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Rain falls onto his face as he sings. The hauntingly unusual calm sound of his voice perfectly reflects his feelings. He’s lost his spark. He's lost Mizi. He’s lost hope. He’s lost love.
He's lost himself.
But there’s no need to fight anymore. No need to be strong. No need to go against what they said. He’s going to die. It doesn’t matter what he does. In the end, it’s all going to end with his lifeless body lying on the cold stage, his blood mixing with the raindrops. Why should he make it harder for himself? Why, when his whole life he longed to love, should he try now?
And then there’s lips on his.
Ivan kisses him like he’s starving. It’s desperate, rough, pitiful, disgusting.
His hands dig into his neck, choking him, he wishes he could care, he wishes he could find it in himself to fight back, to live. He closes his eyes instead, accepting his fate. He’s glad. Glad to die by human hands. Glad to get murdered by emotions rather than the indifference of aliens, it doesn’t matter what kind of emotions they are.
He hears a gunshot. Then two more.
The hands let go of his neck. He opens his eyes.
The expression on Ivan’s face is gentle. Filled with softness. Love.
Then his body hits the ground.
“Ivan?” He hears himself say, his voice sore, tired.
Ivan smiles up at him wordlessly, almost softly as if he doesn’t feel the blood dripping from his lips.
Only when he tastes salt on his tongue does he realize that he’s crying.
He watches as the red flicker in Ivan’s eyes slowly disappears. And suddenly he’s hit with the realization that what lies in front of him is now merely a body.
The lights turn off and one by one, the aliens all leave. To them, human death was insignificant. If any of them grieve Ivan, it’ll truly be just his looks and voice they’ll miss. This body has neither of them now.
He stands there, looking at him as he decays.
Hours pass. It feels like years.
He can’t help but pay attention to every detail, every miniature change to his body.
He notices how the blood stops flowing at some point. How with every second, the possibility of Ivan waking up slowly disappears. How even in death, Ivan’s eyes seem to be looking at him.
Is it too late to look back?
He wakes up.
He sits up, his eyes snapping open as he tries to catch his breath.
Only when he calms down does he have time to look around and realize that he’s in his bed at the rebel base.
He sighs, standing up.
When he was saved by the rebellion, he would often have nightmares about that exact moment. Truly, he didn’t even have to sleep in order to have them.
They faded, yet on days like this, they seemed to come back. Just to torture him.
He walks over to the door, his hand reaching for the handle. Suddenly the door bursts open from the other side, making him flinch.
On the other side of the door is Ivan, Till averts his gaze, trying his best to push the memories of his nightmare away.
“Till.” He says, because like the freak he is, he always seems to address him first before saying what he truly wants to say, he always did it, even back then when they were stuck in Anakt garden. He remembers asking him about it once, it was right after one of their fights when they were little. Ivan smiled in response, his snaggle tooth peeking out of his lips. ‘I like saying your name’. He replied, as if that was in any way normal. He remembers being enraged by it, seeing it as Ivan’s usual mockery.
The look in Ivan’s eyes right now isn’t one bit mocking, though.
He stares at him wordlessly, his mouth slightly agape and the red ponds in his eyes widening.
Till glares at him, trying to signal that he either continues or get out… And to make the red color subtly coloring his cheeks seem less visible.
Because Ivan is stupid, though, he only seems to get the memo once Till punches him in the chest.
He blinks once, twice before realizing that he should probably say something.
“6 years.” He says, as if the meaning of those words should be the most obvious thing in the world. Till furrows his brows.
“It’s been 6 years, I mean” Ivan adds, expression unchanging.
Oh.
“Oh.” Till repeats out loud.
“Has it…” He starts, the words getting stuck on his tongue.
“…really been that long?” He mumbles, his voice quiet. Unsure, like this moment might just be another dream, another dumb fantasy that he will inevitably wake up from.
“It has.” Ivan interrupts his thoughts. And for once, he seems nervous, his voice shaky, his body tense, like he’s about to burst. Like, despite how hard it is to understand each other sometimes even after everything, this is something they went through together, something they will always share.
“I can’t believe…” Till starts.
“Me neither.” Ivan replies, interrupting him, because he doesn’t want to hear the words, doesn't want another reminder.
“Isaac said that-“ Ivan gets interrupted by gray hair softly ticking his neck, Till’s arms hugging his waist. A wet spot forms somewhere on his chest where Till’s face is buried. Because Till is sobbing. And hugging him. And so close.
Ivan freezes again.
Till has been way more affectionate ever since they got used to living with the rebellion, yet it still manages to set him off guard, like this is something he doesn’t actually deserve.
“…Hug me back, you idiot.” Till mumbles into his chest, his voice quiet but firm, with a hint of nervousness.
Ivan carefully does as he’s told, his arms wrapping around his shoulders. He feels as Till squeezes him even more. He stares into his hair, not managing to deny the urge to bury his face in it.
Till’s hair is soft, and it carries a scent of familiarity, something about it so undeniably Till-like that Ivan can’t help but want to drown in it.
He notices a wet spot in Till’s hair, right underneath his cheeks, and that’s how he realizes that he’s also crying.
“…I love you.” He hears Till mumble. A louder sob leaves Ivan’s mouth, one that makes him seem even more pathetic right now.
He squeezes him tighter, not managing to hold himself back anymore.
“I love you too.” He hears himself answer, like loving Till is something obvious, something he doesn’t even have to think about.