't swallowed his shame.

"We should put him on more tasks around Anakt, so he doesn't get those stupid ideas of running out and stomping out the rebels. Free will's turning into boredom, now that his owner ain't around; I've got a few ideas in mind."

"Unsha said his performance skills weren't too polished," an alien next to him stated, poking at his clothes. "What if we made him practice more?"

Slowly, carefully, the aliens began crowding around him and he was almost like a child on display. Without the glass, without the distance, but with every word they spoke about his failures recently—and he knew very well, they'd have had small complaints in the past about his failures. A natural step he'd have to endure to rise to the top, all the poking and prodding and laughing.

"The public's taken a better liking to Luka this past month," came a voice, clear cut through the others, "We could have Luka take over his performances?"

"Then would there be any better use for him?"

"Of course," he piped up, "I can start managing the humans in alien captivity. There's other jobs I can take on." His voice is a little louder, just so he doesn't drown out again.

"You wouldn't make much of an effort there. That's where we breed our most violent humans, and Unsha wouldn't want you to get killed so early. Unsha wants you to make him proud."

"He's not doing so great on that. He should take up some late night practice sessions."

"Yes, but suppose that poses a health risk? We're supposed to keep this one in good shape."

Alright.

Ivan raised his head, said another apology to the collective group of aliens, and strided out of the meeting room in the most dignified way that mattered. When the door shut behind him and the lights previously shining above him lost their luminosity, he took a breath. He reminded himself he had another performance tomorrow; he just had to put more effort in to prove to Unsha he was still able to outperform Luka. Ivan was putting in effort—just not enough. He turned the corner to find a row of chairs along the wall and a few aliens conversing quietly. All he could think of were their faces in the crowd, disappointed at his new performance. How they must've cheered the loudest for Luka, the better one, the one who was going to be best him one day. His thoughts grew bitter at the thought of it, then he dismissed them like he dismissed every doubt; shoving them down until he couldn't any more, but that time it didn't seem to work.

What really happened to the performers who stopped getting traction?

What happened when they started to love a rebel they weren't supposed to, had their thoughts plagued by him, and their performance quality worsened? He didn't know the answer to that, or much else. He continued walking down the hall, dimly lit, because the light of the day was growing weaker as the time passed. He'd do better, he promised.

He glanced outside of a glass pane. From where he was standing in a high level of Anakt Corp, he could only see the city walls and no further. As well as the sewer that led to Anakt Garden, the small buildings on the outskirts of the city. He took a few calming breaths. Placed his hand up against the window, watching his reflection faintly. His hair was still a little ruffled. He smoothed it down in what he believed would look good—maybe a new hairstyle, just to change the way he looked, or maybe more advice from the aliens who worked backstage. Not as if they ever spoke to him.

"You," he said to an incoming alien, who was busy wheeling around a cart. The alien stopped and acknowledged him. One of the more…inferior aliens, the ones Ivan was allowed to order around with what power he had.

"Ivan, human," the alien greeted.

"When is Luka's next live performance?"

They hesitated a little, rolling back and forth the wheels on that cart. "I'm not sure, sir. I thought perhaps tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" He was in no mood to head over to the instructors that day. "When's mine?"

"There aren't any posters for Ivan's performance yet. I'm sure you can still make it next month."

He watched as the alien wheeled away, left with little information about Luka's performance. He sat down on one of the waiting chairs in the wide space staring at the other side of the room, the light orange chairs lined up all evenly spaced.

He wondered when Till was going to come through the window. Say a hello, drop by, and talk about his day. He wasn't an over-sharer, not at all. But he had enough to share that Ivan could enjoy the sound of his day. He wanted to bring him to the city, something they were supposed to do, but never got to. Ivan might invite him out the next time he saw him.

"I've got a performance this afternoon, Ivan."

Two chairs down was Luka, sitting in the same space. Ivan hadn't seem him there for whatever reason, likely because he'd been busy dwelling upon his own schedule and of meeting Till again. Of all the places Luka was, there it seemed he arrived on purpose, just to give Ivan someone to talk to. Ivan didn't know if Luka could tell what he was thinking.

"The aliens must be trying new things, aren't they?" Ivan said in a quiet voice. "I've got no performances this week, when I usually do."

"I bet it's because I'll outshine you," Luka replied with a smile.

"You've only been performing for so long. Don't take it so far."

"Don't you see what they say about me?" Almost pridefully was how those words were spoken. The sound of an exhale, and then his shadow over the floor followed. He came to a stop in front of Ivan. He adjusted the ruffles on his sleeves and around his neck, eyes still set below him.

"Are you going to practice?" Ivan questioned. "Could I come with you?"

Luka said nothing, but nodded his head slightly, which Ivan took as an invitation. He stood and watched him adjust the ruffles one last time so that they popped out more. When Luka was done, both his hands fell to his sides, and he gave Ivan a long stare.

"I'm sure you're doing great onstage. Your albums sold out much quicker than mine did," Ivan commented. They exited the waiting space, heading towards the auditorium on a different route than the one Ivan usually took. Luka was quiet as they walked. He didn't say a word back, nor do a motion to signal that he'd heard what was said.

They took the lift down to the auditorium floor. Both of them on opposite sides of the elevator walls, with Ivan asking little questions, while Luka replied with little answers. The elevator didn't take too long to get to the auditorium floor; the moment it opened with a ding, Luka was the first to walk out. Ivan followed and matched the footsteps he took. He glanced at the high ceiling above them, the wide lobby that seemed to stretch more as they headed towards the auditorium—there were some parts of Anakt Corp he had never walked twice, he noticed, then abruptly came to a stop when Luka did.

"Are you releasing a new album sometime soon? I'm sure your fans would love that for you," Ivan said.

"Not now," was Luka's unclear response.

"That's alright. But it's good every once in a while, to keep up with demands." Ivan looked to the doors shielded by black curtains over in a crevice, presuming that was the auditorium. "After all, it's easy to stop getting attention when time passes."

Both of them knew already. But Luka showed no sign of annoyance—a quick nod and a scan around the lobby came again, and Ivan followed with his vision, looking the at the lift where they had both exited. He grew impatient, deciding that idling wasn't at all fun; began to head towards the doors in the crevice.

"Let's go."

"I'm waiting," he replied. "For my alien."

"Your alien will see you in the auditorium. No use waiting."

"He told me to wait." Luka's fingertips brushed the material of his clothes.

Heperu was his alien, Ivan remembered. He wondered how strict he was keeping Luka practicing and improving, or if he was treating Luka well and nourishing him. Luka seemed quite dependent on his alien for many things, though Ivan couldn't pinpoint exactly why. He waited with Luka in the lobby.

"When will he get here?"

"Soon." Luka then met his eyes, for the first time since they'd reached the lobby. "Go ahead."

Ivan agreed and headed inside. He opened the curtains and stepped inside the auditorium. It was empty, as expected, with one lone spotlight shining over the stage. Nobody sat in the seats surrounding the stage, so it was devoid of sound, save for Ivan's own. He began his steady steps towards the stage, in which he stopped for a moment to listen behind him, to see if Luka was really following after him or not— when there were no additional footsteps, he thought it might've been a good thing to have the place alone to himself for a while.

He sat down on one of the seats there, not yet in the mood to practice, instead trying to hear when Heperu would arrive. He gazed upon the stage, with the singular spotlight flickering over it. How close was Luka's performance? Would it be in an hour, or two? Ivan had made time out of his schedule to watch it—though he wasn't sure he was willing to, anymore. He wanted to leave the city walls, travel a little further. Maybe to the buildings outside the city, maybe to the rebel club he'd raided months earlier. Would being a rebel be easier than his position currently? He folded both hands on top of his lap, and replied to himself, there was no way. He was just absently thinking.

There was the sound of talking outside. It wasn't Heperu's or Luka's—must've been a few passing aliens. He shifted his attention to the silence besides them, trying to hear, trying to subtly insert himself.

He eventually decided to stand and head towards the doors again. Pressing his ear close to it, he could hear the chatter of a conversation, unclear, as if he were a good distance away. Nothing else. He should push the door open and see if Luka was coming…he didn't. He stayed behind the door, listening for a few more seconds. Luka couldn't have decided to leave him be. Ivan needed to hear him practice. His fingers gripped the door handle, and he creaked it open a bit.

The sound of a motorcycle. That was strange; there weren't many motorcycles near Anakt Corp. Fully curious, he stuck his eyes through the crack and saw the empty lobby ahead of him. Luka was missing. So was his alien that was proclaimed to be watching over him.

Before he closed the door, bright light shined in through the doors, blind, white—Ivan didn't know what it was, but something told him he needed to get out of the auditorium and see what was going on. He shielded his eyes as he stepped out hurriedly, vision pointed straight towards the light source; they were the incoming lights of a motorcycle, pulling into the lobby. The moment he realized, he immediately rushed forward, trying to see what was happening.

Whose motorcycle—?

The window in front of him shattered into pieces. Shards flew everywhere, onto his face, onto his outfit, and still the motorcycle didn't stop after that. Briefly, Ivan blinked, the pain of the glass shards piercing his skin and clothing registering, digging into his skin like painful pinches; he stared, dazed, up at the human in the motorcycle helmet, who didn't seem to notice him at first. As the motorcycle sped past him and down the hall that led to the deeper parts of Anakt Corp, Ivan still hadn't gotten over his shock. His shoes were standing atop of glass pieces, and distantly there seemed to be an alarm blaring all around the building. The broken glass window revealed the street outside, the sky that had turned overcast since Ivan had come down from the lift. Cold wind invaded the space from the window, blowing onto his wounds, but he could only stare. And stare.

Then, he started running.

Down the hall, having the shock finally wear off. And he wondered how he had been caught off guard so easily, how it came to be—he began running faster, the pain of his wounds slowing him from going any faster than he already was. It must've been a rebel.

The motorcycle took a while to stop. It cruised through the hallways with such ease Ivan would've thought they'd walked it before a hundred times on foot. He followed after it and built up his speed. Faster. Faster. When he stopped to catch his breath, he was only being able to catch a mere second of time before the gap between him and the motorcycle widened. He touched his pockets to try and find a gun, but alas—that day he hadn't decided to carry his. Even worse. He continued running, feeling his stamina deplete by the second, and it became apparent the motorcyclist had noticed him, and was trying to shake him off, it seemed, as the motorcycle suddenly sped up and charged down the hallways with ease. Ivan pushed himself to run further.

There was a limit to how fast some humans could run, and the motorcycle was testing it.

He turned right, the opposite way that the motorcycle had gone, hoping he could meet it if he ran the other way and looped around. The aliens that had heard the alert were patrolling the halls with their weapons raised, searching for the rogue motorcycle. Ivan took a left, then another left down the halls, sides hurting the more he ran; blood began staining his clothes, dripping from the rips in his jacket, provoking only one thought that seemed to run its cycles through his head, one thought that told him bleeding all over with rips in his performance outfit would make a very bad impression amongst his audience. He slowed down and could hear himself trying to catch his breath. He was sure the motorcycle and the person driving it had already gotten away, and there wasn't any use to chase after them. Ivan straightened up, hissing slightly at the pain, finding that he'd shaken off most of the shards in his skin but the wounds were numerous across his body. Along with how much his lungs burned, he couldn't go on risking any more detours. He tilted his head back to look behind him, the empty hallway, and started to head back.

He took a step backwards before realizing he had no idea where he was. He remembered he'd taken two lefts, a right, and…had there been anything else? His thoughts were cut off when he went barreling into the wall on his right, pain hammering into him. The human on the motorcycle had found him, and was standing in front of him, trying to take off his helmet.

He didn't know humans would go so low for just a taste of being rebellious.

He tackled them to the ground, ripping the helmet off of their head with force. Only to be met face to face with Till, the very person he'd be thinking about all day. He stood up and backed away.

"Ivan!" Till called immediately, "What are you doing here?"

Ivan stiffened the moment he recognized Till's face. He hadn't expected to see him driving through the hallways of Anakt Corp after being gone for a week. He made sure to curve the corners of his lips to give himself a more lighthearted expression, which made Till's shoulders relax. He shouldn't show his disappointment yet, not in front of Till.

"It's a surprise seeing you again. I did think you'd be busy."

"Are you performing? Ah…Don't tell anyone I was here, alright? Forget you saw me. And—I'm sorry for the window." Till held Ivan's hands in his, clutching them like they were a close, lightweight possession Till had to hold close. "I'll come next week, I promise. I couldn't this week."

"Next week when? Early next week?" Ivan quirked his eyebrows.

"Maybe not. I don't know." Then, Till laughed, as if he were attempting to make light of the situation. "Something came up. I have a reason for not meeting you this week, and I'll tell you if you want me to."

He bent closer. "Tell me everything," Ivan demanded. Was there something more important than not visiting him for more than a week? He had ridiculous thoughts, sometimes like that, but he was itching with curiosity.

"My leader had me working on a new project."

Ivan wished he knew the truth, not just a few words. "Being vague about your reasons isn't the best way to go," Ivan added. He kept a steady grip on Till's hands, to prevent him from darting off.

"What else can I tell you besides that?"

That was right. Till couldn't tell him anything else. A rebel, on his opposite side. Unfortunately.

"I don't think I can meet with you as often as I used to, based on that reason as well. I've gotten busier, and I'm sure you have, too."

"But you've got to make an effort to visit your friend, don't you?"

Ivan stared at Till, and he recalled his dream again, where he'd kissed Till on the lips over and over, and it turned into something like a hazy dream that felt real, but so surreal at the same time. Why would he dream of ever loving Till that way? He felt bewildered a little at the prospect.

"I told you we're not friends, because you haven't gotten comfortable with me yet. When you learn to be comfortable, we'll be friends!" Till said, like it was a promise. "I'll try to make efforts to visit you, to help you or the both us, really, get suited to our friendship, I haven't abandoned you yet—"

"When do you think we'll achieve true friendship, Till?"

His question burst out like he was waiting all week to ask it. Kissing? Hugging? Sharing secrets, Falling asleep next to each other? They all sounded like love more than a friendship could hold, something more than ordinary. Why was Ivan having those feelings of intimacy?

"True friendship…when you're comfortable. Not distant. Loyal. You've got to work on the being comfortable part, as well as the others." Till picked up his motorcycle helmet from the ground, holding it in his hands after releasing Ivan's.

Ivan's hands dropped to his sides and yet he was still pondering over Till's words, trying to make sense of them. What did he want them to be?

The touch of Till's lips brushing against his, and the unfamiliar notion of being wanted by him.

"Then we'll never be true friends, will we?"

"I don't think we will."

"But I think you were wrong, about our relationship in our last meeting. We're making out to be good friends, who don't have to fit any label of true friendship," Ivan replied. "You think so, too?" he asked after.

Till looked up at him before looking quickly away. "Maybe." He lifted his head up, stabilizing the helmet by wrapping it tighter against his chest. "Let's not talk about such confusing things, or let's talk another time. I'm estimating that I'll see you in six days. You've got to take me to the city, then."

"So we're friends?" Ivan mused, forcefully using his voice, as Till was busy fitting his helmet back onto his head, preparing to leave.

Till gave him one look from under his motocycle helmet, and there was a short-lived quiet (of pity? Of concern?) before he answered with, "If that's what you want to call us." he hesitated to leave, looking towards the other side of the hall. "Ivan, I'll be honest. Last meeting I was thinking the same as you. But you're right. Our friendship shouldn't fit anything you think it fits, right? It's just good to be friends."

"You know, everything's that happened—"

"I hate debating about what we are," Till said, cutting Ivan off before he can finish his point. "If you want, I'll teach you comfort. And I'll teach you what friends really do, and we'll be as close as true friends soon. Just not now. I've got to leave."

He still didn't know what they were, even if they'd agreed they were friends. There was something more he wanted. Something more than just talking, and laughing and visiting places together. He didn't know how to describe it—love? Want?

"Sure. In six days."

"In three, if I'm lucky," Till corrected, making Ivan's eyes widen a little.

"Then three."

He watched him leave. All while his heart grew heavier, wishing he'd at least told him the new feelings that had bubbled to the surface. He watched him disappear, watched him go for three days, hoping he made it back safe, and told himself there would be no more confusion. He'd get himself closer to Till, and they'd be good friends. For a while. It was all still confusing, to him. But they'd figure their friendship out and they'd have it alright.

The touch of his lips. Ivan covered his own with a finger, wondering if Till's would feel the same as the ones he'd dreamt about.

Those must've been more than just friendship feelings.