Chapter Text
The last thing Till remembers is the agony that washed over him as he watched Ivan’s body hit the ground. The deep, dull ache in his chest morphed into something wicked that spread like wildfire as he stood over the body of a love he’d never really known. He’d been ready to die, willing, even. A world without Mizi was not a world that he could bear to exist in. So, when Ivan took hold of him and kissed him like it was all he had ever truly wished for, Till could feel nothing but dread. He wasn’t stupid, after all. The aggression, the desperation, the pure and frantic desire, was all of it to keep him alive? Ivan’s noble sacrifice, he’d been so blind. How could he not have seen it before? Consumed by his one-sided love for Mizi, he’d managed, somehow, to overlook the way Ivan watched him as if he were the most precious thing in this universe and the next. Ivan would build mountains for him, he knew that. He knew that Ivan knew him better than he could ever know himself; inside and out, from the colors reflected in his eyes, to what comprises the depths of his soul, there is no one who knows him better. Yet, every time, he would choose Mizi as if it were the only logical option.
The worst part is, Till is pretty sure Ivan expected it too.
He’d always taken him for granted, If he knew nothing else, that was irrefutable. Ivan had become a key part of his identity from the first time they spoke to each other, ever-present in his life. He’d always loved him, silent and unobtrusive. Content with the idea of simply standing beside him for the rest of his days. It took something as nasty and unforgiving as death for Till to realize the meaning, the true gravity of Ivan’s blatantly obvious feelings. They were the same feelings that made Till lash out at him; as if they were nothing but a hindrance, something that could only get in the way of whatever he was trying to do at any given time. He stood above the body of his best friend, the weight of Ivan’s sacrifice sinking deep beneath his skin. He felt nothing, nothing but agony. Agony, grief, and something that could only be described as pure and utter heartbreak.
So, as his eyes watched helplessly while they dragged Ivan’s limp, lifeless body off of the rain soaked stage, he promised that he would never forgive himself.
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Till has never been more miserable in his life. He wishes that shot had actually killed him, maybe then he’d truly be free.
Even so, he owes it to Ivan to keep moving. He died for him, after all. The least Till can do is respect his dying wish. A dedication like no other, an integral piece of his heart, a pulse. Mizi risked everything to save him, but did it actually mean anything? Was his life worth the price of eternal grief? He should be grateful, if anything. A “second chance” gifted to him by… what, God? What a joke. The longer he lets it settle in his chest, the more it twists into something dark and ugly. If God were real, the world wouldn’t be the way it is. He’d never have been auctioned off as a “pet”, and he would have a real family. His friends would be alive and well, maybe with families of their own. Maybe he would’ve gotten over whatever he felt for Mizi, and opened his eyes for once; Ivan was right there, waiting, the entire time. If God were real, he’d actually know what love is, not just the concept of it. He should be happy to be alive, right? He should be happy to still have Mizi, and he is, deep down. The anger though, the rage and betrayal, the sheer magnitude of his grief snuffs anything good until all that is left are the ashes. He wants to cling to Mizi, but that doesn’t feel right. Her presence is the only thing he has that’s worth losing now. He wants to latch on until the bitter end, dig his sharp claws into its side and pray— not to God, but to himself— that’s enough. Cynicism was something he swore he’d never be subject to, no matter how bad things got, but cynicism is nothing compared to the nights he spends reliving the past; reliving Ivan’s last song, the kiss that made his insides knot into something that would never be untangled.
No, cynicism was the least of his worries, but he could pretend that he was strong enough to push it all aside. On the surface, at least for a while, he believed that was enough. That desperate, carnal, and naive desire to make it out of this nightmare of a life; not unscathed, but intact. He’d forced himself, foolishly, to remain optimistic. He had to, the moment she lifted his limp, nearly lifeless body from the ground in the blaze of suffocating flames. That had to be enough. He’d loved her then, after all. So, why does he still feel like his entire world has been ripped out from under him?
Ivan.
Of course. It’s really always been Ivan, hasn’t it?
In every side-cast glance, in anything with a black hue, hell anytime he sees a cat, all he can really see is Ivan. Every time his eyes reach the scar on his neck he feels the way his hands wrapped around them. When the wind blows, it carries him whispers of conversations Till thought were long forgotten, Ivan’s voice like music in his ears. Sleep speaks only the devil’s language, forcing him to relive that day every time his eyes slip shut. He could still feel Ivan’s hands carding through his hair as he drifted, like a ghost, or a dream.
Till is so tired of waiting, tired of fighting. 34 years of life, what a waste. As he clicks off the safety of his gun; he wonders if Ivan still looks the same, wherever he is.
I should’ve left with you.
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He ‘s not exactly sure what gave it away first.
Maybe it was the soft glow from the sun peaking through the window of the small, cramped room. Or the strange warmth radiating from beside him. If this was what heaven feels like, he doesn’t mind it all that much; However, something is missing from his paradise, the very thing that courses through his veins. Till is aware that he is no angel, he’s actually very surprised he made it into heaven at all. He vaguely wonders if this is some kind of trial heaven, one where he actually doesn’t get to see any of the people he misses so dearly because that’s a waste of effort for someone who’s likely going to Hell anyway. Halfway through this internal monologue, he remembers that he doesn’t believe in God, and with a shallow hope, he waits.
Ivan.
He wants to see Ivan.
He’s never wanted anything more, actually.
Till is beginning to wonder why he’s having trouble “waking up”. He’s far from relaxed, but maybe this is just what all people revert to when they die, some weird state of somnolence? “No, that doesn’t make sense,” He thinks to himself, “ If God isn’t real, then I should’ve just disappeared. Am I still alive?” It’s kind of ridiculous, and if he lets himself think about it he might start to believe he’s some kind of immortal freak. I mean, a bullet to the neck and he’s fine (not fine, temporarily mute.), a bullet to the head and he’s fine….. Now he’s thinking about it. However, this sounds stupid as fuck, so he decides he will stop thinking. He acutely notices how tangible the bedsheets start to feel. He’s in a bed, someone’s bed. (So much for not thinking.) He can feel the moment someone shifts their weight beside him, and his eyes fly open. His surroundings wash over him in an instant: this is his childhood room from Anakt Garden… Slowly, he flips his body over to the other side and-
The words “Holy shit.” leave his mouth before he can stop them.
Ivan.
Ivan is in his bed, relaxed, without a care in the world, just like when they were kids. Till would give anything to be overjoyed at this discovery, he probably should be, actually. Maybe he should be apologizing to his almighty God for giving Ivan back to him in this… afterlife? Alternate universe? What-the-fuck-ever. The point is, he would be overjoyed… but there’s something wrong with this picture.
“...Why… does he look like a child? That’s weird…”
“Wait.“
If this is what he thinks it is, he’s genuinely going to be sick.
He rises from his dwellings, careful to not wake the sleeping young Ivan, and makes his way to the mirror plastered on the wall. Handmade gifts from his friends are tacked on the wall that holds it up. His reflection stares back at him, unrelenting; all Till wishes for, in this moment, is for a meteor to crash land and wipe out the entire population. See, Till is a good sport. He can laugh at jokes made at his expense most of the time, but there is absolutely nothing funny about this. He’s a child again, forced to live out his years training for Alien Stage once more, doomed to watch his friends die all over again. He waits expectantly for the punchline, but it never comes. He glances at the sleeping, raven haired human curling into the mattress he used to find solace in so long ago.
Till decides that he hates God.
Is this all there is for him? Endless torment that he must endure? He knows he doesn’t deserve heaven— if that even exists— but why this? For what reason? Is God really such a cruel creature? Ha, right. God isn’t real, at least, he doesn’t think is. This doesn’t feel very love thy neighbor. Yeah, if God is real, Till thinks he’s a fucking bitch. He remembers the nights he spent with Ivan as a young boy. He hadn’t appreciated them then, the laughter, the friendly flirting that annoyed him to no end, the times Ivan would sneak into his room after they called lights out and cuddle because he “had a nightmare”, taken for granted. He remembers the fights they had way too frequently, the way he thought he’d stay angry forever, and went straight back to Ivan the next day like nothing ever happened. Their final song that he had put too little effort into writing. He had been so ready to die that he just, gave up after writing his lines. If he’d known that was the last song Ivan would ever sing, he would’ve written something worthy of him, he would’ve-
No, he wouldn’t have written anything actually. He would’ve taken Ivan and ran. Anywhere, as far away from Alien Stage as possible. If he had known back then, he wouldn’t have let Ivan die for him- No, if he’d known what he does now, they wouldn’t even know Ivan’s name. Maybe they would have joined the resistance, or gone off the grid. Maybe they would have had a small house in the middle of nowhere, miles away from any type of civilization. God, If he had known… If he had known, he would’ve gone with Ivan when he tried to get them out the first time. He should’ve gone back then, what the hell is wrong with him? Did he actually stay in Anakt Garden because he was in love with a lesbian? Maybe he deserves everything bad that’s ever happened to him, who the fuck does that??? It’s too late now though, the damage is done, and he’ll have to live with that knowledge as he watches it happen all over again.
Wait….
[Till is so tired of waiting, tired of fighting. 34 years of life, what a waste. As he clicks off the safety of his gun; he wonders if Ivan still looks the same, wherever he is.]
I should’ve left with you.
I should’ve left with you.
I should’ve left with you.
I should’ve left with you.
…
You know what? Maybe God is real.