Chapter Text
The rooms of the manor were a vast expanse of space filled with nothing but shadows of what could be, if his life was anything like what he had observed of the outside. The furniture was a bleak display with the colour seeped out of them due to age, leaving behind a husk of what they once must have been. The carpets were of the same diagnosis, limp and unworthy of the grand building they lined. If any colour could have been discerned at all, it would be a very faint dark blue that seemed to tint most items housed here. Colour was not a privilege that could be indulged by him. The soft light and bright colours of the world of the living were too harsh if they collided with his skin, never just skimming the surface with warmth but instead borrowing inside and insisting on meeting with his bone and flesh. His skin never saw the sun, instead resting on some sort of luxury fabrics that were cold and artificial and icy air that could never hold the light the sun did.
The building itself was what once could have been described as spectacular and clearly welcoming only those deemed worthy of company by its prestigious hosts. Now, it leaned more onto the decrepit side, the side that excited thrill seeking children that insisted you would be welcomed only by blood thirsty ghosts. Which was only incorrect by one factor. Ivan was not a ghost. Although he did not appreciate being referred to as blood-thirsty, too vicious of a term, it was logically accurate. His wardrobe, on the most part, was inhabited by black turtle-necks which he did not deem to represent the depiction of a ghost. But what would he know of children of this time?
Ivan had lived his life thus far consuming classic literature in what could be considered an unhealthy amount if his lifespan was limited. He gave in to the occasional cross-word, which he would be deemed as little above average at. He also allowed himself nightly strolls outside the manor to review the traces of humanity left behind while they slept for his own interest. And of course the compulsory killings for his owner, whose high rank in vampiric society meant he could get away with having servant pets like him. Ivan barely existed inside the manor; his activities were so drab. But he wasn't the one who pulled the strings.
Every movement was tracked, every activity was booked, every event reported. Classic literature and cross-words were the exception. They were enrichment. Ivan was a pet. His habits were restricted each and every day although he had given up on time keeping. He obeyed without complaint. It was a weight, the intimidation and the expectation upon him, although he knew he was more than capable of leaving. He accepted the validation and caved to the demands that he strived to perfect even though there was no need to, he was smart enough to make a break for it. The indescribable need to adhere to rules laid out for him, capable but unable to escape their regime no matter how loose around the edges. He accepted the treatment he received. The vast expanse of the outside world was a mystery to him and remained so as time kept stretching further and further out. What would even be the point? His skin could never taste the fresh air and his tongue could never feel anything but the warm slick of that substance he was fated to live off of forever. There would always be that metaphorical hand clenched on his head, tying him here. But there was nothing to entice him away from all he had ever known. So why bother?
That was until the void of his life eventually came to hold something. It became a container for feeling instead of an aching emptiness. There was finally something he came to call precious to him. Something that tethered him instead of restraining him. A someone.
It was indescribable, like all of Ivan's feelings were. But he felt it with passion and with a vigor for which he had not felt for anything ever in his life. He always felt a lingering emptiness with no real interest in anything around him. So he gave everything he could to what he was good at: following rules. Then came this someone. A man. He watched him with great interest. At first he only watched from the second floor window, where at night the man would visit the building opposite- its use unknown to Ivan until he heard its sound. It wasn't like the sound he made, it wasn't his own deep-pitched singing of whatever he was given, perfected to the highest standard. This singing, this sound, was rough, lively and full of energy. And full of passion. It was beautiful. The man was beautiful.
He watched the way he sauntered out of the building with the instrument strapped to his back and his large shirt hanging loose off his frame. He watched his boisterous energy around his friends and his shyness around strangers. He watched him capture the environment through swift strokes of his paint brush, turning it into something wonderous, into something worth spending time looking at. He watched as the man drew his attention to the colours that were soft and delicate, but also vivid and animated. He watched him get captivated by the flowers growing at the front of the music building. This man was so captivated by life itself, so much drawn to its every element and nuance. Ivan was captivated by him. He shone through when everything had been dull and washed out. The man was suddenly everywhere he looked. In the street when Ivan was permitted time outside during the night, spending time with his friends. Outside Ivan's window picking flowers. Creating music during the day, so loud it could be heard from where Ivan sat in the armchair by the window. He watched silently while his feelings got louder and refused to remain unheard.
This man was like nothing he had ever seen before, was able to do what Ivan never could. He was entirely his own being, his presence thick with a substance nothing else contained. He shone like the stars did, spanning such a great distance from Ivan's world, yet emitting such a divine energy that could hardly be ignored, that demanded constant attention whenever they were present. Ivan had for so long gazed upon the stars as his everyday sky, admired them for their beauty each time, for the way they represented the freedom he could never quite obtain, the vastness of possibility, of the hundreds of things he could have been. Yet now he could never see them without emotion gaining control of his figure, of giving him an overwhelming desire.
This man shone with spirit the way that no one else had, brightening every place he was present in and somehow dragging the attention of everyone nearby without lifting a finger. His smile was one that was irresistible and beamed with a light that Ivan almost felt wouldn't be the kind to tear apart his skin piece by charred piece. He became nourishment to Ivan in a way that nothing else had been, at least from what remained of his torn memories. His very face could stir within Ivan the contentment that his meals had never fully given him, creating an almost delight in his very existence. Ivan was delirious off of the feeling and had to tear his eyes away every time, had to force his steps to take a different route. Everything he felt seemed tied in some way or another to this man, sewn deep within his skin.
It felt almost uncomfortable the way what he felt twisted in his stomach and Ivan longed to tear it out from the place it writhed under his skin. He wanted to scratch and tear until it went away, as he looked on from afar at this stranger he hardly knew and had never spoken to. He clasped at his neck, nails digging deep into the soft skin, praying to anything that he could go back to his routine, to what was safe. Whatever lurked inside of him squirmed and twitched and slithered around his organs in a way that made his head swim. It was a creature that lay in wait, always sitting heavy inside; a reminder of this new weakness. Ivan stalked the length of his rooms in a confused sweat, unable to take his mind off of this mortal. This human that had somehow taken everything and stuck it upside down without so much as even making idle conversation with him. As if he could even manage that with one of his own kind.
The monster inside Ivan demanded attention at every point of his day, but could never be fed. It felt like the pangs of hunger that could never be relieved. A wound that kept bleeding with no plaster. It only became worse when Ivan finally learned his name, each letter feeding the mess inside him that only made it grow and flail with the desperate need for more of him.
Till.
Those simple few letters caused catastrophe in Ivan. He felt the creature lurking inside him writhe and constrict against his throat as he tried to form words. His mind was clustered with thoughts that no matter how hard he tried he could not get rid of. He clawed at his neck again leaving small half moon indents as evidence of his confliction, of his deep seated desire for things he couldn’t have.
Till was a mortal, Till could not be within his vicinity with the prospect of conflict, Till was not his for the taking. There was a thick, tangible distance between them and whatever this feeling growing, distorting, deforming inside him was, it would remain inside and there was nothing he could do about it. He was destined to watch from his window, observe this person who had somehow claimed his body within such a short time frame. He was forever bound to this house, to the night and to the stars that will gaze upon his miserable existence until the end of time.
The night was his only comfort where he let free whatever he felt and embraced the uncertain and the insecure, where he simply existed and was not chained by feeling and desire. In the night he did not have to be anyone and he would let the night wrap around his body and conceal him from the world. The stars would keep him grounded within himself yet feeling no burden of expectation or heavy responsibility. He was not an accessory, not a pet, not someone accepted only for visuals. He was not someone who was found abandoned and taken in for free service, someone transformed into a monster against his own free will.
Ivan melted against the earth beneath him, lying in the wet grass, staring into the dark sky he always had since he could remember in an attempt to forget the feeling being slowly nurtured inside him. He wanted to wipe it from his memory until he got to set his eyes on Till again, until he could set his eyes upon him again, until he could feel what it was like to be nourished.
He roamed the empty streets, grazing his fingers on the brick of the shops, the bakeries, the houses that all looked the same in this light. Ivan has long since memorised the contents of each of the shops and their points of entry and security. He had had too much time on his hands and so, longing for something to do with himself, he learnt lockpicking on the shops with a simple door and not enough funds for cameras. He never stole, his body didn’t require food and he wasn’t too fussed on material sentiment so he settled for being able to enter a space that had the traces of humanity. He greatly enjoyed being able to experience even just a little bit of that humanity despite being without a companion. Each time he felt a little closer to who he could have been.
Ivan looked through the isles at the products left behind, at the snacks people came in for for a sweet treat, at the coffee machine people used to get through a busy work day, at the action figures and toys children begged their parents to buy for them. All the remnants of this lost part of himself didn’t upset him; there was nothing that could be done now. But it was nice to see how things change and how the people navigated their short lives. All these things they needed or thought they needed to live. He liked to guess the uses of some of the strange items he came across that had no descriptor other than its name. He found it somewhat amusing. Maybe once in a while he’d remove the packaging and inspect them himself.
This particular day Ivan came across a new section in the store. There were instruments, the ones that made the music he could hear from his rooms. One of them was a guitar. The only one he knew by name, since it was Till’s instrument. He reached up to feel its base, to be able to touch something that was in some way related to the victim of his affection. Ivan wondered what it was like to make music that was not only for the entertainment of others and only for raw passion. He would never know, it seemed.
As Ivan was about to place his fingers on the strings, he heard a sound from the doorway. From the door. Unlocking.
Ivan was not versed in social interaction this had never happened before what was he supposed to do to say how would he explain who even comes in here at this time of night this was never supposed to happen-
This thought process was put to an abrupt stop when he looked up to a head of silvery grey hair.