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"Maybe in another life, it's just you and me. Maybe we're happy together."
—Till
After the fall of the Stage—after the lights dimmed and the applause of cruel galaxies
faded—Till remained. Alone, carrying ghosts. But fate wasn’t done with him. Not yet.
So, yeah, this isn’t how he expected to spend his life. Actually, he never even thought he’d live at all. But somehow, here he is—now responsible for five children, made from the DNA of his friends, in a museum that quietly displays how it all ended. How the stage that took so many lives finally collapsed. Children of various ages looked at him not with curiosity or fear, but with vacant expressions. They didn’t seem astonished. They didn’t see anything. Just... staring.
This wasn’t the first time he had rescued children. Usually, they cried, laughed, clung to him with desperation—or at least felt. But these children? These ones were dull. Empty. Still, they followed him when he told them to. He didn’t know if it was because they truly believed he could save them… or if they simply lacked the will to disobey.
And now, well—they don’t seem to want to stay more than an arm’s length away from him. Like little ducklings behind their mother. He wasn’t one to complain. Truth be told, he enjoyed their presence. They weren’t loud. They’d started to open up a little. Around the rebel base, he usually looked after the kids and taught them how to “live again,” as the others liked to call it.
But he preferred calling it playtime.
With the new children added to his little pack, he encouraged them to talk to other people. But they didn’t listen. Definitely Ivan’s genes. Still, they were children—artificially created, yes—but still children. Made for entertainment, yes—but left neglected, emotionally broken... just like him and the kids from Anak Garden once were.
In the rebel base, almost everyone had been there since birth. Only recently, with the fall of the stage, had the real rescues begun—liberating the few humans left under the control of aliens who used them for entertainment, turning their pain into a spectacle. So now, with so many new children around, the base was… quiet. Too quiet. But back to the matter at hand—the new kids hadn’t made much progress interacting with anyone apart from him. Well… maybe Isaac, who came by sometimes with reports about more rescue possibilities.
Aliens are hideous little things. They don’t know how to build a world beyond pain. After their favorite show fell—the Stage—they began accelerating their experiments. With projects like LUKA, their data on human design had become nearly perfect. The only thing they still couldn’t change was the heart. Because, until the end, the essence of humanity was this: To be imperfect. To feel until you explode. To destroy, so you can be reborn, again and again.
It had been seven long years since the fall of the Stage, and still… he wondered: Where is Mizi? In the chaos, during the explosions, after she found him and saved his life—leaving him with the rebels—she vanished like dust. Now, all he had were the memories they shared in the Garden. But, well… he could think about his depression later. Elizabeth was waiting for him.
She wanted him to braid her hair.
Elizabeth had been staring at him all morning, her long strands of pastel-pink hair a mess of gentle tangles from a restless sleep. When she asked him to braid her hair, it wasn’t a request—it was a small act of trust, a symbol that she was beginning to feel safe enough to ask for something soft. Till sat down with her in the quiet corner of the base, legs crossed, fingers slightly trembling as they worked through the strands.
He didn’t say much. He never did during these moments. Elizabeth, in contrast, began humming a tune he hadn’t heard in years—a song from the Stage, one of sorrow and surrender. The melody felt oddly comforting, perhaps because she sang it like it was just another lullaby, detached from its dark origin. He listened, braiding slowly, carefully.
When he finished, Elizabeth didn’t look up. She leaned her shoulder gently against his, not in need of balance, but in search of closeness. The gesture made his chest ache. For someone who had once only known the spotlight’s heat and the audience’s gaze, this quiet intimacy was a revelation.
He didn’t tell her that her braid was uneven. He didn’t have the heart to fix it. It was perfect, because it was hers. She stayed at his side even after the moment had passed, humming and swaying lightly. He knew, then, she had chosen him—not because he had saved her, but because he had stayed.
“How did you and Ivan meet?” Till looked a bit surprised by that question, but he didn’t hesitate.
“Our history is kind of gory. We met in the scenario after the post-apocalypse on Earth, you know? But from the start, he was a dumb blockhead who was always with me. A little weird andvery rude... but my friend.”
“Meeting him and being together was the one constant in my life,” he continued. “A spoiled yet highly intelligent brat who would do everything in his power to get things his way.” The pink-haired kid tilted their head in confusion. “But you were kissing?”
If Till had been drinking something, he would’ve spat it out.
“Excuse me?! How do you know that?”
“The museum,” the child replied plainly. Till was stunned.
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“Here and now is a chance for action. Then we strike—ruin their faith, their hopes. Let them fall like dirty water into the sewer,” said one of the rebels.
“...A universe brimming with dreams,” Isaac added quietly, watching the children. “One that will live on in the memories of those you love.”
“I'll be down on my knees, because you're my idol.”
Maybe in another life, it's just you and me. Maybe we're happy together, thought Till, eyes soft, as Ivan’s voice echoed in his mind