Chapter Text
CAST
(in order of appearance)
TILL
MIZI
LUKA
HYUNA
IVAN
SUA
ENSEMBLE
There will be one 15 minute intermission between ACT II and ACT III.
“C’mon, just think about it!”
Till’s thoughts already wandered to places he deemed more useful of his time. The weather, naturally. If he had enough pocket change to fuck around at the nearest fast food chain until the sun set to avoid home. If he should bother his landlord again or suck it up and do the maintenance himself. Finally, through the hum of students during dismissal time, he wondered why this random classmate was pestering him. A random pairing for a biology lab did not indicate the start of a lifelong friendship.
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Till adjusted the way his backpack straps sat on his shoulder.
“I heard your songs from the student concert last year. They were totally amazing. I think if we partnered up for—”
Till walked towards the exit in this maze of a school. Unfortunately, the classroom his lab partner attempted to wheedle him into joining fell in his exact path. In front of the classroom he never set foot in rested a sign.
A familiar figure stopped in front of it. She crouched down to get a closer look. Time seemed to slow like honey as he gazed at Mizi, his favorite upperclassman. Her makeup was still fresh after a full day of classes. After standing back up, she looked back and forth from the sign to inside of the classroom.
She was hesitating.
After a moments pause, she stepped into the classroom.
“I know that musicals isn’t what you usually write, but with—”
Till blocked out the irritating chatter of his classmate. The thump of his shoes as he strode into the classroom seemed to mimic the flow of blood in his heart.
When Till entered, he saw desks pushed to the sides of the classroom. Rows of chairs stood in the middle. Students mingled about. Had he ever had a class with any of these people? A fleeting conversation? A simple laugh? These classmates seemed like poor extras.
“See? I told you there was free food,” said his lab partner, already helping himself to a refreshment table made from desks pushed together.
Till wasn’t quite sure why Mizi was in this classroom. They shared one measly math class together. Although it was cute to see Mizi nibbling on the tip of of her eraser while attempting to puzzle out polynomials, mathematics wuthered against the very essence of Till’s soul. He couldn’t muster the courage to make conversation with her. She appeared very popular. During group assignments, her sweet laughter rang throughout the classroom. She even had the dainty girl type of laugh where they demurely cover their mouth. Like, seriously, come on.
As he stood awkwardly in this unknown classroom, Till questioned his life decisions leading up to this moment. Perhaps he could blame his stolen glances of Mew Berry on the fuzzy TV for gifting him an appreciation for all that is cute and precious in the world. Perhaps he could blame his propensity for playground fights as a child for him being a friendless nobody. Even his lab mate (…Acorn?) had someone to talk to. That’s sad.
Till mentally slapped himself. Focus.
With a cleansing breath, he claimed the seat next to Mizi. She didn’t even look up from her phone. Whatever she was furiously typing in her notes app took priority. Her brow creased slightly.
Well, maybe she just wouldn’t notice him. That wouldn’t be all so bad.
Yeah, Till thought to himself, this mission would just be considered a lost cause. They’ll go back to not speaking to one another during second period. He’ll steal longing glances from across the cafeteria as she talks to her friends that are not Till. They’ll throw their caps in the air, and years down the line he’ll see pictures of her fairy tale wedding on Facebook as he eats ice cream straight from the pint on his couch in his Spongebob pajamas. His future was looking bright.
Then, like the gods above heard his self-deprecating rant and decided to right all the wrongs in the world, Mizi placed her phone away. She blinked a bit as she locked eyes with Till. Before Till could figure out the exact color of paint he would use for her eyes, Mizi opened her mouth.
“Oh, um, hi there,” she said, a bit sheepishly. She tucked a stray piece of pink hair behind her ear. Till’s eyes traced the movement.
A beat too late, Till said his killer pickup line: “Uh, hi.”
Luckily, this did not seem to deter Mizi. “You look familiar,” she said. She squinted a bit, as if she was scrutinizing the features on his face.
“Miss Cho? Second period?”
Mizi’s face lit up. “I know you!” She said. “You’re the person who started crying during the last test, aren’t you? You’re name is… Till?”
“…Yes,” Till answered after a moment’s deliberation.
“I knew it!” Mizi kicked her feet happily. Her slouchy leg warmers slouched even more. “It’s nice to see a friendly face around here,” she admitted. She looked around the classroom. The ambiance was rather cozy. Curtains covered windows. Lamps illuminated the room rather than the overhead lights. Till noticed the teacher sitting at the desk. He yawned as he conversed with a fidgeting student. Right, this was an after school activity. “You always sat in the back with your headphones on, so I knew you were interested in music. I just didn’t expect you to be into musical theatre!”
Uh. What now?
Till decided now was not the time to argue with the most beautiful girl in the world. “I used to be in orchestra,” he settled on.
“Oh, so you know a bit about music already,” she said. “What instrument do you play?”
“Uh, y’know, the flute, guitar, a bit of the piano…” he looked down at the floor. He never noticed all the tiny shapes in the title. He wondered if he stared long enough, he could become one with the amorphous black and white splotches the designs called a patten. “I write some songs here and there. Stuff like that.”
Mizi’s bright eyes sparkled. “Till,” she said, reaching out to grab him by the shoulder. “I can write scripts. You can write music. Do you wanna team up and be my partner?”
She was so close, Till could smell the fruity shampoo wafting from her pink ponytails. Like a real life Strawberry Shortcake doll. Not that Till owned any, of course.
“Sure,” he squeaked out.
A high pitched noise rang throughout the classroom. The murmurs of the class reduced as they paid attention to the front. The presumed teacher slumped over after he rang the little bell on the desk, his golden locks falling across his face. “Unfortunately,” the teacher began, “it is ten after and I have decided to start this meeting now. This is a pain for you and me included, as my partner insisted that—”
At that moment, a tall brunette woman walked into the door. She juggled a stack of papers and a satchel. “Sorry,” she said breathlessly, mostly directed to the man at the desk. “Mr. Kang wanted to discuss ‘copying budget’ once again, on literal day zero of this class, like usual.”
The blond haired man nodded. “Would you like me to kill him for you?”
“Thank you, but I unfortunately like my job.” The woman slung the bag off her shoulders. Her nails were well manicured, her outfit stylish but conservative enough for a high school teaching job. She looked way younger than the majority of the teachers. Till felt she looked familiar, but he could not place why.
One of the students commented, “Wow, a day where Miss Hyuna is late and Mr. Luka doesn’t force us to wait in the hallway? We’re spoiled.”
“I was here to set up,” the woman who appeared to be Miss Hyuna responded. “I just had to step out to do some busy work, and I put Mr. Luka in charge, like the kind and responsible teacher he is.”
Luka nodded solemnly. “I am very kind and responsible.”
Students groaned.
Hyuna clapped her hands. “Alright, class. Time for business.” She scanned the classroom. “A lot of familiar faces! I’m glad we didn’t scare you away last year. For any new people, welcome to this first meeting. I know it’s pretty atypical to audition for a class near the beginning of the year. I promise we are very nice and do not bite. I’m sure the other students can vouch for myself and Mr. Luka’s character.”
“We can vouch for you, Miss Hyuna,” a ginger haired girl near the front of the class said.
“Yes, well, uh, thank you very much Cecilia.” Hyuna began to pass out some papers. One was essentially a syllabus that outlined how the class was organized, some expectations, what the commitments were. Honestly, Till’s eyes glazed over. He was seriously going to get graded on all this stuff? He glanced over to Mizi, whose nose was scrunched up like a baby rabbit. Her glasses balanced atop her small nose bridge. She seemed to take this very seriously.
Till lazily perused the second packet. It seemed to be the application to the class itself, to be turned into Miss Hyuna’s slot into the office by next week, or turned into her personally if you managed to flag her down on campus. Mr. Luka too, Hyuna remembered to add. Attach a short response on why you would like to join the class, as well as a little portfolio that displays your previous dabbles into music or writing. An optional space to indicate who you would like to be paired with.
Mizi leaned into Till’s personal space. She cupped her hand as the teacher continued to lecture. Till could feel the fine hair on his neck stand up. “We’re a team, remember?” she told him. “So remember to put my name on yours too.”
He nodded.
“Oh! And you’re gonna need a way to contact me, right? Let’s exhange numbers.”
Till couldn’t contain his excitement. He let out a noiseless yelp into his palm. His eyes scanned the cracked screen of his phone for the millionth time this hour. Perhaps by the end of the day he would have Mizi’s number memorized.
“Wow, I didn’t know homework would get you so worked up,” the person sitting across from him commented dryly.
Till tried not to pay too much attention to him. Ivan decided on his own to tag along where Till was hanging out after school with a bag full of homework problems to work through at the fast food table. Ivan could have gone to the library after school with all the other smartasses, but he chose to be with Till instead. He’ll reap what he had sewn.
Till had already been mindlessly texting away when Ivan slid across from him like usual. Not texting Mizi, of course. What would he even say first? No, he was texting his coworkers to see if he could move his shifts at the restaurant around. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes.
Anyways. Ivan couldn’t get under Till’s skin today. Till didn’t care about Ivan today.
“Piss off.” Till adjusted his elbows upon the laminate table. His legs were awkwardly folded to one side to hoard the extra space so Ivan couldn’t decided that they both must share the same side of the booth. A habit fostered from childhood and a chaperone sitting on one side of the booth as Till and Ivan fought over children menus and crayons. Not befitting for two teenagers.
Till pointedly ignored making eye contact with him. Ivan still stared at him with those almost unblinking blank eyes. Till could feel it, like he always could. The fluorescent lights from above painted Ivan’s hair in a strange green color. His pencil was still in hand, solving some sort of ungodly problem Till couldn’t help with. Till’s own homework lay neglected beneath him. Not like he needed this in the future anyways. He’d show all his shitty teachers wrong.
Mizi ended up making the first move, texting with colorful emoticons and stickers. They agreed to a meeting at Mizi’s house tomorrow, before Till’s evening shift.
Till wondered what he would say to Mizi, once it was only them two. Mizi did not grow up in the same area like Till did. She moved here near the beginning of the school year. She quickly made waves in every class she attended. People stared as she walked by.
Does Ivan know anything about Mizi? People also stared at Ivan. Till once saw a girl run into a pole. Mizi and Ivan must run in somewhat adjacent circles. Ivan, the top of the class ranking, sports galore, adored by most, should surely know some things about her.
No, that’s the devil on his shoulder. The Ivan-shaped devil, who was always trying to convince Till to acquiesce to Devil Ivan’s big, pleading eyes. Till flicked him off his shoulder.
“Got some dirt on you?” The real Ivan asked.
Till hesitated. Papers creased underneath him. With clunky movements, he picked up his pencil. The eraser was already worn down to a sad sort of baldness upon the top of the pencil.
“Why would I tell you?” Till said warily. “It’s not like you don’t know more than me.”
“Believe me, there are many things forever secret to me too.”
The birds were chirping on a lovely Saturday morning as Till’s alarm violently roused him from his dreamless sleep. Till fell face first into his wooden bedroom floor, cushioned thoroughly by strewn clothes. Till winced as frigid water sprayed him from a leaky shower head, held together with tape and a dream. He shoveled warmed-up leftovers in the mouth as he rubbed his tired eyes.
Till still couldn’t help but smile to himself as she sat on the train. He allowed himself to close his eyes as his body slowly woke up for the way. He held his guitar case close.
The walkway leading up to Mizi’s apartment building was lined with well trimmed green grass. Colorful flowers peppered the way. There were no strange unidentified stains near the entryway. The hallway was clean and quiet. No fighting neighbors or the loud sound of a television show.
Till rang the doorbell and just stood there quietly, like a freak. He messed with his bangs for the hundredth time. He had always cut his hair himself, hacking away with scissors in the bathroom late at night by candlelight, the wiring of the bathroom lights broken. It was times like this he questioned his grooming habits.
A tall woman answered the door. She peered down at lowly Till. “Hello,” she said cheerfully. “How may I help—”
“That’s for me!”
Till heard the sounds of feet slapping against hardwood floor. Then, Mizi hopped into frame. She took some time to regain her breath.
Finally, she said, “Remember? I told you a classmate was coming over.”
The two stared at each other silently. Till was not sure why, but even he could feel the tension.
“I know,” the older woman finally said, who Till assumed was Mizi’s mother. “I just wanted to be nosy. You never mentioned he was a boy.” The woman giggled. “That changes everything! I’ll leave you to it.”
“Mom,” Mizi whined, but it was too late. She dashed away quickly, leaving her long hair swooshing elegantly behind her. Seriously, it was almost supernatural the way she moved.
Mizi turned her attention back to Till. Her face was strangely blank. Today her hair tumbled freely down her back. She sported more casual clothes. Actually, this was the first time Till had even seen her out of her uniform. A white tee slipped off of one shoulder.
“Come in, come in!” She started marching ahead into her home, not looking back. The flat seemed to be almost as big as Ivan’s family’s. Till took off his shoes and quickly started following after her. A roomba skittered by Till’s feet.
Mizi open the fridge to reveal fully stocked shelves. “Want anything to drink?”
“Uh, I’m okay for now.”
Mizi cracked open a soda with a loud pop. She took a big slurp. “We’ll work in the second family room today.”
Till timidly followed her. Pictures of Mizi from all walks of life sat nestled in carefully thought out frames, from elementary graduation ceremonies to softball team pictures to piano recitals. Mizi excused herself to get more things from her room.
Till sat on the cream colored couch with his limbs pressed compactly into his body. He was left alone with the gentle whir of the air purifier to keep him company. A large tank sprinkled with colorful fish danced in his peripheral vision. There, near the corner of the room, was a keyboard. His hands were itching to tap on the keys. He hoped they were weighted. His guardian was more receptive to his musical inclinations, but Till still enjoyed playing with his headphones plugged in. Better yet, he’d stay after school to practice on an actual piano, to feel its weight against his callused fingers, until he was kicked out by the janitor. His electric guitar was gifted to him by his guardian, but he decided to forgo that today. Rather, he brought his acoustic guitar. It wasn’t particularly expensive. When strummed, it emitted a rather twangy, brittle sound, but it was a hand me down he could not bear to separate from.
Mizi dumped a whole pile of her things on the coffee table with a big huff. Her laptop, her journal, a whole bunch of miscellaneous papers all scattered about.
She clapped her hands. “Let’s start!”
The time went by smoother than he thought. His dialogue options were already neatly supplied to him as he gingerly combed through all of Mizi’s works. She wasn’t that terrible, sticking to basic chord progressions. Her stories were also intriguing. Surprisingly dark. Well, at least her recent works. She dated each of her manuscripts with her name written neatly at the top.
“You made it sound like you had zero experience. This seems pretty good,” Till said through a mouthful of some pastry Mizi’s mother brought to them as a snack. Mizi had practically shoved her out of the room.
“Oh, yeah, I guess.” Mizi looked down at her hands. She appeared bashful. Maybe Till’s compliment stuck.
“Well, I had some help from an old friend of mine.” Her voice became softer. “She had a way better sense for music than me. Well, really, she was better at everything compared to me. Nothing she couldn’t do. If she wanted to, that is.”
Mizi played the piano clumsily, but Till could tell there was genuine emotions brimming from her playing. Mizi combed through Till’s work, deciding on her favorites. They picked which pieces to show off, which ones to discard. They wrote their application essays together, pondering over what words they should use.
While the afternoon was going great, really great, a buzzing from his phone interrupted his thoughts. Till came to the sad conclusion that it was Ivan who decided to bother him on this fine Saturday. A quite easy conclusion, in fact. HE had a special ringtone for when Ivan texted (so he knew when to ignore it, obviously). Till checked his phone with lightning speed.
Ivan: Soooooo
Ivan: Care to tell me what you’ve been up to today?
Till scowled instinctively. While Till never thought of Ivan as the master of subtlety, he wondered how Ivan knew Till was off his schedule. Maybe there was some sort of evil tracker lodged into a dark corridor of Ivan’s brain solely dedicated to discovering when Till was actually happy, just to bring him down a few notches. Maybe Ivan was actually a supernatural being. That would actually explain more of his childhood. Ivan would always insist on licking Till’s cuts better. Maybe he was just biologically disposed to be this way since day zero. Ivan didn’t stand a chance against his freaky genes.
Till: well I have work in two hours so not much tbh
Ivan: Hmmmm
Ivan: Your location says otherwise
Goddammit.
Till always forgot he was sharing his stupid location with Ivan. He really needed to turn that off. Maybe keeping it on was easier. Who knows. Maybe Ivan would stick an AirTag on him like a checked in bag bravely handed over at the airport.
(“But how will I know you’ll make it home safely?” Ivan had given him a searching look. Or at least tried to.
Till kicked him in the chest with his foot. “You’ll live.”
“But will you? There are very dangerous people lurking in the darkest corners waiting to strike. City life can be dangerous. You could be sold off to the highest bidder before you know it.”
“Get off my bed,” Till said, already knowing he was gonna give in and let Ivan do whatever the fuck he wanted. Just for convenience sake. “You’re too loud. And hand me my phone.”)
Till: okay???
Till: well if you see my location then leave me tf alone
Ivan: If you say so
Ivan: Say hi to Mizi for me
Till’s breath caught in his throat.
What the fuck?
Carefully, Till glanced back up at Mizi, who was balancing a pencil upon her philtrum with a scrunched expression as her elbows dug into the coffee table. No, Mizi could not have told Ivan anything. Mizi was a pure angel and would never associate with a person like Ivan.
“Is there something wrong?” Her mechanical pencil clacked across the glass surface as her attention shifted.
“No, I’m fine.” He clutched his phone tighter.
Mizi, still curious later, peered over Till’s shoulder.
“Ivan?” She asked, a bit slowly. Like she was feeling the way each syllable of Ivan’s name felt against her tongue. Literally sickening. “Who is that?”
“Y’know, the senior with the black hair, 186 centimeters, top of the class, varsity of like every single team,” Till says. Mizi tilted her head like a puppy dog. “I’m pretty sure he was in the front of the school newspaper last week.”
“Oh, him!” Mizi clasped her hands together. “I think I know of him. One of my girls seems pretty fond of him. He’s the one that made pancakes in the biology lab, right? I didn’t know you two were friends! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Well, that was Till’s pancake mix, thank you very much, but Ivan was the one with the charisma to persuade the teacher into letting him dick around instead of participating in the assignment, and still get the awe of the people around him. And feed the masses. This was pretty privilege at its finest. Or maybe extrovert privilege.
That was besides the point. The main point was that… Mizi was fucking interested in Ivan! Just like everyone was. Who couldn’t resist him? Mizi was basically asking Till to introduce the two of them.
This was bad.
Very bad.
Till would have to course correct.
“Who is Ivan?” Till offered.
Well. It was his best effort.
Mizi laughed. “You’re so silly, Till!” She wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Ivan is my future friend, obviously!”