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The thud caught the attention of those present, interrupting the lively conversation that had been taking place previously. The eyes of those who had been conversing seconds before converged on a single point. The white wall, adorned with faded, childish scribbles, bore a faint bloodstain.
Bloodstain?!
A specific person present swallowed hard. The old drawing had been created by him, and although his memory was unclear, he vaguely remembered the small, chubby hands holding the chalk. The confusing lines drawn with his body on tiptoeing to reach the enormous wall.
Someone was beside him at the time, but that person's identity was irrelevant compared to the creation of that drawing, so he definitely didn't remember, nor did he care. As he approached hesitantly, his fingers, now thin and long, dragged lightly over the wall, staining it with fresh blood.
— Is anyone hurt? — A sweet, melancholy voice echoed in the background.
A black-haired girl remained motionless beside Mizi, a little further away.
— But there was no one here... — Till muttered, confused.
Could the person who was injured have been so quick that no one noticed their departure immediately after the noise?
— Maybe it was... One of the superiors — Mizi, the pink-haired girl suggested, unsure whether or not she was being heard by those she definitely didn't want to draw attention to.
Superiors, their masters. Till felt a sudden wave of nausea at the words. With a wry smile, he backed away from the scribbled wall, trying to hide the intense anxiety that gripped him.
— No. That's human blood... — Till said apprehensively, but certain.
— Ah! I couldn't see from here... — She scratched her hair.
— That's because you don't have your glasses!
Till laughed, handing over the round glasses that were in the corner. The black haired girl, Sua, looked at him sideways, expressionless. Mizi thanked him with a gentle smile, causing a slight blush to appear on the curly-haired boy's face.
Damn... He loved seeing Mizi's radiant smile.
[•|∆—PARATISE—∆|•]
Ivan's breathing was calm and steady, a reflection of the monotony that seemed to permeate his existence. His gaze, a little empty, remained unchanged, similar to that of many other people in that environment, whose life circumstances seemed to have drained the vitality from their eyes. Ivan was no exception; his expression was static, blank, with only his eyes moving slowly, as if lazily following the path of an insect before him.
A millipede.
A carnivore with one pair of legs per body segment and venom glands used for hunting and defense. — An earwig; venomous centipede.
Observing this small animal brought home the harsh reality. The dark realization that embraced and swallowed him.
An insignificant and disgusting being, capable of being eliminated in seconds by his superiors. Nothing more than a mere nuisance, useful only as long as it served a specific purpose. Otherwise, it was just an obstacle to be removed with a smile. Something disposable.
A mere step from someone powerful ended that life. Ivan's life was nothing but business. Everyone's lives here was.
Disgusting.
With an almost automatic movement, Ivan stood up and, with a deliberate step, crushed the centipede he had observed for nearly fifteen minutes. He rubbed his foot gently, listening to the centipede squeak. Crushed. Dead.
The bedroom door closed softly behind him as he walked down the halls, leaving a trail of smudged footprints on the shiny, polished floor. A grimace of displeasure appeared on his face as he realized his shoe was dirtying that immaculate place.
Immaculate in appearance, degraded in purpose.
Looking at the sole, he saw the crushed body of the centipede still attached to his shoe.
However, something disturbed him. The insect's blood was dark, but the marks on the ground were red. He trudged to the bathroom with a feeling of revulsion. His hand was still bleeding from the punch he'd given the wall, a gesture that seemed to have been more than just a moment of anger.
[•|∆—PARATISE—∆|•]
The almost entirely white bathroom, like almost the entire place they lived, was completely empty.
The sound of drips from the barely closed faucet echoed like explosions in Ivan's ears. He clenched his fists. The reflection seemed distorted. His mind was.
He didn't want to look.
Focusing on the wrists, where the phalanges were deliberately bleeding, he plunged them into the water. The burning didn't bother him. The bruise didn't bother him. Nothing almost ever bothered him. Being a Pet didn't bother him.
But there was something that bothered him. Something he fought to get rid of.
Did he fight against it? No. The war had already been lost long ago.
Something he wanted, something he needed, something he already considered rightfully his. Something that was already his, but that he couldn't have.
— Huh? Ivan?
The slightly scratchy voice dulled his senses. He looked in the mirror, completely avoiding his reflection, focusing entirely on the boy behind him.
— ...Till...
Hesitantly, Till approached, looking with a small grimace at the blood dripping into the sink.
— Did you hurt yourself? What was that? — He asked, oblivious. He hadn't noticed, never did. Ivan wanted to laugh. Or cry.
— A small scratch.
— ...
— Did you draw today?
— Huh?
— I asked if you made any new drawings...
— Ah. No. I haven't had time.
He looked away, not really focusing on the answer. But Ivan already knew the real answer. He washed his bloody hands, drying them, and stared at the boy, who was visibly uncomfortable.
Till didn't know how to lie.
Ivan didn't know how not to look at Till.
— ...Want to draw?
— ...I don't have time.
— I didn't ask about time...
Till fidgeted with his fingers a little nervously. He didn't understand what Ivan meant. Actually, he did. He just made a point of not thinking about it so as not to suffer any further from the absurdity of what he had understood. He preferred to keep Ivan like this, invisible, an NPC, a stranger.
— I'll keep an eye out... As soon as possible, we'll go.
— I don't want to...
— You do.
— I already told you I don't want to, damn it!
That tone of voice, irritated, disgusted. Pressured. Ivan knew that tone well. It was the tone Till had always directed at him.
Ivan fell silent. Till grew frustrated, uncomfortable, and with hurried steps he left, leaving Ivan alone.
[•|∆—PARATISE—∆|•]
The cafeteria was slightly noisy. Loose conversation echoed from corner to corner. Several heads lined up side by side, facing each other, eating the meal that seemed to taste the same after years of eating the same thing.
Ivan stood facing the opponent he would face in the future. They didn't meet each other's eyes, only exchanging glances occasionally.
— I saw you earlier.
— ...
Sua spoke softly. Her tone was always low.
Ivan couldn't say he harbored any feelings for most of the Alien Stage participants. Except for one, of course. But Sua was pratically only other person he felt anything for. It wasn't empathy. Maybe respect? He didn't have an adjective to describe it, but he knew he didn't haveapathy towards the girl.
— Is your hand sore?
— ...No.
— ...We've already talked about this.
Talked about this. Their conversations lasted no more than 5 or 10 minutes. Ivan wasn't a sociable person, and Sua even less so. But they both managed to communicate at times. However, the conversation always ended with a bitter taste. The pain of reality. It was difficult to talk.
— It's just... It's not like I can help it.
— Then why don't you tell him?
Ivan put down his cutlery, finally looking at her. Her dead, violet eyes met the black abyss of the reddish moon.
— Do I look like your girlfriend?— Sua shifted uncomfortably at the word "girlfriend" echoing so seriously from his icy lips.
— She isn't-
— Well, then you already have your answer.
He returned his focus to his empty plate. Sua sighed, looking, towards the pink-haired girl in the distance. Their eyes met. The girl smiled.
— So you'd rather stay the way you are just because you know you won't be loved back?
— Being ignored is enough. At least I'll still have the chance to look at him.
— Rejected or not. You'd still be in the same situation you're in now.
— No. I wouldn't be.
— And what would be different? You'd be ignored, just like you already are.
— ... He looks at me with confusion. I don't know if it's genuine or if he's faking it, but it's confusion.
— And?...
— What if I said everything I keep inside. I'll never see your face again.
— How can you be so sure?
— You know how.
Sua sighed. She didn't want to admit that Ivan was right, because besides being completely unpredictable, every action has a reaction. And she didn't quite believe Till was that easy to read.
However, looking at the gray-haired boy across the tables, admiring Mizi from afar, a bitter feeling crept into her throat.
— I'm sorry.
Ivan was right.
— Don't be... I understood that a long time ago.
— How sad...
And with a welcoming silence, almost dispelling the sadness that hovered there, they went back to fiddling with their cutlery, distracting themselves with thoughts and occasionally in some small discussions about music and other things.
[•|∆—PARATISE—∆|•]
Free. Ivan wore the local white uniform. It was comfortable.
For the past five hours, Ivan had been forced to follow his Alien to a meeting. As a poster boy for several brands sponsored by Alien Stage, and several high society aliens curious to meet him, it was completely normal for him to be dragged to various events. Being presented as the good puppy he was.
He couldn't say he was completely disgusted; he was apathetic to many things. But there was one thing he hated about these events. The time.
When he arrived at the base where all the pets were staying in the program, he was instructed to take a shower and change his clothes to rest.
Being the only one allowed to roam the halls freely after curfew, he showered in a hurry. His footsteps echoed silently through the room.
Floors and floors until he was free of the dormitory corridor. His long strides reached the torture and experiment area.
The doors were countless, the hallway seemed endless. But he walked toward a specific place.
Facing the familiar metal door, he took a deep breath. Typing in the password before the noise caught his attention in the silent place. Dark. The interior was extremely dark.
However, in the soft light of the hallway, Ivan felt his heart stop.
The room was empty.
His expression grew more serious. Anxiety rose in his throat. Closing the door, his steps became heavy. He knew where he had to go.
[•|∆—PARATISE—∆|•]
— Nghm...
His icy heart broke. The cracks were countless, the holes impossible to repair. He approached the sofa in the center of the empty room.
Ivan could see several things. Drink glasses, glass on the sides, microphones, clothes...
Everything scattered.
He ignored it, focused and dedicated to a single purpose. His own purpose.
His fingers glided gently, as if afraid to touch. Ivan wasn't afraid to touch; on the contrary, he touched too much. But he knew that at that moment, it wouldn't be good. He couldn't help it; his heart was breaking, and he couldn't show it. He wouldn't even know it if he wanted to.
The lump that had formed in his throat became difficult to swallow. He bent down, level with the unconscious body on the couch. His cheek gently touched the unconscious boy's, rubbing gently. With a purity that Ivan would never have, but which he saved for moments. Moments like that. Only for Till.
— I'll take you... To our safe haven.. to draw...
Ivan got no answers. He knew he wouldn't, after all, Till couldn't see him. He was invisible.
With strong arms, he held Till in his arms, carrying him away.
[•|∆—PARATISE—∆|•]
The hot water contrasted sharply with Ivan's cold skin. His sleeves were rolled up, his hands gingerly touching the body he had undressed. He had to be quick. He always needed to be quick. But the urge to stay there forever always consumed him. He wanted to stay there. He wanted to stay there. He always wanted more, more than he could have.
Greedy boy. Arrogant boy.
The number of times he had done this, bathing Till while the boy was unconscious, was countless. But he always did it during a period of time when Till would remain asleep. He knew the boy would freak out with embarrassment if he woke up.
With a soft sigh, he ran his wet hand gently over the bruise on his rib. His body shuddered. His chest tightened at Till's agonized face.
He glided over the scars, over the stains of something that shouldn't be on the gray-haired boy's body. He cleaned everything, took care of everything. The patience and slowness he used was surprising.
Ivan washed and tended to the unconscious body. His icy gaze never softened, disgust etched in his irises. That body wasn't made for this. It didn't deserve it.
He clenched his fists, looking away.
Even the bathtub seemed disgusting at that moment. He didn't want anything to touch Till. He wanted to stop the air if possible.
Drying Till carefully, his touches light, almost invisible. He lifted the boy into his arms again, completely wrapped in towels.
[•|∆—PARATISE—∆|•]
Ivan remained motionless, sitting on the floor beside his own bed as he watched Till's calm breathing, his chest rising and falling, completely asleep and comfortable. He was properly dressed, with not a single wrinkle in his white uniform. It was almost as easy for Ivan to dress him as it was to bathe him. The familiarity of that situation made him increasingly skilled at doing everything without disturbing Till.
On the other hand, he wanted to bother Till. He wanted that confused expression to be on his face in that situation. He wanted Till to know that everything was his doing.
Deep down, he knew Till knew. He just wanted to see... He wanted to have some crumb to cling to.
His fingers caressed his bare hand, as gentle as his entire treatment of the boy.
Ivan stared at him for almost an hour without blinking. Painful.
Win or lose.
Live or die.
It was all Ivan had known since birth. There was no warmth within him or in his songs. All apathetic, nothing lifelike.
He was fine with it. Neutral.
However, the truck that hit him was shaped like a human being. A small boy running after red flowers.
Till.
His color, his warmth, his gaze. He wanted to be a flower, to always be with Till. However, Ivan was far from a flower. He was an insect. Miserable.
He wanted to be something. A larva, a disease, a parasite. Anything that could keep him with Till, in Till. He wanted to tear at the young man's wounds, burrow into his flesh, and become a part of his being. He wanted a crumb, a pitiful mercy. Some look. Some sign!
He really was... So... So...
— So perfect.
He whispered. A secret, a revelation. His fingers intertwined with Till's. The secret he had always buried deep in his heart.
His heartbeat accelerated. An absurd intensity that made his breath catch. He braced his hands on the edge of the bed, hovering over his serene face. Dead.
— Somewhere in your songs... I wonder if there is... A space for me?... I don't want to be the title, nor the muse, much less the chorus... I know this all belongs to her... But deep down. Maybe in some interval...
His lips were extremely close to Till's. His red pupils were completely dilated.
— Fuck...
He trembled. Always so cold, but inside, desperate. He looked away hesitantly. No. He wouldn't. He wouldn't stoop so low as that. But it hurt.
So perfect. Why?
— What are you doing?
— ..Good night... My universe.
Ivan smiled sadly, watching Till's sleepy, utterly surprised look.
Till knew where he was; he always had. Despite being unconscious, he knew who was the only person who could walk freely on the Anakt Garden. He knew who could be the only person with access to his torture room, the room where his Alien threw parties, the room where he was dumped. He knew. He always knew.
As with other times, his body was clean and smelled good, his clothes comfortable, his bed soft, his warmth welcoming. He knew it was coming from that cold body that was on top of him now.
That made him panic.
— Ivan...
— Yes?...
Their voices were low. For once, Till didn't look away. His heart was pounding.
— Thank you...
It came out softer than a whisper, softer than a secret. Maybe that was harder to say than confessing his feelings to Mizi. That was definitely harder.
— I'm the one who's grateful... Thank you.
— For what?
— For being the victim of my cold, shallow emotions...
Till swallowed hard.
He knew. He always knew. But he chose not to see. To close his eyes and swallow back that feeling that had been shoved down his throat in such a terrifying way.
That plate of centipedes he was forced to eat the moment the realization came. He chose to put the plate away in a cupboard and eat the beautiful, inviting reddish petals. Pinkish petals. Forgetting that the plate of centipedes was there.
The centipedes continued to breed and multiply even though they were in the dark, causing the plate to crack at some point due to the overload.
And now the cracked plate, spilling centipede after centipede, was there in front of him.
Trembling, his hands wrapped around Ivan's neck.
— ...I don't want to draw today...
— ...It's okay...
He snuggled closer to Till, pulling him closer in a hug.
His heart ached even more. The air left him with a suffocating sensation he'd been holding for years.
He finally was no longer invisible.
The crumb he'd been searching for fell like a lovely meal, like a banquet of apologies for the wait.
He smiled, hugging Till.
Despite being different and strange, Till felt safe, allowing himself to go deeper into that embrace.
He wouldn't let the plate break again. After all, it was that broken porcelain tile that always put him back together in the dead of night.
— Don't punch the wall again... — Till whispered, his fingers gently running over Ivan's injured phalanges. Ivan snuggled into his side, burying his face in his neck, sighing, feeling as if he were in a dream. His voice was low, almost hypnotized.
— I won't...
— Really?...
— Really...
....
— I like you...
— I know...
— ...
— Aren't you going to ask me if I like you back?
— I know your answer... No need... I'm content with where I am. I'm not greedy...
— ...
Ivan closed his eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep. Till also felt exhaustion returning, and hugged Ivan tighter, making the boy's cheeks flush.
— I see you...
His heart skipped a few beats. That was definitely better than any answer Till could have given. He smiled a little goofily, pulling Till closer in his arms.
— Good evening, Ivan...
— Good night, my universe...