Work Text:
There’s a rumbling in the air that emits a white sound. It sends this static, vibrating noise which ripples through the stage covered in colourful streaming lights. But then there’s silence, only an ear-raping ringing envelops Till’s ears, and he’s left with nothing but his silent vision.
Dark.
Cold.
Empty.
But there was something missing.
His heartbeat.
. . .
There was something always fragile inside of Till, it was warm but easy to snap, like glass. Once the glass heats way over its limits it bursts, exploding into trillions of shards, scattered away, broken. Never to be replaced, never to be fixed. Only to be swept away, forgotten and damaged.
Scarred.
There’s no way to fix it.
There never will be.
And this time, it really feels like it.
Till thinks it’s warm, wherever he is. A complete contrast from where he was before, the numbing pain in his neck from the bullet had completely dissipated, leaving only a reminiscence of a ghosting wound, a reminder that would make him shudder.
It’s deathly quiet, his eyes hurt and his head pangs against his forehead, the migraine forming beneath his skull starts to bite at his nerves and gnaw at his guts.
But the feeling doesn’t go away.
It might never go away.
Not unless he becomes fixed.
He would laugh if he could at that thought. Except a monotonous, resting face contorts his features, forcing him in an endless slumber.
He feels like he’s in a coffin.
Trapped.
Isolated.
Alone.
He can’t move his muscles. In fact, he can’t even feel them. It’s like he’s in some sort of coma, paralysed to everything but his consciousness. He has trouble opening his eyes, but the light enveloping his closed eyelids tells him that he’s in a place where the sun's shining brightly. Just like how it used to. Back in the garden where dreams were crushed and hope was a dim, hollow fantasy. Controlled by tyrants.
A long period of silence overwashes him. It’s only accompanied by his faint heartbeat.
He can’t tell if he’s dead.
He can’t tell if he’s alive.
He just wants to see…
Mizi?
He’s not even sure at this point. He just wants to see someone… anyone.
Before he could answer his internal monologue the loud ringing comes back from earlier and he can’t even wince as he feels his ears twitch from the volume.
The static muffles, the grainy speckles of pandemonium become interfered with and spots of noise dissolve into quiet laughter.
A child’s laughter.
Young.
Innocent.
Completely at the mercy of the future. Oblivious to the delusion of freedom in this world.
But somewhere deep inside, it was something Till had unwillingly missed.
But it was also something he wished he didn’t remember.
And then he can feel his surroundings. Finally having control over something.
Petals brush gently, grazing his revealed skin like a blanket. It’s soft, somewhat comforting. It calms him, like a balm. He feels relaxed for the first time in a long time. Feeling content by just listening to his breathing. Smooth laboured breaths go through his nose out, not shaky nor forced.
He thinks back to where he currently is, he can depict an image in his mind, the place is big, huge even. It feels wide, endless, like it could go on forever with no sign of stopping. And then he thinks about how no one else could be here.
He doesn’t like being alone anymore.
But at this moment, he truly didn’t mind. He felt at rest. Like every page that had written out his life was being sung out. He could let everything go and finally move on. But then he remembers someone and it pulls him back to the present.
A breeze of fresh air wraps around him, it sends a shiver through his spine as it brushes against his warm cheek though it doesn’t show. He feels the strands of his hair follow the wind, like a melody.
He needs to open his eyes. To see where he is, to finally start some sort of deduction about where he is.
But he can’t do anything and for some reason, it doesn’t scare him.
Hurried, rushed footsteps collide with the ground that’s covered in flowers. He can hear them sway, dancing around the running body before falling back in place, covering the ground.
Then the footsteps stop. Pausing a metre or two away from Till.
And Till just lays within the flowers, motionless like Snow White. The figure stays silent. Just quietly watching, observing.
“Wake up,” The voice says. “You’ll miss the flowers blooming.”
That voice…
His fingers twitch, spasming a bit, he can feel the petals. Like millions of soft, small hands grabbing at him, comforting him in the ways of the sea. Their touch angelic like waves washing over him, giving him a soothing solace of peace.
The hands, that are so soft like the hands of his… he twitches, wishing to not recall that moment. But he doesn’t have any time to think before the angelic hands pull him under the waves.
He gasps, gulping, choking up the water, his chest burns as he’s engulfed in a dark sea of blue and black. He still can’t open his eyes as he feels himself sink, deeper and deeper into the murky abyss. It gets harder to breathe and he can barely feel his chest move. But the faint lingering touch of his mothers hand remains stifled on his. He wants to keep the tender touch there forever, but it’s getting harder to think, to feel… to live.
He blinks open his eyes for a split second, his vision spotting, pressure building behind his eyes as his throat locks, But even with his anopsia-like vision, he knew what he saw. Because he’ll always know. In the distance, he saw a boy that looked just like him. Falling in the water, his hand reaching, sluggishly but slowly and surely.
And the part that stunned him the most was that he was smiling.
A pained, resigned, longing smile. He can clearly see the shine of red in his black eyes, the light that sparkled on his pupils glistening with hope like he just saw billions of stars in the night sky. Water ripples him into shattered pieces of a mirror. Broken, hopeless, consumed.
And then suddenly, Till had the strength to open his eyes.
His vision blurs. He waits for it to adjust. The world spins and he takes a moment to stop his disorientation.
He breathes in and immediately starts choking, causing him to sit up.
It’s like the waters still in his lungs, he coughs but only flowers flutter out of his mouth. His eyes darted in a sudden rush, adrenaline pulsing through his system. Why were there flowers in his mouth instead of the figment of water slicking his throat, drowning him?
And then that innocent laughter fills his ears again, crescendoing into a childish giggle.
His head turns, eyes locking onto the figure now crouched down in a hunched over position directly next to him. Feet snuggled between the resting flowers, their buds closed, ready to burst open and finally bloom their emotions into the world.
The small boy was near his face, flowers covering his hands as some blew onto his white neck-collared shirt. He even saw some petals in his black hair, hidden beneath the clumps, clinging to him like a source of life.
His large black doe eyes search his teal empty ones, ridden with neverending heartache and some sort of guilt, though the child doesn’t question it—not like he knew what it meant anyway.
His eyes stop searching, his face stretched in a form of shock as Till had finally looked back at him before they crinkle into a smile. It’s not painful this time, it’s small, genuine, and happy. He laughs, more petals fluttering through the gaps of his fingers and some finally falling out of his hair. His snaggletooth hooks and pushes into his lip, but not hard enough to draw blood.
Petals continue to fall, the wind continues to whistle, and Till’s heart continues to beat.
Till stares at the child a bit longer before his peripheral view unblurs more, and once it does he then realises where he was. He can’t help but turn his head in front of him, he can feel the area shift, stretching beyond his comprehension. He knows this place.
He looks up at the tall raised ceiling with elongated walls and a fake environment, mimicking a home he never had. He has to force himself to not throw up. So instead he focuses on the only grounding thing in his surroundings. The child in front of him, oblivious to anything and everything but Till.
“Did… you?” Till croaks out, his eyes widen from how damaged his voice was, as if it hadn’t been used in days. He pulls his hand up to his throat, to try and soothe the soreness but he flinches as he feels scars. He didn’t expect talking to be so hard all of a sudden, and he especially didn’t expect there to be scars on a place so fragile.
“You wouldn’t wake up,” The boy replied, dropping the flowers onto the ground and standing up with a blank stare. “If I didn’t wake you up, you would’ve missed it.”
Till stays quiet for a beat, he doesn’t really question what was going on. He was already at a loss for words by seeing who was in front of him. “...missed what?”
The boy smiles, his irregular tooth poking out. “The blooming flowers. Isn’t it your favourite?”
At this, Till looks around and pauses, he’s still sitting, laying on a patch of flowers as a large gush of wind pushes against them. It’s almost as if the artificial sun shines down on them even harder, wanting Till to look even deeper in its eternal grasp. The bright light covers everything in their sight.
He then realises that they’re surrounded by red anemones and white edelweiss’ that haven’t even bloomed yet, their favourite flowers, together, amidst all the quiet memories shared with unrevealed and forgotten feelings.
He’s quiet for a moment, processing. Unsure of what to make of this situation. He looks back at the kid, his eyes widened, in fear? In revelation? Even he didn’t know. Because all he could see when the child of someone he knew in the past looked back at him, all he could see were blazing stars, filling the night sky in an ombre of reds and oranges and yellows. It scared him, and immediately he felt his stomach twist. He looked away because he couldn’t take it anymore.
He looked away because he knew.
What he had done.
What he had caused.
Because of him… he—
The wind still pushes gently against him, but his hair doesn’t fly in his face anymore, it’s short, so short he can’t even see it.
“...what’s your name?” His voice is still hoarse, dry against his throat. It itches when he speaks, but he can’t take the burning silence—especially those burning eyes, boring holes through his very system.
“Ivan…” The child swipes his tongue along the ridges of his snaggletooth, the roughness cutting through thinly. He watches keenly towards Till. “What’s yours?”
Till contemplates if he should say the truth. “... does it matter?”
Ivan only smiles and it makes Till realise that the child already knew.
He swallows anxiously before trying to stand up.
“Careful.”
Till stops moving.
Ivan continues, “You’ll damage the flowers.”
Till looks down towards Ivan’s feet, damaged petals flourishing around him. “You’re already crushing them.”
“You’re heavier than me.”
“It’s all the same—” He stops himself because he remembers that this ‘Ivan’ is only a child, and then he remembers that this ‘Ivan’ isn’t Ivan.
He isn’t real…
He isn’t real…
…what does real even mean?—
He sighs and stands up.
Now he’s the one towering over him.
He looks at the small version of Ivan for a moment, the way his cheeks are still plump with remaining baby fat, the way his hair slightly covers his eyes in that childish manner. The way everything seemed like the past felt overwhelming to Till. Almost like he was reliving those moments again. But he has to move on. He has to remember it’s too late.
But a question gnaws tightly in Till’s stomach, to the point he felt as though he were to explode. He wonders if this ‘Ivan’ has any idea of what he will do.
Of what he did to him.
To them.
He decides to test that knowledge.
“Ivan.” Till began, his voice creeping out softly, almost like a broken record player.
Ivan perks up, his blank expression hiding his thoughts. But Till can see the look urging him to continue.
“Why… why did you do everything—” No, that came out wrong. “Why did you do all of that… to everyone, Mizi, Sua… to me…?”
Ivan blinks up at Till and all Till can see is the red anemones, huddling around the white edelweiss’, the contrasting colours beautifully mixing in a swirl as the wind continues its thrilling pace. “Do what?”
“Hide… from everyone, everything?”
The boy in pure white smiles, a red and white flower he had plucked previously twirling between his fingers. Till notices the scratches on the corners of his lips. He must have practiced it a lot.
“Isn’t that what everyone’s supposed to do?”
“...supposed to do what?”
“Pretend.”
A silence consumes them and Till isn’t sure how to respond. He’s confused but most importantly, he wonders, because he isn’t even sure if he’s really ‘talking’ to Ivan right now.
Maybe… maybe he’s…
“Why would everyone pretend?”
“Because it’s the only way to survive. It’s the only way to feel alive—if you just pretend to feel something.” He smiles again, but Till can see that even the smile isn’t real anymore.
He swallows, but it’s dry. Mucus slicks his throat and he feels like choking.
“Does that mean… you pretended with everyone?”
Ivan’s silent, collecting words through his head, he looks away, down towards the ground. The vulnerability in his actions bites at Till’s stomach. “Everyone but you.”
Till lets out a confused sound, like a quiet gasp. He can’t really grasp if what this Ivan is saying is true. If this is what Ivan would have said to him, given different circumstances.
“You’re different, Till.” He looks up, deliberately, slowly, like he’s testing Till. Watching his expression, feeling him, emotionally, mentally. When he watches Till stay put, he continues.
“If there’s one thing I could feel something for… it’s you.”
The rustling of artificial leaves, the bright scorching rays of the artificial sun, the box covering them like bright shadows, engulfing them in an eternal darkness shifts, like it’s reaching, for the inevitable.
“Being alive only felt worth it because of you.”
Till feels this reality beginning to shrink, wavering like everything could suddenly disappear once again. Like if he could blink and it’d all be gone.
“Even if you only looked at her.”
Ivan crushes the flowers in his hand, his eyes only trained on them. But even as he opens his palm to reveal the damaged flowers, they appear just as new. Fresh, unharmed, alive.
“That’s why… I want you to live.”
His voice shudders, like for the first time his true emotions were peeling down, layer by layer, revealing who Ivan was all this time.
A boy.
A boy that wanted to live.
To love and be loved—
Even if he didn't even understand what love was.
But he wanted that human feeling, just like everyone else.
But most importantly, he was just a boy who wanted to live.
…
“You’re my god, my universe. In a world that’s not fair at all.”
His shoulders deject and Till feels his eyes sting, he forces himself to stay still, unmoving.
“That’s why I love you… even if it’s shallow.”
He says it as if he doesn’t understand what the words mean, but the way his smile and eyes twitch, muscles contorting, reveals that his heart does.
He always did. And nothing would change that.
Ever.
Ivan looks up, replacing his broken lips with another smile on his face but, his muscles don’t tense and his lips don’t purse.
This time, he smiled.
A real smile. A smile that wasn’t forced by hands or machines or obedience.
It was a smile that every kid should always have.
“With you, I didn’t need to pretend—because in those moments, that’s when I truly felt alive.”
Till can’t say anything, his voice won’t let him. He feels his throat close, his eyes well up even more but he doesn’t cry. He just silently stands there, watching the small Ivan look up at him cluelessly. Like he didn’t even realise what he had just confessed.
Till places a hand on his face, to bring himself back to reality but nothing changes as his palm presses against his cheek, the pressure only strengthening his senses. He has to remember this isn’t real. None of this is real because Ivan… he’s…
Because Ivan is—
The flowers sway silently across the garden. There's no other children or people but them, alone in a neverending cycle. Wind courses through their clothes, the frigid temperatures nearly causing Till to shiver. He bites the inside of his mouth instead.
Slowly, the red anemones and white edelweiss’ bloom, their buds opening slowly, leisurely, like they had all the time in the world.
The colours blend together, creating a canvas where Ivan and Till were the main subjects.
It looked surreal, like something you’d see in a dream. Till has to remind himself that this is real.
Right…?
Ivan looked around, his eyes dragging, pupils dilating. “Looks like we weren’t too late, huh?”
Till looks down, at the stigma of the red anemones. The red drowns out the ground below, accompanied by his own flower, the white edelweiss.
This moment..
It’s resurfacing forgotten memories from Till.
Ones where they ran together, under the night sky that shined with warm colours. Hand in hand, swarmed with happiness.
And then one let go and the other watched.
The stars are a blatant reminder of that night.
Where they could have ran, escaped and avoided everything.
Where they could have lived, like humans, like people, like themselves.
But Till couldn't leave Mizi behind… not when he…
Conflicted feelings clash and he's left wondering what the word love even meant.
If only… if only they knew what the word family was.
Then maybe… things wouldn’t have been so confusing.
The colours make his head swirl, nauseating, disorienting him, he feels himself sway, or maybe his vision. It doesn’t really matter.
He wants to scream, but his mouth is closed.
He wants to cry, but his throat hurts.
His head spins even more.
But…
He realises one thing.
He wants to live.
Maybe for Ivan, maybe for himself.
But something ‘Ivan’ said… it made him feel something. Or maybe… it made him feel everything.
The flowers continue to slowly bloom, swirling beneath the trees and sky.
It’s so fake, it makes Till want to laugh. But the astonishment on Ivan’s face holds him back.
Ivan glances back once he'd had his share of watching and he notices Till’s predicament instantly.
He takes a step forward, snapping Till out of his trance. The two flowers in his hand that he had tried crumpling were still twirling around his fingers unharmed.
“Dont feel guilty.”
Till stays quiet.
“You mean so much to me… you still do.”
“...I know,” Till bitterly replied. The taste in his mouth feels poisonous. He bites his tongue to fight back those tears clinging on his throat, forming a membranous tumour that breathes as its own entity. He feels so sick. He wants to throw up, he wants to pretend none of this is happening. He wants to—
“Do you feel sad?”
…what?
Is what Till wanted to say. But he can’t, because if he even tries to open his mouth…
He’ll break.
The kid smiles at him, extending an arm. In his small hand, the red anemone and white edelweiss convene, intertwining with each other. Becoming one.
Till looks down at Ivan’s opened palm and he suddenly balls his hands into fists. A surge of anger… directed at Ivan?
…
No…
A growing anger towards himself. Fueled by the discrepancies of those fragmented evocations.
Ivan blinks, like he’s calculating, trying to recall a fond memory. Brows furrow, pressed tightly together in contemplation. His eyes drift down towards the flowers and then suddenly, his brows relax and his eyes glisten with affection like he had finally remembered. He looks back up and whispers loud enough for Till to hear.
“Cheer up…” his voice was loud but it felt so quiet to Till. So distant. So small.
Fragility teetering on the edge of oblivion. Folding into the unknown.
Till aches to speak, to ask why Ivan would say that, but as he looks up, reality crashes down on him as he is left to drown in the fact that he’s too late. Ivan’s face…
It distorts into something unrecognizable, blurring mosaically as a black fog devours his features, consuming him, scrambling the very pieces that made him Ivan.
And this time, Till really can’t put the pieces together.
Desperation takes hold as he lunges forward, pulling the fading shape of what he assumes is Ivan into a crushing embrace. He holds him like it’s his—their last day together, because he knows, if he lets this chance go again, there’ll never be another time.
Tears that had been pushed back, clawing at his throat, poured out, overflowing. It burns his eyes profusely and a sharp, jagged lump thickens in his chest, making every breath ache, but he ignores the agony despite wanting to scream. Because it hurts so much. To know that the moment he lets go, Ivan will be gone.
The tears sting as they relentlessly fall from his eyes, but even as his heart cries, racing from fear, adrenaline, grief, it doesn’t bring anything back, no matter what. It could never bring him back, no matter how many tears he shed, no matter how many times he dreamt, wept, yearned.
Even as his heart breaks, it doesn’t change anything.
Ivan was never coming back.
And there would never be a way.
He hugs him tighter, the tenuousness of the small Ivan feels helpless in his arms and then the child falls to the ground on his knees, like he had lost control. But still, his hands cling onto Till like he was Ivan. Like this Ivan knew what Till knew too.
One more time…
Please…
And Till can feel his heart slam against his ribcage, born of a desperation that knew no cure.
Let me hold you.
See you.
Touch you.
Until I drown completely.
Under the mercy of your piercing eyes that hold the stars of a thousand skies.
I won’t let go this time.
I promise you, Ivan.
So please…
Don’t leave me…
Ivan says something.
Till knows he does. But it doesn’t reach him. He’s starting to forget the sound of his voice, the deep tonic harmonious resonance it would bubble out feels fractured, like a croaking scream.
Till hopes it’s because Ivan is a child that he’s forgetting his real voice.
But he knows he’s just being hopeful.
The voice is muffled, words coming out in a hurried flaw, a disorganised string of code. Impossible to decipher because there are no answers to his words.
And there’ll never be.
But he feels it.
He feels him.
Strong arms grasp around him, squeezing tighter every moment, bones lengthen and shoulders broaden. Wrapping him in a layer of warmth. It feels so fuzzy, like he had just woken up.
Then the weight solidifies. It’s familiar. Almost real.
Ivan.
Ivan…
Till clutches Ivan before he can even process what was happening, until his knuckles bled white. He gripped onto him as his own nails dug into his skin. He can’t let go… he can’t…
He leans into his warmth, his touch that he had forgotten over time before it could disappear completely.
And then, it begins to thin.
Slowly, gradually dissipating.
First it was the pressure, the comforting feeling of his weight anchored against him.
Then it was the warmth, the fervour that had silently sustained him.
And then…
It was the pulsing he felt from within Ivan’s chest.
He can feel something shift, he can feel Ivan shake. As if he was…
Crying.
He holds him tighter to the point he isn’t even sure he’s holding him anymore.
The body in his arms loses shape.
Morphing into an apparition.
He’s fading.
Ivan’s fading.
There’s nothing he can do to stop the translucency from erupting onto his skin.
Petals brush past his face, unravelling from Ivan’s fabrication.
Sluggishly, as time evaporates, Ivan slowly slumps. In his final moments he holds Till desperately, feverishly with limerence before he vanishes into the flowers that they had always loved.
And then Till hugs nothing but air and falls.
Through the red anemones and white edelweiss, their stems snap beneath him, their colours bleeding together in a blur of red and white and white and red.
The petals flutter, swirling around everywhere like a kaleidoscopic vortex. It depreciates his sight until all he sees is colour.
He reaches, but he feels his hand waver.
Like even he’s fading.
He struggles as his arm extends for anything.
He isn’t even sure if he’s scrabbling for Ivan or the memory of him anymore.
But his fingers close around nothing and the pieces are already turning to dust.
But still…
He wants to see him.
Just once more.
Because…
I miss you…
But there’s no face waiting for him as everything flashes around him.
There never will be again.
A heartbeat resonates with a white clear vision tinted red. It’s pounding. Overwhelming until it takes complete control over Till’s senses.
The fall stops and Till jolts.
He gasps and the flowers are gone.
His vision swirls and flashes red and white.
His hands are clutching bedsheets instead of petals.
Sweat glistens, slithering down the nape of his neck, soaking into his drenched shirt.
He’s panting, like he suddenly forgot how to breathe, like he was suddenly submerged in water, lungs burning, throat tender.
He reaches for his neck, feeling the bump of scars litter across.
His fingers ghost on the skin with trembling hands, he’s choking on the suffocating air, trying to hold onto something—a voice, a smile, the shape of dark hair falling over black eyes—
Because all he can remember is…
Wait…
The eyes blur.
The mouth fades.
Lines he had tried to preserve so tenderly won’t stay still.
Because—
He can't even remember his face anymore.
There’s nothing left to remember.