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Till looks down at his flashy attire, eyes running down his form as he tries to recall the very reason how he let himself get dragged into this. Maybe he wasn’t feeling under the weather that day. Maybe he got distracted and agreed to something he didn’t want to do. He doesn’t remember how that day went, but he vividly recollects the image of his classmates’ awestruck faces in his head, gawking at him like he agreed to spare some change on their grimy cobblestone sidewalk.
How has he managed to end up in this situation again?
Till grumbles. His past self must have been a real nuthead, to agree to something that’s probably outside his comfort zone. But he hasn’t got a choice. Till has already concurred with his classmates that he’ll be leading the musical of their class bazaar, and he’s a man of his word, and he also takes excellent care over his pride, so he reluctantly yanks the last piece of garment over his shoulder that’s a part of his outfit for the day.
Till thinks the clothes he’s decked out in is a bit too extravagant for a haunted house musical, but the class chairperson has already decided on this specific choice of wear for him, and who is he to deny them? And besides, he should compliment them for their choice of style, because it is definitely something he’d wear on a good day.
Till is not too disheartened, the garments and additional trinkets are not cramp nor heavy enough to leave harrowing aches on his body, which is a blessing. As he quickly does his eyeliner and gets ready to leave the house, he lets his thoughts run over the setlist that’s been officiated for him to perform today.
Unknown (Till the end)... Cure… Blink Gone… Till hums to himself a tune, a fabric of Cure’s harmony that he’s quite fond of. It’s not a song genre that he particularly listens to or composes with, but on occasion, he can listen to it all day without pause if he chooses to do so.
Till packs up his makeup products and stores them properly on his small plastic shelf sitting in the corner of his desk, and brings some just in case he needs to redo his makeup. He looks at himself in the mirror, and ogles at his appearance. At least he looks good, which is enough to convince him that whatever he’s getting into will not be too bad, after all.
Guitar case… Till glances around his room for a moment, and his eyes land on his most cherished prize possession that he guards close to his heart. Something he repeatedly seeks refuge in. Till strides across his room swiftly and picks up his guitar case carefully, before swinging it over his shoulder. He adjusts the strap, so it doesn’t confine his shoulder and armpit too much, causing him discomfort for the rest of the trip to school.
As soon as he gets comfortable, Till heaves up a small bag that he usually carries for special occasions, like Mizi’s birthday hang outs with just him and Luka.
Speaking of Mizi and Luka…
Till fishes out his phone from under his bed sheets and opens notifications from his message app.
mizi ♡︎:
guys!! have you left home yet??
till (me):
soon. im packing a few things first, then ill head out
have the two of you left for school yet?
luka ★:
im otw. im on the bus with hyuna and hyunwoo
theyre causing such a ruckus.
mizi ♡︎:
haha! that’s great, because im leaving right now!
maybe ill catch the same bus as you guys!?
luka ★:
please. i need a sane person here with me.
the stares we’ve been getting on the bus because of their cosplays are tormenting me
i genuinely think i might coward in humiliation
till (me):
why are u pulling creative writing out of ur ass this early in the morning??
and arent u also wearing some animal costume too?
luka ★:
.
we dont need to go into details about that
shut up
till (me):
talk about the pot calling the kettle black lmao
anyway, ill see u guys at sch later
get there safe :)
mizi ♡︎:
oki doki!!
byebye till :DD
Till laughs to himself, gaze stuck on his screen even as he steps out of the door. Somehow, this chaotic string of conversations with his friends has managed to lift his spirits a bit. Mizi’s endless enthusiasm and Luka’s theatrical complaints… he’s so familiar with them, and it all feels like a perfect prelude to the day ahead.
He locks his apartment door after bidding farewell to his mother, slides his keys into his bag, and heads down the staircase, tapping his fingers lightly on the guitar case hanging over his shoulder.
The crisp morning air greets him outside, and he takes in a deep breath, filling the gentle autumn chill in his lungs. And Till couldn’t really deny it now even if he tried—he’s a little excited for today, even if he’s the only person that’s going to know that. He’d never admit it to either Luka or Mizi, because then Luka will just make fun of him. And Mizi’s… well, Mizi.
There’s just something about the vibe of today’s tranquility that sparks some excitement in Till’s heart, and he’s going to perform his original songs that he’s written as a hobby of his, in public, for the first time. It’s a good opportunity to get a grasp on how it feels like when on stage, so Till, a juxtaposition to his previous predicament, thanks his past self for being not his usual self on that day he agreed to be in charge of the musical.
His phone buzzes again as he reaches the street, and he sees yet another message from their group chat, one from Luka, on his screen.
luka ★:
pls hurry, till. i need a support system asap.
mizi just aboard the bus and now the three of them are talking about anime character arcs or smth
im the only odd one out TT
i dont understand whatever language theyre saying..
Till rolls his eyes with a grin, and his fingers move across the screen to form a reply.
till (me):
just hang in there
ill be there at sch to see u guys soon
luka ★:
god i hope that ‘soon’ is within 5 mins max.
till (me):
no promises
luka ★:
._.
Well, credits to Luka, Till actually manages to reach school in less than five minutes, but he doesn’t text him right away because—
There are a lot of people.
The school grounds are already buzzing by the time Till gets there. Colourful class banners flap in the morning breeze, and students are running around in half-worn costumes, yelling across the courtyard… something about a booth caught on fire. Till silently wishes those unlucky students his condolences. Others are carrying props and trays and wires and stacks of flyers. It’s hectic in a way that feels alive.
Not too bad, if Till does say so himself. Lively atmosphere and all the guests look exhilarated. It’s perfect.
He keeps his head low, partly to avoid drawing attention to himself too early, especially because he’s wearing such a… flashy outfit with a whole lot of dangly chains and rings and earrings; and also partly because he’s scanning the crowd for familiar faces. He’s rowdy, and seems confident sometimes, but he doesn’t favour crowds. It makes him more subconscious of himself, and it’s not a very good feeling.
Till’s hand adjusts the strap of his guitar case again, careful not to bump into anyone in the large crowd that was packed like sardines. He’s so focused on trying to maintain his balance within the narrow walking space that he doesn’t notice Mizi running straight to him.
“TILL!!” Mizi’s voice practically crashes into him before her body does— she skids to a stop in front of him, out of breath but beaming like the sun’s shining down on her (maybe because it is), cheeks pink from the morning rush. Her cardigan is already half off her shoulder, and there’s a glittery crescent moon stuck in her bangs.
And somehow, there’s frosting stuck on her cheek too.
“There you are!” Mizi jumps up and down as she ambushes him with a soul-crushing hug. “Is Luka with you? I lost him just now!”
Till shakes his head. “The odds of finding him in this large ass crowd is 0/10.” He gives his best friend a quick once-over. “Did the stars fall on your face on something?”
She huffs and lets go of him. Finally, his ribs were starting to hurt. “It’s called dedication. Class 3B is already a galaxy ahead of others. We are definitely winning best booth this year!”
Till rolls his eyes. “Riiight. There’s frosting on your face, by the way.”
Mizi gasps, horrified. “What?! Wait, is my make-up ruined?”
“No, but how come there’s frosting on your face? Did you eat up a whole bakery?”
Mizi’s bright green eyes narrow. “Come to think of it… While I was running here, I stopped by a pastry booth…”
“Sheesh,” Till mutters, pulling out wet wipes as Mizi swipes the frosting off her cheek and right into her mouth. He passes one to her and lets her wipe her fingers as he observes their surroundings. “It’s certainly busy. Can’t believe the school actually went all out.”
Mizi throws away the used wet wipe in a nearby trash can. “Oh, they sure did, alright. It’s much more lively than when it was our first year in high school!” She proceeds to drag him by the wrist toward the center court where the student council has set up a central map of all the booths.
“By the way, before you got here, Luka was trying to fix a jellyfish’s eye.”
“What—”
“Origami jellyfish,” she clarifies. “One of the mascots accidentally cried on it. Don’t ask.”
Till snorts, and lets Mizi lead him into the school building until they reach the door of class 3A’s classroom turned haunted house. The faux castle black-painted walls stand tall and shadowy, draped in black cloth and fake cobwebs. His class president had really gone all out in the planning, even placing a dry ice machine puffing gentle mist near the entrance. A few classmates wave as they pass, and someone yells, “Till’s here!”
Mizi marvels at his class’s bazaar booth with sparkling eyes. “Woah… It looks so realistic! You guys went all out, huh?”
“Yeah, we did. I hope it’ll be as good as it looks.” Till mumbles, suddenly feeling nervous. His hands start growing clammy, and his heart cannot stop digging a hole in his chest.
Ugh, he hates this feeling before every performance.
Mizi senses his anxiousness, turns to him and her grin is comforting. “Break a leg, Till.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll just trip on purpose if I get stage fright.”
“You’ll probably end up in a real cast.” Mizi says in a fake solemn voice, and Till starts laughing, choking on his own saliva.
“Go back to your class, Mizi.” Till teases playfully, flicking her forehead.
Mizi giggles, and with a final pat on his back, she darts off to class 3B, where the universe is literally spinning— there’s a student manually rotating a giant paper Saturn by hand. Till watches her go for a second, then adjusts his collar and steps behind the set to check in.
Showtime .
The day blurs after that.
Time passes in flashes of movement and echoing laughter. He sings, once, twice, three times— crowds come and go, kids scream half from fright and half from awe, and the music seems to wrap around it all like string lights. A young boy, probably half of Till’s age, even passed him a personalised sketch of him he did on the spot. Till doesn’t even realize how much fun he’s having until he notices the smile aching in his cheeks.
He feels amazing .
During a small break, he retreats to the backdoor of the classroom to sip some water, quietly watching the ongoing chaos around him. Lunch’s in an hour or so, and during that time, guests visiting the haunted house won’t be able to watch Till’s performance. Which gives him sufficient time to visit his friends’ class bazaars. He’s looking forward to them; Luka and Sua’s Origami Aquarium, Hyuna and Hyunwoo’s Cosplay Cafe, and Ivan and Mizi’s Astral Projection Journey.
From where he’s sitting (the exit for the haunted house), he can see what’s going outside. Till quietly watches the ongoing chaos around him; confetti all over the floor, props littered all around, flyers left abandoned, students promoting their bazaar at their classroom entrance.
“Wow,” A familiar voice says lightly. “Never knew ghosts could hit high notes like that.”
Till startles, looking up. And there he is.
Ivan’s standing a few inches away from the door with a red plastic cup in hand, casual and effortlessly cool in his costume— dark cosmic robes layered over a plain tee, constellation patterns glimmering faintly across the cloth. There’s a star hair clip pinned on his bangs, and his hair is a little messy, as if he’s been rushing around. Till spots the glitter dusted along his cheekbones from whatever 3B’s fortune booth did to him.
The bad thing is Ivan still looks handsome. Ugh.
“Ivan,” Till starts, brushing away that thought. “What are you doing here?”
“Acorn told me you were on a short water break,” Ivan says, with that stupid smile plastered on his face. “Don’t want me here?”
Oh, great . The pear of anguish for Acorn. Sorry, buddy, but you deserve it .
Till decides to put up with Ivan’s bullshit. “No way. I just didn’t expect you’d show up so soon.”
Ivan, in return, gives him a mock-wounded expression. Humoring him. “What, and miss your world premiere as the most charming undead lead singer this school has ever seen? Blasphemy.”
Despite himself, Till laughs at what he says. And if he looks hard enough, he can see Ivan’s eyes soften a little.
“How’s your class’s bazaar?” Till asks.
Ivan leans against the doorframe, taking a quiet sip of his drink. “It’s going well, I think. We’re gaining traction, according to Mizi,” He sits down next to Till. “Apparently, the kids really love space.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Till replies back honestly, yawning. “I like space too.”
“That’s because you like anything.”
“You’re confusing me with Mizi. There’s things I would write a diss track for.”
Ivan chuckles, closing his eyes. “You did great on stage, by the way.”
Till blinks. “Where’s this coming from?”
“Just an observation. I stopped midway into your performance just now,” Ivan sips his drink, then adds, quieter this time. “I know you like singing, but on that stage… it’s the most you I’ve ever seen.”
Till gapes, dumbstruck. He doesn’t answer right away, frozen as he processes the words. Then, he feels a blush creeping up the back of his neck, and he fucking hates that Ivan always seems to find ways to say things that make his heart feel too big for his chest. Ivan’s always been straightforward, but not this straightforward… right?
“I…” Till pretends to play cool, eyes downcast to avoid Ivan’s gaze. “I’m not used to compliments.” Bullshit excuse, but it’s the first thing that comes to his mind at the moment.
Ivan hums. “Okay, I’ll ration them out then. One per day.”
“Shut up.”
Ivan grins, then opens his mouth to say something, and that’s when Mizi comes barreling back into view with a stack of star-shaped flyers and glitter on her nose. She glances between them with a knowing look, then announces pointedly towards Ivan, “Break’s over! Marty’s almost dead beat. Come help me set up the next part of the constellation tunnel.”
“Yes, boss,” Ivan sighs like he’s unwilling. He quickly throws Till a lingering look that makes his heart stop before disappearing into the crowd, Mizi at his tail. Till watches them go for a fraction of a second, then squeezes his empty cup into a pulp. He lets out a breath, grabs his guitar, adjusts the strap again, and heads back upstage renewed with energy.
He hopes he’ll see Ivan later during the day.
—
An hour or so passes, and Till finally steps out of the gloomy haunted house. Greeted with fresh air after hours of singing until his throat’s raw, he cannot wait to eat and replenish his energy. As much as he likes performing, performing for hours in a row isn’t cut out for him.
On shaky footsteps, Till makes his way to Luka and Sua’s classroom first. The moment he steps into class 3C’s bazaar space, he’s hit with a gust of cool air and a surprising scent of sea salt. Artificial, clearly but impressively immersive and exactly like the real smell. Blue streamers ripple from the ceiling like jellyfish tendrils, and the entire room has been cloaked in ocean hues, casting soft turquoise light that reflects off glittery paper coral reefs and hanging origami marine creatures. A large paper-mache whale looms over one corner, and soft instrumental ocean sounds are playing from speakers tucked behind the fish tank dioramas.
Till blinks slowly.
“...They went all out, huh.”
All of a sudden, from the middle of the crowd, a shriek erupts. “GYAHH!!”
Till whips his head towards the source of the noise when a giant dolphin mascot stumbles into view, tripping over a child’s dropped tote bag, nearly decapitating a paper swordfish on the wall.
Till doesn’t even need a second guess.
“Luka?” he calls, deadpan.
The dolphin head swivels in his direction, and Till can visibly see it perk up. “Till! Please, oh god, get me out of this suit. I am sweating like a criminal on trial.”
Till breaks into uncontrollable laughter, and laughs harder when Luka doesn’t appreciate it, grabbing onto the edge of a faux coral bench for support. “You— you’re the dolphin?”
“I wasn’t supposed to be, but Sua guilt-tripped me because the guy who was supposed to do it bailed. And because she bribed me with a month of peach jelly,” Luka curses under his breath. “ She knows my weaknesses. ”
Till sighs. “I’ve never seen you this animated. Must be tiring.”
“You don’t know half of it,” Luka scoffs, his dolphin suit creaking as he flops dramatically against the wall beside Till, one flipper raised to his temple like he’s having a mid-life crisis.
Till holds back the urge to burst out laughing.
He’s saved by Sua who appears not long after, dressed in her seahorse-themed costume. Much more composed than Luka, that is. She walks up to them holding a tray of knitted sea creature keychains, a serene smile on her face that contrasts Luka’s internal suffering perfectly.
“Luka volunteered,” she says mildly, eyes twinkling as if she heard the entire conversation.
“I was emotionally manipulated.”
Till snorts.
“I said you’d be the most handsome dolphin.”
“Sua, I can’t even breathe in this thing,” Luka whines, voice muffled. “If I die, tell Hyuna I love her. Thanks guys.”
“She’ll probably be glad you died,” Sua deadpans, and that earns a grunt from Luka.
Till is still snickering when Sua turns to him, holding out her tray. “Till, want to pick one? These are the extras after the pre-orders. There’s a stingray, a shark, a clownfish, and a really derpy jellyfish I messed up.”
“You made these?” Till asks, genuinely awestruck as he eyes the tiny creatures with soft yarn eyes.
Sua nods. “I did. Knitted them while Luka was sleeping during the call.”
Luka sniffles. “Hey.”
Till ponders over his choice for a moment, before settling on the odd jellyfish. “I’ll take this little guy. He looks like me when I wake up early for school.”
Luka snorts inside of his dolphin suit.
As Sua fastens the tiny loop onto his bag, she says quietly, “Are you performing later?”
Till’s cheeks tint a little, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s lunch now. So I’m grabbing something to eat.”
“Well, you obviously came to the wrong booth then,” She rolls her eyes. “Either way, goodluck for your performance later. I have to get back to work.” She glares at Luka slumped by the wall. “Luka, you too.”
“Alright, alright.” The blond boy sighs wearily, stands up and hovers over to Till. “Goodluck for later, Till. Give a solid performance like you always do.”
He pauses at that, words caught in his throat. Under the soft light of folded fish swimming above them, he holds those words in his chest like a treasure.
“Yeah, thanks,” Till manages to choke out, happiness coiling around his heart like a slithery snake. “See you guys later.”
As he exits class 3C, jellyfish keychain bouncing at his side, Till catches himself humming one of his own songs without thinking. He’s smiling while he makes his way over to the next stop:
Hyuna and Hyunwoo’s class bazaar.
—
If the Origami Aquarium was an underwater dreamscape, Class 3D hits like a double-shot espresso of unapologetic and sparkly chaos . The moment Till steps into the room, his senses are assaulted with a blast of loud K-pop music, pastel streamers, and signs that read things like:
- “Tsundere Special Combo – 3 love letters and a strawberry parfait!”
- “Buy a dessert, receive a mysterious handwritten love confession.”
- “LIMITED FRENCH FRIES: 20 LEFT. FIGHT FOR THEM.”
Till doesn’t even get to absorb it all before someone yells behind him, “ORDER FOR KAORU-CHAN! WHO ORDERED THE CHERRY SODA FLOAT?”
Gah. His eardrums might burst.
A guy in a catboy maid outfit skates past him, nearly colliding with the tray-carrying student by the love letters booth. Someone else is arguing about their fries not being “aesthetically symmetrical.”
And then—
“Till!” Hyuna waves him over from the corner of the room, where she’s donned a full-fledged magical girl costume complete with sparkly wand and a ridiculous tiara. “I was hoping you’d drop by! Come sit! Come sit! You look like you need emotional support already.”
Till frowns, slowly sitting down on the chair Hyuna pulls out from a spare empty table. “May I ask… why is there someone crying over in the corner?”
Hyuna glances over casually. “Someone got a love letter that said, ‘I hope your future includes me,’and they thought they knew who wrote it.” Then, she shrugs nonchalantly. “They were wrong.”
“That’s… brutal.”
“I know, right?” she sighs dreamily. “Ah, romance .”
Till eyes her costume. “You look like you’re about to summon a demon with love.”
“Well! I technically already summoned Hyunwoo,” Hyuna chirps, acting proud as she places her hands on her hips.
Right on cue, Hyunwoo comes over carrying two parfaits. He’s in a knight costume, clunky and slightly too big for him, clearly borrowed from the theatre club’s costume box. A pink heart sticker is smacked dead center on his breastplate. Till nearly starts laughing for the quadrillionth time this morning.
“Hey, Till,” he says, casual as ever. Though Till knows deep inside, Hyunwoo’s embarrassed wearing such a costume. “Want a parfait? Hyuna made me carry extras in case we guilt-trip guests into staying longer.”
Hyuna scowls. “I did not guilt-trip you. I just told you people find you charming when you’re holding food.”
“She’s not wrong,” Till says, grinning as he takes one.
“Traitor,” Hyunwoo mutters, sitting next to him.
They all take a breather in the booth area, while across the room, the love letter booth starts announcing hourly specials. That’s when Till actually notices the love letter booth, and geez, that is a long line.
What’s so special about writing love cards?
“Okay, okay,” Hyuna says, leaning in dramatically. And he knows it’s not something good. “Till. Spill. Are you sending a letter ?”
“Nope.”
“Receiving one?”
Till grimaces. “…Hopefully not.”
“Wrong answers,” Hyunwoo deadpans, shoving a spoonful of parfait into his mouth.
Till raises an eyebrow. “Why would I send a letter when the person I like receives letters on the daily?”
…
Hyuna chokes. “WAIT.”
Hyunwoo’s eyes narrow. “Wait.”
Till shrugs innocently and sips his parfait.
“I KNOW WHO IT IS!”
“No you don’t.”
“Till, there is only one dude in this entire world who would love you romantically. No offense.”
“That’s a full offense.”
“It’s Ivan, isn’t it?”
Till immediately looks down. Well, shit . “No comment.”
“Oh my god,” Hyuna hisses. “I knew it. I knew it. You always get weirdly quiet when we mention his name. Hyunwoo, he’s blushing! ”
“I am not! ”
Hyunwoo just sips his parfait and says, “You should send him a letter.”
“I’m not sending a letter —”
“Should we send one for you?” Hyuna asks, her big eyes beaming with curiosity. “We’ll write it in cursive. Add some glitter. Or draw a big guitar for you if it makes you feel better, Till.”
“I will walk out of this classroom. ”
They’re laughing now, all three of them, the way only longtime friends can—mocking with love, teasing without crossing lines. Till is warm in the cheeks but even warmer in the chest, watching Hyuna and Hyunwoo bicker over hypothetical glitter bombs and anonymous letter pranks.
Before he goes to leave, Hyuna hands him a real love letter—sealed, blank, genuine.
“Just in case you change your mind,” she says. “Or if you want to keep it. Or burn it dramatically like in the dramas.”
Till scoffs. “Fine. I’ll… think about it. I guess.”
“You’re gonna confess today?” Hyunwoo says, not really asking.
Till doesn’t answer.
But he doesn’t deny it either.
—
The hall leading up to Class 3B is already different—darker, quiet, immersive. Faint violet lighting spills from under the doorway, and soft instrumentals of My Clematis echo low like a heartbeat. Till pauses at the entrance. His fingers twitch around the cup of cane juice he bought from a booth earlier.
There’s a sign out front in sleek lettering:
✦
JOURNEY THROUGH THE COSMOS
✦
Interact with planets.
Navigate stardust trails.
Discover your fate — 3 dollars per reading.
(Love fortunes are extra spicy.)
Till snorts. That sounds like something Mizi wrote. He steps inside.
The room’s been transformed into a black box planetarium—walls draped with navy cloth and galaxies painted in shimmering ink, dotted with fake stars that actually glow. Hanging models of planets sway gently from the ceiling. A meteor trail crafted from fiber optic lights leads the way through the room.
And there, by the giant Saturn installation, stands Ivan.
Well. Not stands —more like leans, in full costume this time. A dark navy cloak brushed with constellations, a loose silvery button-down beneath, fake piercings glinting on one ear. His hair is styled a little differently than earlier—swept up a little, bits curled at the ends. He looks like a celestial traveler that wandered out of a dream.
In simpler terms, Ivan looks breathtaking.
And of course, he’s talking to a small group of visitors—hands animated, posture confident, joking easily like he was born to guide people through nebulas.
Till’s heart does a weird little thing. Be still, heart .
Then—
“Till!” Mizi pops up from the other end of the room, practically dragging a poor guest toward the fortune-telling booth. She waves with one hand while balancing a clipboard. “We were wondering when you’d show up! Isn’t this so pretty?”
Till laughs. “Yes, Mizi. It’s beautiful,” His eyes drift back to Ivan for a moment. “You guys really went all out.”
“Right?!” Mizi beams. “A classmate hand-painted half the star props herself. Ivan tried to contribute, but he nearly inhaled glitter and died.”
Till starts to laugh when Ivan’s voice calls across the room. “I survived for the aesthetic,” He’s walking over now, grinning lazily. “Hey, you’re here.”
Till tries not to melt at the nickname. He fails. “Hey.”
Ivan’s grin doesn’t waver. Not one bit. “You look cute. Ghost prince, right?”
“Shut up.”
“You’re blushing.”
“You’re wearing galaxy eyeliner. I win.”
“Touché.”
Mizi watches them with the most obvious smirk in the galaxy. “Do you want your fortune read, Till? I’ll let Ivan do it. He’s spookily good at it for no reason.”
Till can obviously hear the undermeaning of her words, but doesn’t comment on it. He knows she just wants them to be alone together.
“I memorized half the guidebook last night,” Ivan admits, grimacing at the thought of it. Till thinks it’s a good achievement, he probably wouldn’t be able to do that, but Ivan definitely can. Of course he can.
“Is that what you were texting me about at 2AM?” Till questions, frowning.
Ivan throws him a wink. “I was asking if the moon in Aries meant I was allowed to send you twenty heart emojis.”
Mizi starts to lift a whole planet prop to throw at Ivan, and bless his reflexes because in a blink, Till’s being pulled into a shapeshift tent, shrouded in complete darkness until Ivan turns on the LED lights. The inside of the tent comes to life, with stars and constellations shone on the ceiling of the tent in an array of colours.
Till sits across from Ivan at the velvet-lined table, candles flickering softly. Ivan shuffles a deck of decorative tarot-style cards with fake astrology symbols that look like they were handmade. Till honestly commends 3B’s efforts for making everything from scratch.
“Your fate,” Ivan starts to intone seriously, “lies in the cards.”
Till stares, unamused. “That’s literally the tagline on the sign outside.”
“Shhh. The stars are speaking.” Ivan draws a card. “This one represents your present… The Musician. Oho. Someone who expresses themselves through sound. Vulnerable. Emotional. Kind of dramatic—"
“Don’t make me slap you with a Saturn ring.”
Ivan laughs, flipping the second card. “And this one… The Orbit. Someone’s circling your gravity. Watching from afar. Waiting for the right moment.”
Till’s heart skips.
Ivan’s eyes glint, softer now. “And the third… Eclipse. A confession soon. A shadowed truth uncovered by moonlight.”
Till sighs. “That’s not even a real card, is it?”
“It is now.”
There’s a beat of quiet between them. Candles flicker. Black Sorrow plays faintly in the air like a secret just barely being sung. Then, Ivan leans in slightly, voice hushed. “I really do think… something’s going to shift tonight.”
Till swallows. “You think so?”
“I don’t know.” Ivan’s smile tucks into his cheek, lopsided. “I just kind of hope.”
Till thinks his heartbeat is way too loud.
“Hey guys,” Mizi calls, pulling open the tent sleeves. “Till, you wanna take a photo by the Mars display? You look so good today and I want to spam Luka later.”
Till clears his throat quickly, standing up. “Uh- Yeah. Sure. Be right there.”
Ivan stands too. Their fingers brush. He doesn’t move away.
“You staying for the end?” Till asks quietly.
“Yeah,” Ivan murmurs. “I’ll be at the Tree.”
Till hums, “I figured. You’re gonna write one?”
“If you are. I’ll wait for you.”
Till smiles, soft and sun-warm.
“Then I’ll see you there, Ivan.”
—
The sun has dipped below the horizon, but the sky hasn’t gone fully dark yet—it’s soake d in that dusky, soft lavender, the kind that only shows up after long, tiring days that end a little too perfectly.
The school courtyard, once roaring with students and bazaar chatter, has quieted. Just a few groups still linger, sitting on picnic blankets or packing up booths. Somewhere near the back, Hyunwoo’s yelling about leftover cupcakes while Luka pretends not to know him.
Till’s shoes tap gently across the stone path, his guitar slung loosely across his shoulder. Mizi had bounced off to help Sua collect the last few knitted crafts. Luka had gotten pulled into crowd control by a frazzled teacher. So Till finds himself walking to the Tree alone.
It’s taller than he remembers.
Big and ancient, like it’s been growing in the middle of the schoolyard forever. Its leaves are strung with lights—tiny warm ones like fireflies—and hanging from its branches are hundreds of small wooden plaques, all tied with red string. They sway with the breeze, bumping against one another softly like they’re whispering secrets.
Till stands at the base for a moment. Just breathing.
Then he crouches, grabbing a wooden plaque from the basket nearby, and a pencil. His hands hover.
What do I write?
He’s not sure why his throat tightens. He tries to think about the songs he sang earlier. Not the eyes he’d tried not to look at during his water break. And definitely not the voice that told him, “ I hope something shifts. ”
Now that he thinks about it, must Ivan always talk so ominously all the time?
A few minutes of thinking, Till lifts his pencil and starts to write.
i wish ivan’s wish comes true.
— T.L.
He flips the plaque over, sketching something small at the back. A clematis flower, slightly uneven. The petals curl gently inward. As good as his memory serves him, it should look a bit like this. Afterwards, Till ties the string, steps onto the crate someone left beneath the tree, and reaches up to hang it near the top.
Just as he’s about to step down—
He freezes.
Right beside where he hung his plaque is another one, already dangling from a low branch.
Till knows that handwriting.
He knows that design—the little fire drawn on the back like it’s lit above a rock. I.V.
And the wish.
i wish life will treat him the best it can offer.
i hope i’ll be there for him for the rest of my time.
— I.V.
Till stares. His fingers still hover near the wood. He doesn’t move until he hears the footsteps behind him.
“Enjoy what you’re reading?”
Ivan’s voice is soft and gentle, and something in his heart cracks. Till turns and sees Ivan st anding a few steps behind, hands tucked into his coat pockets, expression unreadable except for his eyes. They’re… softer than Till’s ever seen them. They’re usually rough or unreadable.
“I didn’t mean to,” Till says, voice quieter than expected. “I just… saw your stupid fire. I knew it was you.”
Ivan takes a step closer, his chuckle lost in the night wind. “You saw mine.”
Till nods, hesitant, frowning. “...Yeah.”
Another pause.
Ivan exhales, a slow kind of exhale. Like he’s been holding it in for months.
“What did you write?” he asks.
Till looks at him for a long time. “I… wished that your wish would come true.” He flushes red in the face. “I know it’s a corny one, but don’t judge, okay?”
Instead, Ivan just blinks . Like a lost child in the aisle of a supermarket.
Then—he laughs, breathless. There’s mirth in those void-like eyes. “Of course you did.”
Till tilts his head, pouting. “Why the fuck are you laughing for?”
Ivan doesn’t answer. He walks forward and carefully takes Till’s hand, turning him slightly toward the tree, whispering: “Look here.”
He gestures to a lower branch, tucked toward the back. Two older plaques, weathered from sun and rain.
Till’s breath catches when he sees them.
The first is written in a younger, messier hand.
i wish that ivan and i will always be together for eternity.
— T.L.
And right beside it:
i wish till’s wish comes true.
— I.V.
It’s like the world stills for a moment. Till stares at the two wooden plaques. At his own writing from two years ago. At Ivan’s quiet confession that’s been hanging there all this time, untouched, waiting.
His voice cracks a little when he says, “You knew. Back then?”
Ivan’s smile is soft. “I thought I was pretty obvious.”
“You never said anything.”
“I figured I’d wait and let you figure it out on your own. You were in denial back then.”
Till’s lips quiver into a shaky laugh. “And now?”
Ivan squeezes his hand gently.
“Now, I don’t want to wait anymore.”
Till turns fully toward him. The courtyard is empty now. The tree lights glow behind them like stars. And Ivan’s eyes are brighter than anything else in the whole universe.
“I like you,” Till says, barely above a whisper. “I think I’ve liked you for a long time.”
Ivan leans closer, his smile reaching his eyes.
“Well, in that case, I’ve liked you since the moment you sang at orientation and then ran off stage because your shoelaces were untied.”
Till laughs, mortified. “You said you didn’t remember that!”
“I lied.”
They stand there for another heartbeat. Another pause in the universe. Then— Their forehea ds press together. Just lightly.
No kiss, not yet. Just breath, shared. Warmth, exchanged. Fingers, interlocked. Promises, unspoken but understood. Happiness lies at Till’s feet and he can never ask for more.
And somewhere above them, the tree creaks softly in the breeze. Wishes hang like stars. One after another, fulfilled.