Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The playlist I listened to while writing this.

spotify playlist <3

Till always walked fast, as if he was in a hurry despite never having anywhere to go. His bare feet tapped on the cold tiles of the hospital's too brightly lit hallways. He had to be careful to not accidentally run straight into a hurried nurse who, unlike him, had emergencies that justified their speed. He fidgeted with the orange he was holding and squished it in his palm so it would be juicier to eat.

He had no place to go but still a fixed destination in mind. He often hung in the medical intensive care unit, MICU, or as he called it, Miku, because there, it was quieter than anywhere else. Except the real reason why he went there nearly every day was so he could spy on the nurse who was fresh out of school, Mizi. Her smile was radiant and she still wore those scrubs with cute animal patterns, showing she still felt whimsy for her job, unlike Hyuna, who only wore the same colour daily because exhaustion and overwork had her incapable of caring about such meaningless things anymore. Till liked Hyuna, she was one of the rare staff in the psych unit who didn't treat him as a baby and told him things as they were, no sugarcoating it, but he couldn't help but think that if Mizi was his nurse, he'd be smiling a whole lot more for how contagious her beaming grin was. After getting a glimpse of her luscious hair whooshing away when she left a patient's room to God knew where, he sat at the end of the very long, white and depressing hallway before starting to peel his orange. He didn't really love oranges, he hated how they left his hands sticky and they didn't have a texture he adored, but the choice of food he ate was a luxury that had been stripped away from him the moment he had been dragged in this building after having been found passed out unconscious next to an empty bottle of medication. Every day, the most bland food was brought to him on a beige tray. He swore that the chef at the hospital's cafeteria had never heard of salt because the eggs he ate in the morning were as lifeless as the elders in the unit next to his whose heartbeat flat-lined. Oranges were naturally flavourful, so he kept them aside as a treat for whenever he started feeling down and headed to Mizi's unit to watch her work and when he was lucky enough, she wasn't too busy and could talk to him a little. It was refreshing conversing with her, like the orange, because she was his age. Everyone in this hospital was either 90 and dying, a newborn child, a 30-year-old nurse or a 15-year-old anorexic girl, no one in their early twenties. He started peeling the fruit and it did that annoying thing when it wouldn't peel in big chunks and only a little at a time. It was making his hands sticky because he had to dig with his nail every time and the juice came flying all over him. He tried again and again to get the orange to peel in one big piece but it wasn't working. He started to feel frustrated and his breathing was shortening, only agitating him more.

"Stupid fucking fruit," he spat under his breath.

The noise from the clock on the wall was starting to piss him off, he always hated that constant tic tic noise that followed him everywhere, like a reminder of each second he wasted in his hell hole and every passing moment he was forced to live against his will and for what? To eat stubborn oranges that didn't want to be peeled properly? To cry to bed almost every night because his mind loved to patronize him? To eat food so gross that even the bread was disgusting? To sit in an empty hallway until his ass hurt and wait for someone to die as entertainment?

His nail poked a little too deep in the skin as his frustration grew redder and acid liquid came squirting right into his eye.

"Ah! Fuck!" he cussed, not careful for those suffering around.

He squished the orange to obliteration until it fell as a smoothie on the floor and he wiped his eye with the sleeve of his stringless hoodie. Then, the thoughts started spiralling:

'What's your problem? Why are you so mad at an orange? You're acting like your dad again. You're acting like he was in the beginning, getting angry at small shit, and the next thing you'll know, you'll be beating innocent people when they agitate you in the most insignificant way because it's in your blood, it's inevitable. You're just like your dad. You're like your dad. You're your dad.'

The voices were screaming at him from one side of his brain to the other. Each intrusion into his thoughts felt like a punch in the face, like a step deeper into madness. He was trying to shut his inner dialogue by blocking his ears but if anything, he felt like he was trapping the voices inside.

'Just shut up already. You look pathetic crying by yourself in some random hallway over an orange. Punch that wall, I know you want to—'

"No!"

Tears puddled at his feet and his hands moved up to grip his hair and pull. He felt an urge to kick someone, hurt himself or scream; three things he couldn't do or a nurse would come get him. He had to calm down, but the thoughts persisted.

'Shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up! Your voice is so annoying and your cries sound fucking stupid. You're so weak, you deserved all those beatings to punish you for being such a disgusting thing. You can't even take care of yourself so you've been rotting in a hospital for over a year. Shut up, shut up. Your stupid inner voice is disgusting me so much, you're repulsive, just shut up—'

"Till?" the familiar voice asked with hints of worry hidden behind a professional mask.

Till opened his eyes that he had closed shut in a desperate attempt to quiet the thoughts and saw a familiar tanned hand resting on his knee to create a connection he only got when he threw these fits.

Before his heart could think, his angry mind acted for him and shouted, "Don't fucking touch me!", as he slapped the hand and shoved the arm away.

He didn't see it, looking at the floor, but he heard Hyuna's radio beep, meaning she was calling for backup.

"Get away!" He was shouting cries of help.

"Till, you're okay, you're just a little upset right now—"

"Shut the fuck up!"

And Hyuna took her cue to back away for her safety as Till remained folded on himself, his fingers deeply tangled in his locks he remained pulling.

'How does she know how I feel, that bitch? That fucking bitch, I hate her so fucking much. Who does she think she is? She's got her perfect little boring happy life and she thinks she can just tell me I'm a little upset?! That fucking whore—'

"Shut up!" He cut off his inner monologue but his tone had changed from anger to genuine distress.

He didn't hate Hyuna, far from it, she was one of the few reasons he had stopped trying to end his life almost daily. Waking up to her checking in on him as she brought him breakfast had been something he found himself looking forward to before falling asleep. She was the first to have ever shown interest in his art that wasn't just out of sympathy and she even gossiped with him about Mizi, herself admitting that the girl was certainly not bad-looking. He hated calling her all these names he didn't believe in but his mind had to ventilate his ever-growing frustration, and violence was always the most effective way.

Till was lost in trying not to listen to himself when he felt two pairs of arms hooking around his own before he was lifted. He knew what was coming.

He cried, kicked his feet and did everything possible as Hyuna and Dewey dragged him away by force.

"No! Don't take me there! Please! I don't want to go, I hate it please!" he screamed in fear.

It broke every staff's heart to hear him as he passed the hallway and frightened every patient who didn't know what was happening. He tried to stop himself with his heels, move his body around so he could escape the other's grip and throw a bigger fit with shouts and sobs but the two nurses were taller and stronger than him, giving him zero chance to win. His body refused to give up, unlike his mind which had gone empty except for ‘I don't want to be alone in there.’ He hated isolation units to the deepest part of his core. The smaller room with nothing but a bed had him feel like an animal or like a test subject of some failed experiment. He hated never knowing how long he would be left rotting there. They would say "You can come out when you're calm," as if he was a toddler, as if his inability to control his boiling anger that occasionally erupted from him wasn't the exact reason he had been stuck in the hospital to begin with. How could he calm down when offered no distractions from his mind other than blank walls to stare at?

After shoving him inside what he considered his prison cell, Hyuna locked the heavy door behind her before leaving with Dewey. Till felt his heart sink like he was in for a death sentence. He launched at the door, his face reading nothing but dread and he banged on the thick glass of the window.

"Let me out! Please, let me out! I'm scared! Please!" His cries dragged the end of each word into whines.

When that didn't work and his throat started to feel sore from the shouting, he fell onto the floor and sobbed in a ball. He felt his face completely wet until his tears dripped to the floor and wet the tip of his hair on that side. The suicidal desperation came lying on top of him like a weighted blanket so heavy that it suffocated him. He didn't want to live, he didn't want to have to endure hearing a single one other of his own thoughts, he didn't want to feel his heart beating anymore, he didn't want anything. He wanted void, he wanted complete quiet and darkness so he could finally know peace. His fists clenched around his heart as it hurt with every extra breath he took. He sobbed so hard that he couldn't see anymore, his vision blurry with the never-ending water flowing out of him. He felt abandoned by the world and he hoped Hyuna would forget about him, like he deserved because he was so unimportant, a burden, and a billion other terrible things, so he could rot to death on that very floor. He wanted to sink into the tiles and completely disappear. He didn't want to return as a ghost, he didn't want his soul to find a new life, he wanted to die and never come back in this cruel world that so clearly despised him.

It took an hour for his body to finally fall exhausted, his palms were covered in nail marks, a bad habit he had gotten since blades weren't at his disposal and pain helped deal with the emotion that felt too big to be let out, like they were stuck inside him. Digging his nails in his hands, punching his thighs until they bruised, scratching his arms until they bled or pulling his hair had been helping him feel a little saner despite how unhealthy it was.

He was lying on the ground, on his back and staring up at the ceiling. His eyes were swollen causing them to be half shut and he tried to focus on how cold the floor was. It was a little bit refreshing after his body had heated up due to anger, but he still couldn't stop thinking about the 101 reasons why he wanted to die. He had to stop himself from thinking about how he had nothing to take his own life in that moment or it would drive him straight into another fit. He could picture himself home and locking the bathroom door, taking out razor blades and cutting deep into his skin. He visualized a thick red puddle forming around him, it felt almost meditative. He tried to remember the familiar stinging that burned his flesh when he would mutilate himself, the immediate relief it gave him and the way his mind quieted down for a second as he sat with his wrists facing up and his emotions numbing for a few seconds. He missed it deeply. He didn't care for one second that it was frowned upon, perhaps that was even the reason he had started cutting to begin with. At least this way, he could control why he was a disappointment. If he was beaten for being “pathetic” because he self-harmed, he had decided that unlike when he would be thrown against a wall after pictures of him kissing a boy started circulating. If his classmates laughed at his scars, they wouldn't focus on his black eye and mock that at least their dads loved them. If he was called into the principal's office for being caught slashing his wrists in the hidden staircase, they would overlook the bruises on his neck that indicated choking and leave his dad out of it — having his hair gripped and being shouted at for acting like a “disgusting imbecile” wasn't as painful as being beat nearly unconscious because he “snitched” on his dad’s “tough love”. Another scenario could be, if the door wasn't locked, to run and search for scissors to either cut or stab himself with. If he were at school, he’d go hang himself in an empty classroom and call 911 right before so an ambulance would find him instead of an innocent teacher or student. He felt completely numb as his daydreams filled with gore; throwing himself in front of a bus, jumping a building or tying a rock to his shoe before diving into a river. There were so many ways one could take their life that trying to get as creative as possible and find new ones had become a game to him when locked in this infernal room. The first time he was ever locked in one of these was upon his first arrival after urgent care had been dealt with. He couldn't stop freaking out, screaming, punching himself or the walls and throwing his pillows around so it took him weeks before he was placed in the room he had now. The second time was after he managed to steal pills from a nurse and took the entire bottle without anyone knowing. He was found loopy and dizzy but not unconscious or dead because what he took wasn't strong enough to kill from overdosing. Those were the two instances he was stuck there for over a week, but sometimes it took him days to fully calm down from his tantrums depending on what triggered it.

Only once he had crashed out from his body having no tears left to cry did Luka, his therapist, walk in. He closed the door so Till wouldn't escape too easily but didn't lock it for his own safety. Till hated it, it made him look like a criminal when the only victim of his attempted murders had been his person.

"What happened, Till."

The two men sat at different ends of the bed. Luka was wearing an outfit Till assumed was expensive, the kind professionals wore in television shows, and he had small rectangular reading glasses decorating his nose which he only looked into when taking notes. Till, on the far end opposite of the spectrum, was wearing the same thing he wore every day, so grey scrub pants made of thin cotton and a sweater with his eye bags and nose having gone red from all the crying. Luka's hair was angelic and golden while Till's was an untameable mess.

"My orange pissed me off."

It originally would take very long for the patient to talk to the therapist, but over the weeks, then months, he stopped pretending talking wasn't helping because the truth was he could genuinely feel weights be lifted off his shoulder when Luka puzzled to find the right questions and detangled Till's mind.

"Mh," Luka hummed as he noted down, "I know that you know there's more to it. Why were you upset at the orange?"

Till sighed and his shoulders dropped along with his walls he still had to get used to knocking out of the way. "It reminded me of my dad. He got angry at stupid shit too."

"And why is it bad that you felt like your father?"

Till rolled his eyes. "Ugh, you know why."

"I do, but admitting it to yourself will help you calm down. You can't solve a problem you refuse to acknowledge."

He took a deep breath, "Because he's fucking cruel." Till was looking down at his fingers and picking the skin on his index.

"Till, would you agree, that a truly cruel person wouldn't worry so much about being cruel that it put them in such distress and caused them to be dragged out here."

Till looked up at Luka with his eyes but not his head. He was hearing the words and letting them soak in his mind.

"I guess. I'm just scared of hurting people." He looked back down.

"And isn't the simple fact that this phobia exists enough to prove to you that you aren't inherently bad like you fear you are?"

"If you put it that way..."

Till felt like he was starting to breathe again.

"I'm not putting it in any way, simply telling you the facts as I see them. How are you feeling now?"

"Better." He finally looked up at the professional who had been staring with a subtle smile, proud of his patient because he had seen the immense progress he was making over these past months.

"Want me to escort you to your room?"

Till sprung up. "I can go?!" he asked, full of hope.

Luka let out a light chuckle, put his glasses away and tucked them in his shirt before opening the door. "Yes, Till. Hyuna told you, you can go when you calmed down."

Till jumped off the bed and followed Luka until they made it to his room where his door was locked behind him. He knew this would happen but it still bothered him. He took a nap as he waited for dinner then ate his rice bowl that was garnished with soggy boiled veggies and probably the cheapest edible meat found on the market. Once finished, he sat at his desk and started drawing since he had nothing else to do. He had collected a few pencils from empathetic nurses who felt bad that no one could bring him any form of entertainment, unlike other patients who had at least one family member or friend who cared enough. It took months before he was allowed pens, knowing how easily they could become a weapon, but Till was too scared of having this one nice privilege taken away so he never tried to stab or cut himself with them.

Focusing on making the features come to life and digging into his memory for the few clear sightings of Mizi's face helped him stop overthinking for a little while. His favourite part to draw was her hair because he could do anything with it. He always made it longer and gave it unrealistic movements as if this hospital had fans blasting her face. He became so focused that everything else around him disappeared for a few hours; the sound of the clock ticking, the occasional noises in the hallway or Hyuna coming in to retrieve his empty dishes. She knew better than to disturb him once he was in his trance.

After he was done, he put up the drawing on his wall with chewed gum and knocked out asleep, impatient to finally go talk to Mizi because it had been a while since she had time to converse with him. He dreamed of flower fields and friends he never had, putting him in a relatively good mood to start his day. He ate his breakfast, a blueberry muffin that had an odd aftertaste resembling playdoe, then wasted no time heading out when his door was unlocked.

"Till." Hyuna's voice resonated in the hallway. Her tone was stern but not reprimanding.

He turned his heels to face her and his body posture immediately shifted to show him closing on himself.

She continued, "I don't like locking your door. Come to me if you start feeling agitated before it gets bad."

"Sorry." He held his arm.

The smallest criticism, even if it wasn't negative, always made him feel like people saw him as an idiot. He held his arm like seeking comfort from himself, unconsciously.

"There's nothing to apologize for, I just don't think you realize that my job is literally to help you."

He wanted to say sorry again, apologize for existing or for being a burden all the time, but every time he did, Hyuna gave him that look he hated. It was the same look he got when people saw his scars covering his forearms, shoulders and thighs, it was the same look he got when he accidentally revealed the abuse to others thinking it was something every strict dad did, it was the same look he saw when his lids would crack open after every failed attempt. He knew it wasn't to belittle him but it left him feeling like lesser-than. It made him feel like everyone around him perceived him as a child or as something broken like he could never be a man and would forever remain an abused boy who had a sad life. He felt like a side character in everyone's story instead of being the tragic protagonist of his own. He was a heartbreaking anecdote to tell at the holidays when someone asked "How's work going?"

"It's hard, this boy is only 21 and we can't keep our eyes off of him or he'll slice his throat."

"Oh, that's tough, I couldn't deal with that."

He wasn't a person, he was something to deal with, a ticking bomb that could explode any second or an inevitable trauma for the nurses who had dared get attached to him, the same way a vet cried the death of a stray dog who came in already bleeding out.

He turned around again so Hyuna faced his back and disappeared from her sight as he turned at the end of the hallway. He tried to shake off the bad mood by remembering his fun dream and how he would recall it to Mizi, except when he got to her unit, it was chaos. He heard a few unknown machines beeping as three nurses were carrying a bed out of a room he had never peaked into before. Nosy, he approached despite knowing the impoliteness of his invasion.

"Mizi?"

"Not now Till, I'm busy."

Ouch. Her words were dry but clear. He still tried to look at who was lying in the bed as he pushed himself against the wall so they would have room to roll it away and was shocked to notice the ill person seemed to be a boy his age; black hair, wrinkle-less skin, bushy eyebrows and dark eyes with long lashes decorating his empty expression.

Chapter Text

Ivan was sitting in an uncomfortable leather armchair that made him anxious to move because every time he did as little as sit straight again, it made an unpleasant squeaking sound that made him feel like all eyes turned to him. The doctor sat at his desk in front of him and his father had been obviously taking fake notes because turning his thumb and waiting in silence was too awkward. To avoid looking at his dad and making himself more invisible, Ivan would try to read what the doctor was scribbling with no success. He tried to see if it was because he was reading upside down, because the handwriting was unreadable or because the man wasn't even making the effort or writing real words and doodling gibberish. The clock on the wall ticked and tacked so loud compared to the weighing silence ruling in the office. Ivan had counted 1,824 seconds which roughly equaled 30 minutes, the longest 30 minutes of every person in this room's life. His father kept checking the golden luxurious watch that decorated his wrist and let out a sigh every glance showed his time wasted grew longer.

Finally, heels clacked in the distance until they reached the office and swung its door open. Used to quiet, the sudden high-pitched female voice of his mother aggressed Ivan’s ear.

"Very sorry to keep you waiting, doctor. I had forgotten about this and was stuck in a meeting."

Ivan didn't turn around to look at her despite finally being able to move without feeling like the entire floor would hear the cheap leather screech. Not that he looked particularly content before, but his body language shifted to mask his sadness a little less effectively. His mother, the woman who had adopted him to be her son which was considered the most unbreakable love bond by most, had forgotten the medical appointment where he would finally get his diagnosis to explain the suffering he had been experiencing this past year. He wasn't surprised as she was never caring, loving or adoring to him, but the reminder that his parents held no love for him in their hearts still stung.

Ivan had been an orphan for as long as he could remember. He didn't even have a name for who birthed him. He was adopted at the age of 5 by an extremely wealthy couple who couldn't carry their own child and were in great need of an heir for their fortune and worldwide successful business. Growing up in that household had left him seeming emotionless despite constantly craving love, hatred, thrill, despair; anything but nonchalance which was all his parents could give him. If he cried as a child, they wouldn't even tell him to shut up but simply ignored him until he saw no point in trying to be heard anymore. He felt completely invisible to them and it had numbed him from experiencing life. Their carelessness had affected him like a contagious virus. He didn't care if he lived or died, didn't care if he was alone for the rest of his life and didn't care if he passed away without ever experiencing this thing called "happiness." He wasn't suicidal, he was indifferent toward life. He didn't mind dying just as much as he didn't mind staying alive for the convenience of it. To him, living was like being in the middle of a motionless ocean on a boat that sailed so slowly that he could convince himself he hadn't moved an inch — no wave, no wind, no star in the sky and no fish coming up to say hi, just silence and water in the horizon for as far as his eye could see.

The doctor cleared his throat and closed his notebook before resting his hands on the desk, fingers intertwined.

"We tested Ivan's brain, did scans, and—"

"Can you just tell us what he has? I'm late for a meeting," rudely interrupted his father.

Ivan took a deep breath and exhaled as he slowly blinked, trying to convince himself that the genuine lack of worry didn't bother him.

"Your son suffers from Anakt disease."

The three looked up, their stare all reading the same expression: shock. Ivan didn't know the details of it, just as most people weren't that versed in knowing what cancer exactly meant, but they all knew the diagnosis was a lot worse than what they had assumed it would be. The world went silent again, but this time, even the clock shut up like it was mocking him and showing him how his world would sound like in a few years once he had passed away. Ivan hadn't been taught how to deal with his emotions and as they all pushed one another in his mind to try and be the dominant feeling, it left him confused and once again in a state of numbness. It was easier to push it away deep in his soul than to find the right words or behaviours to let it all out. He could feel a storm brewing inside of him but kept a straight face to trap it within.

His mom questioned "Is the treatment expensive?" as if it was ever possible for them to run out of money.

"There is..." The doctor sat up straight, bettering his posture and clearly not enjoying breaking bad news, "no cure. The death rate has been 100% with no exceptions."

Ivan closed his eyes and sighed.

The doctor continued. "It's rare but we had a previous case at this very institute and it would be our great pleasure to take care of Ivan for the remaining years of his life. Our nurses will treat him as family and we will make sure he feels no pain, test him regularly to avoid flare-ups and keep a close eye on his safety."

Ivan started dissociating, his consciousness slowly leaving the room to go take a walk outside or anywhere else than in this suffocating office. As much as he didn't care for life, the unknown of death was undoubtedly terrifying.

"Ivan," The doctor brought his hand forward on the desk like he was reaching for the teen, taking him out of his head to bring his mind back into the room. "As soon as your symptoms worsen, we can help you."

"Worsen?!" his mother spoke with indignation. "So it gets worse than these random burning skin fits?"

The doctor explained the basics of the illness to the parents but Ivan didn't listen to a single word. He tuned himself out until he arrived home. He could vaguely recall his parents arguing in the car but it had been nothing that concerned him.

Once in his room, he sat at his computer and typed in the search engine "Anakt disease" and read the first credible definition he found.

"Anakt disease is a neurological disease in which the nervous system experiences hallucinations of all sorts and transmits incorrect information to the brain, resulting in sickness and pain.

Early-stage symptoms include: pain in limbs, sometimes sharp sometimes like sore muscles, tiredness, temporary paralysis and a feeling of burning skin at random times.

As the disease progresses, more symptoms are added such as, but not limited to: vomiting, migraines, imbalance, difficulty walking, occasional tremors, severe stomach burns, weight loss, loss of appetite, depression, paranoia and severe anxiety.

There is no cure and the disease is 100% fatal. Its cause is unknown."

Ivan stared blankly at his screen as he read about his future faith. He recognized every symptom and the simple fact of remembering the instances they were triggered was sending shivers down his spine. It all started at a family dinner when his fingers started to burn as if he had dipped them in his soup. It confused him and left him wondering if he had accidentally dipped his hand in the broth, but then the pain climbed up his wrist, causing him to flinch and accidentally knock over his glass to eventually go all the way up his elbow. It felt as though he had poured boiling oil all over his arm. He started screaming in pure panic and tore his shirt off.

"It fucking burns!" he cussed, something his parents had never heard from their, at the time, 16 years old son before.

They rushed to him, confused, and unable to brush it off as they did with every of his concerns because he was rolling on the floor and yelling at the top of his lungs. Every excruciating second felt like an eternity, his brain couldn't do anything but fixate on the pain and feel each one of the nerves in his arm pulsate shock waves of pure agony until it inexplicably stopped. After a full minute of suffering, the pain vanished as if he had just dreamed it all. He felt like he was going crazy, had the nightmare even been real? The apparition and relief of the suffering had both not been triggered by anything he could think of despite wrecking his brain to try to remember if he had perhaps spilled his soup on himself without realizing, but his bowl was still full and nearly untouched as it sat at the table. His parents reprimanded him thinking he had pulled a prank on them for attention meanwhile he spent weeks feeling severely traumatized from the event, always keeping his distance from anything too hot just in case he had dissociated and dipped his arm in boiling water without being able to remember, even though he knew this made no sense and couldn't be true, but it was the only plausible reason he could think of.

The second symptom to manifest was temporary paralysis in his legs which resulted in him running late to school, something extremely out of the ordinary for his academic self. That morning, as his eyes cracked open, he immediately felt something was off. He went to get up and use the bathroom but he couldn't move an inch from the waist down, and then realized he couldn't feel his feet cold like they were most mornings because he kept a window open to let the fresh air of the night inside. He tried to remain calm, to rationalize his brain that this must be a very common thing he didn't have knowledge of and would go away within seconds, but after 5 full minutes, his heart pumped fast and anxiety attacked him. His thoughts were racing worse case scenarios in his mind, his hands shook subtly and his breathing accelerated. After 7 minutes, he started crying and calling for help but everyone was gone from the house, off to work. He crawled in his bed to grab his phone and rang his mother but just as she picked up, he was fine again. He could walk and even run if he tried. He was speechless

“Hello?! Ivan, I don't have time to hear you cry on the phone.”

He stayed quiet, not knowing what to say as his brain blanked. He felt like an idiot for reasons he couldn't point out. He wiped his tears for danger disappeared like it was never present and he felt the same confusion as he did weeks before when his skin unexpectedly hurt.

“I'm sorry.”

He hung up the phone and once again gaslit his self that he might have been dreaming or that his memory, despite it being very recent, was being exaggerated in his mind and he hadn't been as forcefully immobile as he remembered

For months he had been sleeping more and working out late because his muscles hurt, he was randomly hit with severe migraines that nailed him to the bed and he finally knew why. He had 4 burn attacks throughout that year and he dreaded the next every time he was reminded that he couldn't do anything to prevent it.

His 17th year of life was when the disease really made itself known. The attacks doubled but Ivan was reluctant to go to the hospital because they couldn't save him and at least if he stayed home, he was in the comfort of his house he grew up in. One night after another paralysis attack which occurred in the middle of class, he hid in his room until he fell asleep, appreciating everything he had taken for granted because he realized his prolonged hospital stay was becoming a truth he couldn't deny anymore. He played at his computer for an hour where he took in the graphics of his high-tech screen along with the fluid mobility of his hands as he moved the mouse with ease. Having done more research since the initial day he was diagnosed, he knew that his muscles would quickly deteriorate, causing simple things such as walking to become a task he would need to put more energy into. He tried on a few of his favourite clothes and took pictures with them, he doubted he would be wearing these when glued to a hospital bed, and then he laid on his back in his bed. He closed his eyes, breathed in and let himself feel how he sunk into the expensive foam as if it were a cloud. He gripped his dark grey sheets made of silk that went up to thousands of dollars before wrapping himself in them and falling asleep like a baby.

Then came the worst attack he had ever gotten where both of his legs burned and wouldn't stop, unlike his usual fits. He passed out 3 times in the ambulance as his mind simply couldn't cope with the torture. His brain completely erased the event from his memory for his safety and all he could remember was how badly he shook and sobbed after, while his mother went to get herself a coffee and not even a snack for him. She gave him a bag which contained a credit card, some toiletries and other personal items like a phone charger, kissed his forehead for the first time in his life and said: "Rest up, Ivan," before leaving his hospital room.

He knew from that kiss that he would never see her or his dad ever again.

He spent the next 5 years in a cycle of waking up, eating, being bored, fearing an attack, and sleeping. He did still get fits of all sorts but it took seconds before they hooked him on morphine and numbed his pain. At the beginning of his stay, he would often explore the hospital or eat in the cafeteria instead of in bed but as the years went by, his legs slowly started to give up on him. He couldn't walk without holding onto something anymore and only a few steps caused his muscles to hurt for several hours.

His chronic pain was usually something he could deal with but at very random times for no reason whatsoever, it became too much and he would break down and cry all night as he couldn't take it anymore. The constant fear of what the next day had in store for him, if it did come, had him constantly tensed without realizing it. His entire body hurt whether he moved or not and he was tired of the drugs and sleeping half of his miserable life away. People his age were out in clubs or making friends at school but he was stuck in this bed until the Grim Reaper would finally decide to pay him a visit.

Casually watching TV and always too hyper-aware of his own body, he felt a little stinging in his heart. He breathed it out and tried to not spiral that it was a new symptom reminding him he didn't have that much time left but the pinching came back and grew a little more displeasing. He grabbed his panic button remote, prepared to press it when his whole body flinched as he felt his heart clench itself. That wasn't what was actually happening to his body but that's how it felt like. The remote fell to the ground and his breathing was cut short. He couldn't reach the button with his arm and didn't know what to do as his brain went into complete panic mode. He gripped his sheets to cope with the pain and his eyes rolled back while tears started flowing out. He couldn't bear it anymore despite having only endured it for 7 seconds so he tried his best to throw himself off his bed. The fall hurt every muscle in his body but his arm finally reached the remote and spammed the red button.

Mizi ran for it as soon as her pager beeped and luckily for him, she was nearby. She didn't waste a second to successfully put him back in his bed, thanks to her adrenaline, and another nurse came to help her carry him away to whatever unit dealt with whatever this was. The pain finally stopped after a full minute and he fell asleep from exhaustion immediately.

He woke up back in his room after having slept the whole night, probably because he was knocked out with drugs. He ate his breakfast and followed his routine until it was interrupted by his door opening. At first, he thought it was Mizi telling him what had happened the night before, but instead, he was faced with a slim but tall man around his age with messy gray hair and piercing emerald eyes walking towards him.

Chapter Text

Sitting on the forest green couch in Luka's office that was part of the psych unit, Till was lost in his mind. He took the opportunity of the blond therapist rambling about tips on how to stop anger from building up to daydream about the mysterious patient he had seen being taken away the day before. All he saw was black hair and fair skin, but he could play a dress-up game in his mind; did he have thick or thin eyebrows, brown or blue eyes? Were his lips red and plump or dry and thin? Was his hair wavy, curled or straight, then thinking the question had him recall they were definitely straight. He walked further into the metaphorical forest that made his vast and creative mind to imagine what illness could the man be suffering from. He thought cancer was the most likely option, but what if it was a rare very early and bad case of Parkinson’s? Maybe he had an organ failing him and was waiting for a transplant. Perhaps, if Till were to ever get close enough to the stranger and their blood type was compatible, he would give them whatever they needed. It's not like he had any intentions of making it to 80 when a second kidney came in handy. With each possible disease he thought of, he theorized why would he have been taken away and calculated the odds of the stranger surviving it. Prior to his stay at the hospital, he had a little less than no knowledge in medicine, he knew less than most since his education wasn't as good as it should be. He skipped classes a lot, dropped out before he finished high school and missed a lot in elementary school to avoid bruises being seen. But eavesdropping on the nurses all the time had taught him a thing or two, so he felt confident in his guesses.

"Till to Earth?"

Luka's voice finally reached the boy in his dissociative state and as he woke up from it, he could tell this wasn't the first time Luka had called to him. He apologized before the therapist spoke again.

"What's on your mind?"

Till put his hand on his nape, suddenly awkward and unsure if he should say. Would he get in trouble for having "met" someone?

"Do you know the patients in the Miku?"

"The MICU? No, I don't. Why?"

"I saw a guy yesterday; I think he's around my age."

Luka asked a few more questions about it and Till felt stupid that Luka was intrigued that he was planning on making a friend, used to seeing him by himself 'like a loser', his words, not Luka's. He hated when his therapist or nurses took notes of what he was saying because it made him feel like he had said something wrong, bringing him back to high school when the teachers would look at him funny when he asked a question with, to them, an obvious answer.

"Alright, Till." Luka closed his notebook, causing it to clap, uncrossed his legs and got up to open the door to the patient. "Want me to walk you to your room?"

"No, I'll go get food," he lied.

Usually, a 'No thank you' would be expected, but Till wasn't taught politeness, so it wasn't something that came naturally to him. It left a bad impression to a lot of people. He wouldn't wait for everyone to be served before eating when plates were being brought to the table, he sometimes chewed a little loud, he didn't hold doors for others nor did he say 'thank you' when someone did for him, but he wasn't unkind. Till had a big heart and it showed in his actions instead of words, he himself didn't realize how caring his character was. There is a phenomenon called the 'bystander effect' referring to when society ignores a problem because they think to themselves 'someone else will do it'. Till was the opposite of that. If he saw a lost child, he rushed to help them find their mom, if he saw an old lady drop her bag, he picked it up for her before she even started bending down. He didn't need to be asked before giving his seat to a pregnant woman when he took the bus and when he could afford it, which was sadly rare, he bought food for the homeless person he saw sleeping outside the convenience store. He even hid the snacks well under their coat as they were deep in slumber to make sure no animal or evil-hearted person got to it. He was a generous boy and the little love his mother could give him before she passed had bloomed into his soul to a forever-growing garden of need to spread positivity because as poor as he could be in terms of affection, kindness was free.

He walked fast to the stranger's room as he found himself excited to finally see what he looked like. If he died, he would be disappointed, but lucky him, as he knocked at the door and walked in, there was someone with black hair lying in their bed.

Looking at the room, Till curiously eyed around at the differences it had with his. There was a small television fixated to the wall, the door knobs were not anti-suicide and if he turned his head to look inside the bathroom since the door was opened, it was larger and accommodated for wheelchairs. The window was smaller so the room was a lot darker than his.

"Hello?" the other greeted with confusion.

Till hadn't thought of an introduction speech, so he said the first thing his brain told him to. "I saw you yesterday, and you look my age, so I thought we could keep each other's company."

Right after he spoke the words, he regretted it, feeling like it sounded silly. The stranger's garnished eyebrows creased in confusion but his face quickly softened and read something like, 'Sure, why not'.

"I'm Till, by the way."

"I'm Ivan."

His voice was deep but it sounded tired, which matched with his eye bags which were deeper than Till's: a new record.

Till dragged himself a chair by the bed and, inexplicably, his usual social awkwardness didn't seem to bother him. As they made small talk and as Ivan explained what had happened to him, Till paid attention by focusing on his features. His lashes were very long and thick in layers so it seemed like he was wearing eyeliner, it was pretty. His eyes were big and so dark that he couldn't tell where the pupil ended and where the iris started. His cheeks were hollow and showed years of health struggles, whatever he had, it seemed bad.

"Is this like prison or can I ask why you're here?" questioned Till.

"You can ask if you tell me too."

Usually, Till hated saying what landed him here, he hated admitting that his life was so awful that he didn't want it anymore but he despised having to admit that he had failed more than once. At times, he cried about how embarrassing it felt, he already felt like a failure, but not even succeeding at not existing anymore only validated that feeling. Regardless, he was too curious about what Ivan had.

"Suicide attempts."

He was used to the looks people gave him when they learned this, it was like a 'sorry' and it angered him. Sorry for what? And then he had to comfort them and it felt so repetitive, but Ivan didn't react at all. He gave a nod of understanding as if he had been there himself, and although that wasn't true, Till still believed it enough to immediately feel a little closer to the other.

It was Ivan's turn now. "I'm sick."

Till rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I figured that much. Is it cancer?"

Ivan cracked a very subtle smile showing he was amused by Till's attitude before shaking his head.

"Anakt disease."

Till had never heard of it before. He remembered a few instances when he heard Mizi mention the name, but he didn't know what it caused, so Ivan explained it to him. Initially, he didn't plan on going into the gruesome details, but as Till kept asking questions about every little thing, Ivan opened up. He dove into every aspect of his illness, from the constant paranoia of another attack creeping up on him that used to have his muscles tense up, to the feeling of imminent death he felt as his body gave up on him, the same feeling that haunted him days after as he thought back on how he had accepted said death because it meant the pain would stop, so he questioned why he feared it. He didn't mind dying, now a little less than he didn't mind living, because if his existence stopped, so did the torture.

Till listened to him with captivating eyes that sparkled. He was genuinely fascinated by the boy's mind. Most people, when confronted with their near end, found a fight they didn't know they had, they tried every treatment even if painful, but not Ivan, he didn't mind dying. Why wouldn't he? It intrigued Till but also made him feel a little less lonely in his suicidal state. Ivan might not actively try to end himself but in the back of his mind still lingered a little hope that he was going soon. The grey-haired one wanted to know, why that was. Obviously, pain was a significant factor, but did he not have a family, a mother that would cry his absence? Did he not have any friends or even a pet he would miss once he had passed the gates of heaven? Assuming worse than what Ivan's situation was, he rudely started looking for bruises on him, which he did have, but they didn't resemble the ones Till once had, they were only a result of his weak immune system.

Their subject of conversation slowly drifted into all kinds of talks, Till learned Ivan was 22, rich and friendless, which helped him understand Ivan a little better and relate to him more.

Till hadn't always been friendless but the people he surrounded himself with weren't friendly. He met bad influences after another, causing him to sink deeper into his rabbit hole of misery and danger.

They talked about their favourite flowers, colours, shows, books and so much more. Time flew by and they hadn't noticed the sun going down until they sat in almost complete darkness. They finally had their bubble pop when Hyuna walked in after having looked for him everywhere to warn Till that his curfew was coming up and he had to head back quickly. They laughed about the moon above they failed to notice had woken up before Till got up and left, except he was held back by a hand grabbing his wrist.

"Wait— Are you coming back tomorrow?" Ivan looked at him with hope gleaming in his gaze.

Till blinked a few times, as if blinded by the shimmer before he replied, "Yeah. I mean, it's not like I got anywhere else to go."

And they waved goodbye before Till made his way to his room, humming a song.

The following morning began with his daily therapy session.

"How was your day yesterday?"

Something Luka always asked because even if the answer was always the same, Till's body language was as easy to read as a book for beginners.

"Good, I guess."

Luka was a professional, he couldn't show too much reaction to what his patients said, especially shock, but he was human and a therapist, not an actor. Till noticed the other's brows raising in subtle surprise before he scribbled down in his notebook with his blue ball pen, the fancy kind that glided on the paper with ease. Till knew this because he had stolen one ages ago.

"What?!", interrogated Till, visibly annoyed.

"You do realize that this is the first time in over a year that your answer isn't 'shit', right?"

Till only shrugged. The session ended quickly after as he started closing in on himself. He tried to distract himself by drawing whatever his hands wanted to but it didn't help much. He felt something wrong, something that bothered him and he couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, causing frustration to grow within himself. The sound of the clock became louder with each second that passed, every "tic" upping his impatience little by little until it neared explosion. His grip on his pencil tightened, causing the tip to keep breaking off. It would damage his drawing every time and when the paper scrunched as he tried to erase it, his anger overflowed causing him to impulsively throw everything off his desk and then punch the wood of it. It hurt his knuckles but he only felt it a few seconds later, which caused him to hiss between his teeth and shake his wrist. He looked at his hand and it had slightly started bruising already.

"Fuck..."

He had to hide that until it healed. The pain helped his adrenaline calm down, he didn't want to end up in isolation so he tried to put into practice a few tips Luka had given him. When Hyuna passed by, having heard some commotion, she grinned proudly when she saw Till doing jumping jacks in his room. He wasn't forbidden to feel anger, on the contrary, he was encouraged to feel his emotions as they weren't meant to be trapped inside, the issue was how he ventilated them. Using his tool proved he was healing, slowly but surely. Doing exercises was a great way to let go of the emotions that tended to control him and it wasn't harmful unlike using violence while still needing the same stamina, if not more. After a good 5 minutes, Till crashed into his bed and chased after his breath. He wasn't angry anymore, but the overthinking hadn't stopped. He blocked his ears with his palms, like he always did, and tried to ignore his inner voice.

'What's wrong with you? You had a good day for the first time in maybe a decade but you still only focus on the negative. It's like you want to be sad, you want to be the victim every time. Maybe you were never sad to begin with and only wanted attention.'

Maybe the voice was right, because why wasn't he proud that he had a nice day? Why did he feel so incredibly guilty about it and why couldn't he process what happiness had felt like, as if he wasn't able to remember it even though it had happened the day before?

'Your misery is your fault. You're so emotionally congested that you convince yourself that you're traumatized because that's easier. Your only abuser is yourself, not your dad, not your bullies, you. That's why you have to die, if you're gone, the world will be a better place. It doesn't need a pathetically disgusting excuse of a victim complex like you polluting everyone's lives. Luka must be sick to see you make 0 progress every morning and Hyuna must trash-talk you to all of her family for how unpredictable you are. And now you went and made a new person miserable, Ivan, who asked for none of it.'

Till sobbed, the tears rained down his face and completely drenched his pillow as he tried to hide himself in his covers, wanting to escape his existence.

'What did you think? Why would anyone be your friend when all you do is constantly talk about yourself and your interests, you're so selfish. Do you even remember a single thing Ivan told you about himself that isn't about his illness?'

He couldn't, but he didn't know if that was because he hadn't paid attention — convinced he was selfish, or if it was because Ivan hadn't opened up as much as he remembered.

He ended up falling asleep of exhaustion, tears dried on his face and folded in on himself. He woke up sweating because of the covers suffocating him as Hyuna brought him his breakfast. She didn't bother him or ask how his day was, judging from his state that that would be a job better fitted for Luka. Having been warned Till wasn't doing well, he walked to his room instead of expecting him to his office. He stayed the whole hour sitting in the desk chair, notepad in hand and in silence as Till didn't speak a word or even show his face to give it some needed vitamin from the sunlight that pierced through his window.

'You're wasting his time. You're taking someone's place, someone who actually needs it, unlike you: a completely lost cause. There's no point hoping they can fix you, the only solution is to disappear.'

Luka left, Hyuna brought him lunch and sighed in worry when she noticed his breakfast plate hadn't even been picked at.

"Till..." Her voice was filled with disheartenment as it was never easy seeing him relapse, but Till's disordered mind translated it as disappointment. "You need to eat, buddy." Her voice hinted at her motherly nature that very rarely peaked but was the main cause of her career choice

Till made himself even smaller in his bed as he felt her weight press down on the mattress, indicating she had sat down near him.

'You let everyone down. They'll all give up on you eventually because you're draining to take care of.'

He brought his hand to his mouth to silence himself as best he could before he started crying again but the shape of his silhouette hiccuping below the blanket gave away that he was sobbing again.

Hyuna did something she probably wasn't allowed to, but it was inhumane to expect her to not get attached to her patients, especially with their age gaps always causing her to feel like an older sister, so her arm reached forward and rubbed Till's back.

"It's okay. I'm not mad, no one is. We all get bad days."

The words went in one ear, marinated a bit in his mind and he tried so hard to not let it escape from the other, he held on tight to the meaning and gulped them down to his heart like a hard pill to swallow. She stayed with him for about 10 minutes, already taking way longer than she should have with her insanely busy schedule, but it didn't feel right to leave him while he still cried. His face peaked, just the top of his head and not revealing anything below his nose to indicate that he was doing a little better. His eyes were red and swollen from having cried so much which made his eye bags puff up.

When she left, he sat up for the first time since yesterday and tried to eat some food but it made him nauseous. He didn't want to eat, he didn't want to help his body in any way, he wanted to rot until it died. Every bite he chewed fed that hatred for his shell, for his abnormally pale skin that made his wounds ten times easier to spot, for his skinny arms he hallucinated to be disproportionate when he looked into the mirror. He hated every single thing about himself, including his artistic talents because he had gaslit himself into believing he was only doing it for attention despite very often finding it therapeutic and never showcasing more than half of what he drew or wrote. The tears came back and he found himself missing seeing blood drip from his blades again. The closest thing he had to blades was his nails, which he purposely kept a little longer than most boys so he still had that route to punish himself when he needed it the most.

He rolled a sleeve of his hoodie up as close to his shoulder as he could, dug his fingers in his forearm and began scratching up, then again, scratching at the same spot over and over again. Each time hurt twice as much as the last and it took a lot of either desperation or mental strength to dig back in his skin again as his nerves screamed to his brain that it hurt, but he had both, so he didn't stop until blood dirtied under his fingernails, only then he would head to the bathroom, stare at the droplets forming as they slowly dripped out of his veins, and then wash himself properly to avoid any staining and make sure he left no evidence behind — another perfect crime.

As terrible as it was, which Till was deeply too aware of, the burning sensation helped him feel better. He sat in bed again and could eat a little more even though his food had gone cold. Hyuna smiled when she brought him dinner and noticed he seemed to be doing better. Once fatigue got to him, he lay down and snuggled in his blankets as best as the hospital sheets allowed him to and he still felt shame for what he had done to his arms, but he consoled himself by keeping in mind that desperate times called for desperate measures and wounded skin was better than a dead body. Till had still enormous progress to do, he knew this, but he took the small victories as they came, no matter how bittersweet.

He woke up feeling rested, feeling the air as fresh as the new day and when it was time for therapy, he opened up more to Luka about his struggles with self-hatred from the night before, how he felt like he was to be blamed for everything and his inability to accept that nice things could happen to him. They talked for a while and went over the hour they were given but as he closed the door of the office behind him, Till breathed and it felt like the first exhale he took in a while.

He let Luka's wise words linger in his consciousness. Till, like everyone else, was a complex individual with multiple facades, one of which was an inner saboteur — the voice that his mind had made up because of the repeated abuse he endured, and if he couldn't allow himself to have a good day, it was because of it. It hated him so much that it would do everything in its power to make sure Till remained miserable. Personifying his inner voice had already helped him quiet it down. It made it feel like an enemy instead of something that was part of himself which made it easier to recognize what was his true thoughts and what was just the trauma talking. Luka had even encouraged Till to have fun with character design to make the voice seem as despicable as it truly was, which Till did as soon as he made it to his room. He drew a boy that resembled himself but made him look evil and deranged with clothes he thought were so ugly that he grinned at the final design, already ridiculing that part of him. Holding up the piece of paper at arm’s length to figure out where he should put up the drawing, he remembered his most recent drawing of Mizi and missed her contagious cheerfulness.

'It wouldn't hurt to see a smile...' he thought.

So he put the piece of paper down and made his way to MICU. Mizi was making Ivan's bed as the door to his room was opened. He made himself a little small, regretting not having come to visit him the day before as he promised and walked in.

"Oh, hey, Till!" she greeted with her eyes creasing in moons as her face lit up.

The boy waved shyly, "Hey Mizi, hey Ivan."

Mizi's head tilted. "You know Ivan?"

"A little."

She smiled at the both of them before leaving them be alone when she was done fixing the sheets and helped Ivan back on his bed who had been sitting in a chair. The door closed, blocking out all the far away noise from the hallway and leaving them in uncomfortable silence.

"You didn't come yesterday."

Till rubbed the back of his neck as he sat in the chair Ivan was just on. "Yeah... Sorry. I was having a shit day. Wish I was allowed music..." The last words were more of a thought spoken out loud.

"You're not?" Ivan didn't know how things went down in other units. He had his credit card his parents paid monthly so he could buy anything he wanted to make his stay a little better but he only used it for occasional take out when he felt like his body could handle it.

Till, awkwardly, answered, "No, the wires are too dangerous." His discomfort was palpable and it was obvious he didn't want to elaborate further.

"You don't have to censor yourself around me, you know. I've seen stuff."

Ivan wasn't stupid, he knew suicide was one of the heaviest subjects ones could talk about, but it didn't really bother him.

Till chuckled, amused because he couldn't imagine the other fathoming what he had gone through. "My story is really bad." It felt like a challenge.

Ivan exhaled a laugh. "Yeah, I figured that much," he teased, recalling what Till had snapped at him before.

They both chortled and spent another complete day failing to notice the sun falling asleep in the horizon.

Chapter Text

The same way he had every day of the past week, Till trotted to Ivan's room, a banana in hand and humming the song he had stuck in his head. He threw the peel in the bin by his new friend's hospital room door before walking in without knocking, but he stopped in his tracks as he noticed the empty bed. He looked at the bathroom: the door opened with no one inside.

"Ivan?"

Till walked closer, his heart starting to pump faster, and lifted the sheets of the bed as if the 6'1" patient could have somehow hidden under them. Upon realizing he was alone in the room, he turned around swiftly and rushed to the hallway. He looked left and right, his anxiety rising from his heart to his head, and searched around to spot anyone, but not a soul was in sight.

'Did he die?'

Till closed his eyes shut, as the thought slapped him, to try and push it away, afraid he would be subconsciously manifesting something into the universe. He started pacing in the room as he waited for he didn't know what. He played with his fingers but it felt like it was triggering his anxiety even more. His armpits sweated, his heart palpitated and his knees felt weaker with each tic the clock tacked. These damn clocks did nothing but piss him off or stress him out, why would he ever need the time? Why were these plastered on every wall like they wanted to make sure the patients stayed aware of every second they wasted away waiting for death? Scenarios started playing in his mind, what if Ivan had had a bad attack like the ones he had described to him before? The thought of his friend in pain worried Till, he tried to make it stop but he imagined Ivan crying alone in the dark of his room, causing him to start biting his nails. It was probably terrifying to feel immense pain and have to wait for someone to come get him, to depend so heavily on others.

Till's whole body turned when he heard a subtle step approach and launched himself at Mizi when he saw her pink hair tied in a ponytail following behind her.

"Where's Ivan?!" he impolitely demanded, grabbing her arm with worry staining each of his features.

Mizi, surprised and confused, replied with a tone that didn't match Till's for how calm it was, "He's in physiotherapy for his legs."

Till's lungs filled with air and his whole body, including his eyelids, relaxed. He exhaled and crashed on one of the chairs screwed into the wall for people waiting when visiting family and watched Mizi as she stood there for a second before leaving.

He didn't like the look she had on her face: creased brows and a subtle frown. Why give him that look? Did she know something he didn't? Was she worried that Till had gotten attached? Till's anxiety came back but a lot more tamed this time, only presenting itself by having his leg shake as he waited for a couple more minutes until a bed was dragged back to Ivan's room by a lady who oddly looked a lot like him.

"Ivan!" Till exclaimed as his energy caused him to spring up.

He followed into the room and sat in the chair he always did.

The friend sat up in his bed and looked down at a bag that had many of his personal items. "I have something for you."

Till's head tilted but he then understood Ivan wanted him to give him the bag, so he did. Ivan looked through it for a few seconds and as he found whatever it was he was looking for, he looked at the door frame making sure no one could see.

"Here," he whispered as he handed Till an MP3 player and wireless earbuds.

Till grabbed it and stared at the gift blankly, taking some time to register the kind gesture.

"I put in some of the bands you said you liked. Just charge it in my room whenever it runs out of battery."

Till turned on the device and scrolled through some of the songs Ivan had bought to download in the player and he couldn't believe how much he had remembered.

"How did you get this?"

"I have money. I get stuff delivered to me all the time," he shrugged as it was no big deal to him. "You said you wanted music the other day, so I bought this and by the time it arrived, you had already told me a bit about the music you used to listen to, so I made an iTunes account and bought the albums I recognized and some other stuff I thought you might like."

All Till could mutter to say was, "Thanks."

How could he even begin to process this? He pushed it all aside and figured he would have a breakdown about it later, or find a way to lie to Luka about the device while still explaining his feelings. Then, his brain always loving to ruin the moment, he remembered Mizi's face and his questions came back, haunting him.

"Ivan..." he let suspense hang in the air as he tried to think how he could phrase this. "Your disease, is it killing you?"

Ivan looked down with a faint smile forming. It took him a few breaths before he replied, "It was, but I'm in recovery now."

Till didn't expect that answer and his face lit up. He had been scared he might lose the one good thing that had happened to him in a very long while, especially because he had started to successfully push away the guilt that normally came when he felt even an ounce of joy.

"I'll get myself a cookie at the vending machine, you want one?" asked Till after he felt his stomach rumble.

Ivan raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought you didn't have money?"

Till smiled, proud of his charms, "People buy them for me if I look sad enough."

The other rolled his eyes teasingly. "Just take my card." He went through his bag and handed Till a black credit card.

Till looked at it with big eyes, it looked like the ones rich CEOs had in movies. Just how loaded was Ivan? Did he live in a castle before? Till never liked the rich, he despised them actually, but so did anyone who had ever been hungry because of lack of funds. Regardless, in that moment, he felt bad for Ivan. He imagined what kind of incredibly soft and luxurious bed he must have had before ending up on a cheap hospital mattress to rot away in for years. At least he would be leaving soon.

Till smiled and headed to the vending machine, paid for 2 classic chocolate chip cookies and headed back to Ivan's room. The hospital seemed to let in more sunlight when life didn't entirely suck. Before walking back through the door, he paused and stared at the sunlight piercing through the window and smiled when he saw the glimmering particles of dust that always reminded him of fairy magic. How long had it been since he noticed the subtle beauties of the world surrounding him?

He walked in with a bright contagious smile, causing Ivan's lips to crack as well. He had prepared a movie on the small TV and so Till sat in his usual spot while Ivan munched on the stale cookie. Till's attention span being terrible if it wasn't about music or drawing, his gaze shifted from the screen to the room. He looked at the walls and thought maybe Ivan would feel more at home if he had pictures or posters up. Then his look turned to his friend where he locked his eyes. Seeing his side profile and being allowed to stare since Ivan was focused on the television, Till admired and noticed details he couldn't before. He knew Ivan's eyelashes were long, but seeing them from the side showed just how much and showed the way they slightly curved unlike his which were straight. The corner of his lips lifted when he looked at the small tooth peaking, it was a modest feature he thought was unique and adorable, it contrasted with Ivan's serious expression and dark aura. His hair wasn't as straight as it usually was, as if he had let it air dry for once but the small waves of it made him look cute. His jawline was sharp like a model's and his nose was perfectly straight and made his outline seem satisfying to draw. His lips were bigger than Till's but not crazy plumped either where they would seem disproportionate to his other traits. Till couldn't find a single flaw, he tried, but even his skin didn't seem to have any imperfection. His illness was visible but he looked handsome regardless of his paleness and dark eye bags. Till wondered just how beautiful he must have been when he was healthy. Once he realized he had missed at least 10 minutes of the movie, he focused back on the screen until the credits came rolling and Ivan quietly snored. The sight of his friend so peaceful in his rest caused Till's heart to jump the way it sometimes did for Mizi. He ignored it and got up to bring the covers over Ivan so he wouldn't get cold in his sleep. He looked at him a little more, thinking the odd thought that he looked like a prince charming about to kiss his princess awake. He hid his face as he felt it warm up and left abruptly, calling himself an idiot for imagining foolish things.

Till went to his room feeling more relaxed than he had in months despite his irregular heartbeat he couldn't calm down. He sat at his desk with a blank page in front of him and his pens scattered on the surface. He picked the first that was closer to his hand, ripped the cap off with his teeth then began drawing as he nibbled on the plastic. He had thought right — Ivan was mesmerizing to draw. It didn't matter if he used Luka's fancy pen, a used marker or an orange school pencil with a dull tip, the lines glided on the paper easily as they traced Ivan's nose, his jaw, his Adam's apple and the slight texture in his hair. The sound of the ball rolling on the paper was coddling and the motions of Till's wrist reminded of a gracious ice skater while he sketched the waves resting on the pillow. Staring at his drawing once finished, Till knew he was blushing from the way he felt warm from his cheeks to ears.

Chapter Text

Till was sitting on the chair by Ivan's bed like he had so many times in these past weeks. The subject of conversation had drifted to their past, and Till's walls being higher than Ivan's, he didn't have that much to say, so he listened. He stayed quiet but captivated as his friend would recall to him memorable moments of his life, no matter if small or big, with emotions varying from a sweet gesture that brightened up a day to moments that had him feel like maybe life wasn't too awful after all. He mentioned how he missed roaming the hallways of the hospital. He used to sneakingly spy on people, try to guess why they were there with his impressive general culture, and it fed his noisy nature while killing time way more effectively than being in bed all day.

"Well..." Till started but looked down at his hands and fidgeted with his fingers, getting anxious for reasons he couldn't point out. "I could help you walk if you want to explore again."

Ivan looked away from Till as he thought and got lost in his mind. "I do miss leaving my bed, I just feel bad that you'll have to carry me."

Immediately, Till disagreed and reassured that it would be no bother. He insisted some more by going to Ivan's bed and putting his arm over his shoulder, then he helped him get up on his feet.

"See? It's fine. I bet I can show you spots you've never seen before."

Ivan's lips cracked with a smile. "I doubt. I've had a lot of time to kill."

And so the hospital tour began. Ivan walked slowly but he managed to do so without Till's help. From time to time, he needed a little break and stairs were out of the question but otherwise, they were enjoying their time together. The weather was gray and the sun struggled to pass through the heavy clouds to reach the flowers that decorated the front of the hospital. Raindrops tapped every window as the wind pushed them to hit the glass but it softened the ambiance of the hallways. The cloudy temperature reflected on people's mood as they all seemed gloomier than usual, but Ivan and Till became the sunshine in every room they walked in. They laughed about stupid things and their laughter was contagious to a few remaining hopeful souls who tried to get through their hospital stay and walk out healthy. That gleaming joy gradually faded out in Ivan as his legs began to sting progressively more until they shook and his entire weight rested on Till while he kept his arm around his shoulder. The other quickly noticed this and started their way back to the bed but the pain visibly worsened fast like it was racing them. Eventually, Till forced Ivan to sit down while he went to fetch a wheelchair. When he came back, his heart stung, maybe more than Ivan's legs did, because of the way the other's face had lost all its glow. Till helped his friend onto the chair before rolling him to his room where he helped him one last time to get him to lie down in the covers. He looked down at his hands as he stood awkwardly next to him feeling worried but unsure how to express it. Ivan's body shifted so his face would be hidden, and then quiet sobs broke the heart-wrenching silence of the room. Till's eyebrows raised in surprise and his instincts acted for him, making him climb the mattress and sit next to Ivan. He rubbed the other's back to comfort him to his best abilities.

"What's wrong?" Was the pain that bad? Till felt bad he had even asked to explore.

"What isn't wrong? I'm sorry."

The rubbing paused, "Why sorry?"

"I'm a boring friend."

The heart stinging came back, this time less of a pinch and more like a gut punch. How to explain to that boy that he had saved Till's life when emotions were impossible to put words on? "If all we do is watch movies, that's fine. Movies are boring alone anyway."

Ivan grinned and dried his tears with his sleeve. They talked in bed for a little while before Ivan took a nap and Till headed back to his room.

After that, they grew even closer. It seemed like Ivan felt more comfortable opening up to the other, but so did Till. He'd vent to him about the little things that made him upset and sometimes Ivan would recall times he had similar frustrating inconveniences so Till felt less alone with his emotions he thought were exaggerated. He got upset easily and the anger built up rapidly, but it was comforting to know that at least, the frustration wasn't just because he was overly sensitive. All the staff noticed a difference in their behaviours, Ivan was more cooperative whenever he needed treatment which showed a will to live longer, something that never happened before, and Till's antidepressant dosage lowered, his scars started to heal and he had gained weight; he was stressing less and eating more. Sometimes, they would get caught in a burst of laughter so genuine and uncontrollable that Till had to run to find Mizi and get ice for Ivan's abdomen because his muscles hurt, which caused them to cackle even more.

"You want to lay with me in bed instead? That chair can't be comfortable," asked Ivan as Till had come back from getting them cookies to eat while watching a movie.

He was taken by surprise and his heart dropped when he pictured himself lying so close next to Ivan but he agreed and hopped in. The mattress wasn't too narrow for one person, but for two, it caused them to be squished against one another. Till couldn't focus at all, his palms were sweaty, his cardiac rhythm reaching high peaks and his stomach was swirling like a whirlpool. His entire focus was on his arm which was resting against Ivan's, their shoulders touching, their thighs brushing against one another and the way their faces were so close to one another. He could see the little strands of black hair that peaked in his view even if he didn't look at them directly in his peripheral vision. He thought, if they both were to turn their heads at the same time, they would be nearly kissing. Ivan smelled nice, incredible even, and it wasn't an artificial smell like perfume or cologne, he smelled like himself but it was comforting. Till felt something strange in him, something he had never felt before — he had this urge trapped inside him that wanted physical proximity like an embrace or locking arms with Ivan. He had been missing Ivan as soon as they weren't together, adding this to the equation, Till's cheeks flushed when the realization hit him.

Ivan glanced to his side only to be faced with Till's face completely red while he fidgeted the way he always did when anxious and he couldn't hold back his chuckle.

"Relax, I'm not contagious."

Till's head turned swiftly so they would look at each other but his eyes lowered quickly. "No, it's not that it's just..." What to say? 'It's just I'm feeling emotions I didn't know existed, it's just I'm realizing you might be more than a friend, it's just I think I like y—'

He couldn't finish that thought before he felt fingers gently lace with his own — they glided so perfectly well. He looked down and Ivan gave a reassuring squeeze before his thumb delicately brushed on the back of Till's hand, causing him to flush so hot that he probably radiated heat. His eyes grew big and he felt too flustered to look at his friend in the eyes but he squeezed back and melted into the mattress once the initial stiffness washed away. Ivan scooted a little closer if that was even possible and Till felt peace wash over his entire body like a gentle beach wave covering him with fresh water on a deadly hot day. He still felt the butterflies but being with Ivan was so natural, his head lay on his shoulder without him needing to think about it. The other rested his head on top of Till and kept giving attention to their interlocked hands. Ivan was always serene but something in his aura shifted. The more he stayed like this, the heavier his eyelids felt, which was odd considering he had suffered from insomnia for as long as he could recall. The voices from the actors on the screen were becoming a distant echo and he would only notice later, but the voices had stopped. There was no room for negative thoughts in his mind because all he could think of was Ivan's breathing pattern. It was slow and steady. He timed his inhales and exhales causing his heartbeat to slow down placidly. Resting there with Ivan, his smell and his body feeling so familiar and secure, he ended up falling asleep and only woke up when Mizi shook him gently.

"Till," she spoke, barely above a whisper, "you're not allowed to sleep here."

His eyes cracked open and he looked at Ivan who was sleeping soundly. He felt bad to abandon him but it wasn't like there was a lot of room for protesting this. He slid his hand away from the other's grip and walked to his room with the nurse escorting him. He was biting his nails and playing on loop in his mind Ivan waking up sad realizing he was alone. As he lay tangled up in his covers and longed for Ivan's presence next to him he realized that now that he had a taste of it, there was no possible going back. He reimagined the way Ivan's fingers never stopped caressing his own, the way he spent half the movie just looking down at their interlocked hands. Soft music played in his mind with gentle notes like a harp echoing in a vast room, it was faint but warm. It was almost perfect except for his inner saboteur who kept trying to creep to his heart so it could step on it and crush his dreams but he put in practice what Luka had taught him and soon enough he was left with nothing but thoughts as fluffy as clouds. When he thought about it, even if he would get hurt in the end, this healing journey he was on was still worth it, no matter how he looked at it, the good seemed to always outweigh the bad. Realizing he was having those thoughts alone was an indicator that he was doing better. Being so used to misery, he once had to pretend it was comforting but now that he was slowly coming out of his deep hole, he was realizing how much he had missed the sun.

He woke up energized after a rare good night of sleep, his breakfast seemed to taste better and his clothes felt softer. He didn't waste a second to go meet with Ivan again but shyness took over him the second he stepped foot inside the room. They exchanged soft gazes which reflected their feelings for each other and Till's heart beat a little stronger than normal. They talked like usual but one thing led to another and just like the night before, Till ended up falling asleep in Ivan's bed as they held hands. This became routine for a week straight. Ivan shivered less because since Till had gained healthy weight, he could warm him better when they hugged.

Just like every day before, Till was snuggling the other in his bed but this time, he couldn't block out the annoying sounds of Luka and Mizi talking in front of Ivan's door. They kept throwing glances at them which Till misinterpreted as judgmental.

He grunted in annoyance, "Are they homophobic or something?"

"I mean, it's not like we're dating."

Till sprung sat up. "We're not?!"

Ivan's eyes widened. "What? You like me?"

Till frowned and gave a gentle slap to Ivan's shoulder. "Of course I like you! Do you not like me?"

Ivan's face suddenly looked pensive while his stare drifted away but he quickly brought his attention back up to Till.

"I think I love you."

Till's face softened. The words travelled to his ear and took the shortest way right to his heart. As they reached it, it thudded once and he felt shivers rise on his skin, all while feeling the warmest he ever had on the inside. Tears started to wet his eyes, he didn't know why but his mind was empty as if every thought had splashed away from his brain to leave place for the echoing three words.

Ivan chuckled with tenderness and kissed the back of Till's hand. "Why are you crying?" He had an amused but sincere smile.

"I just... never heard those words before."

Ivan sat up as well and they exchanged a very comforting eye contact before he leaned in to Till's ear and repeated himself.

"Till, I love you," then pecked his jaw.

Till's head turned to the side and his eyes looked down at Ivan's lips. They were so close that he could feel the other's breathing brushing his cheeks. The music in his heart started playing again. The melody was similar to before but this time louder with all sorts of harmonies like an orchestra.

Throughout Till's miserable life, many times he thought maybe finding love could heal him, maybe he could deal with the abuse at home, the bullying at school and the self-loathing he had for himself if someone was cheering by his side. He used to watch romance movies a lot and daydream about what-ifs but when he realized that affection seemed allergic to him, he stopped because it hurt too much to watch others get what he so desperately craved even if it was all just fiction. Looking at Ivan made him entire self calm down just like he always thought it would be he had underestimated how good being cared for felt. He slowly leaned in a little closer with so little space in between the two that it created a magnetic field they had to fight to not rush the kiss.

"Till? Can I talk to you?"

Both boys' attention shifted just as their lips were about to meet. Luka was standing by the door.

Till answered with a choked stammer, embarrassed, "I'm good. I'd rather stay with Ivan."

He felt confused as to why he was asked to go, he hadn't shown any alarming behaviour in weeks. Was kissing patients not allowed?

"I asked to be polite but the choice is not yours."

Till rolled his eyes before leaving Ivan alone as he followed Luka.

Chapter Text

The stupid leather of the chair kept squeaking every time Till gripped it but it was the only efficient way to calm his nerves down. Luka sat down across from him and took a deep breath before finally breaking the unbearable silence.

"Did Ivan tell you why he's staying at the hospital?"

Till's eyebrows frowned. Why was that any of their business? Finally, he had something good going on for him but it seemed like everyone was against it.

"I knew this was about him." He crossed his arms and looked away, pouting, like the emotionally immature adult he was. "He did tell me, a while ago."

Luka's pen clicked and the sound of the paper being scribbled on aggravated Till even more.

"And what did he say exactly?"

"He said he had Anat— no, Anakt? I can't remember, some rare disease, but he's getting better so why does it matter?"

This felt like an invasion of privacy. Was he not allowed friends? Was it forbidden to care about anyone? If not, then why did they want stupid details that didn't matter? Could Till not have anything for himself?

Luka sighed, again. He was being awfully bad at hiding his feelings today. He got up, grabbed a box of tissues and a glass of water, put them on the coffee table that separated the two men and pushed them closer to Till.

"What the fuck is that for?"

Till's heart started to beat a little faster as his anxiety built inside. Was he genuinely not allowed a boyfriend and this was Luka telling him he had to break it off or punishment would follow? That'd be beyond idiotic.

Luka sat back down and his tone changed to a gentler one. "Till, Ivan is not in recovery. He will never walk out of this hospital."

Till blinked and his ears started to ring for a few seconds.

"What?"

That can't be true. He lied? Why would he lie about something so big? Was he being selfish and not caring about Till getting hurt in the end? Could he be even blamed if that was the case? His head bombarded him with thoughts that wouldn't rest.

"Ivan was admitted here 5 years ago, since then, he's only been getting worse. There's no cure for Anakt Disease. He will die, most likely this year."

Die? Ivan? Ivan will die? This year? The only person who has ever treated Till right will die, it's almost comical, maybe that's why Till started laughing. Tears were rolling down his cheeks but his mind needed to scream and punch so bad that the urges got trapped and came out with laughter instead. Luka disappeared from his view as it all went black. He grabbed the glass of water, he needed to break something, so he threw it against the wall. It exploded, sending glass shards flying everywhere, causing the therapist to need to shield himself with his arms. Water splashed everywhere and created a puddle Till nearly slipped in but he walked past it too fast to fall. He was on his way to the door when it slammed open and worried staff who had heard the commotion barged him. His blinding rage helped him get passed them and since they all rushed to Luka, who was fine, he got away. He walked with firm and fast steps towards Ivan's room, each stomp slowly losing power as his feeling of anger turned into betrayal. His back hurt as the blade in it seemed to stab him deeper with each gentle memory his brain recalled. A movie played in his mind of all the moments Ivan had successfully helped Till not completely hate the idea of living and his vision blurred as tears poured down his cheeks.

He kicked Ivan's door open with the little energy he had left in him, all his libs feeling heavy in sorrow. He wanted to scream all sorts of profanities to him for dooming him to grief but all he could mutter was, "You lied to me," and the words barely came out as he choked on sobs.

He folded in a ball by the door frame and cried even harder, his shoulders moving with each hiccup. He sobbed like a child, wailing without shying away from shattering the soul of anyone close enough to hear the pieces of his heart fall to the ground.

Ivan sat up in his bed and watched, speechless. It only took a few seconds before 2 men dragged Till away. He let them, he didn't have any fight left in him. They locked him up in one of the isolation rooms and he let himself fall on the floor. He cried so much that he felt nauseous, his pain was stuck in his throat and it was coming up like vomit. He didn't throw up but his head still spun as his body weakened from the distress he was experiencing. He felt like Ivan had ripped his heart from his chest and stomped on it with heinous intentions, his mind was distorting reality to a new record, even for him. He wanted to die, genuinely. If any weapon had been at his disposal, he would have ended it, what was the point of staying? Everyone always hurt him, betrayed him, beat him, spit in his face, disrespected him and so on. He wasn't meant to be there, he was condemned to being an outsider used as a punching bag. His purpose was to get kicked around. When he became aware of his body again after being numbed from crying too much, he tried to scratch his arms but his nails weren't long enough and barely dug in his skin.

"No, no, no," he repeated in panic as he sat up.

He tried again and again but the scratches were nowhere near as deep as he needed them to be. Desperation turned to fear when he realized he couldn't use pain as an escape. He stood up and tried talking to the nurse who passed by.

His voice trembled and the way he tried to act normal was mortifying. "Hey—! Hey," He called for her as she walked away, "Can I get that pen? Drawing helps me relax."

She looked new, maybe easy to fool, but she shook her head with guilt and Till's distress started to crack his voice and craze his eyes like an addict begging for money. "Please, please you don't understand, I need it..."

She looked down and walked away causing his already broken mask to completely fall apart and make the veins in his neck pop.

"HEY! I NEED IT!" He banged on the door so loudly that he bruised his wrists with the impact.

After 5 minutes of yelling things like "I need a blade! I need to cut myself open!" that no one could hear, he laid in a ball in the bed and hid under the covers.

For all he cared, they could forget about him and let him rot in there until he decomposed but they came fetching him after a nap he didn't mean to take. He wished he had died in his sleep because his first thought as he opened his eyes was of Ivan. He was brought back to his room but had nearly all his items confiscated for safety, especially his pens. When food was brought to him, he would either kick the plate off the nurse's arms or flush it down the toilet. If they wouldn't let him cut, then he would starve himself to death. He spent the entire day trying to cry because he still felt that nausea stuck in his throat but he was too numb for it. Left with no form of entertainment, all he could do was stare at his walls. He stared at his drawing of Mizi and he tried to think, morally, would it be too awful to try to make himself bleed to death with it, but once he rationalized and figured that'd probably traumatize Mizi, he realized paper cuts weren't deadly. Then his eye met Ivan's, from the sketch he had put up there using gum. His heart tightened at the sight like he was gazing at a ghost. He burst into tears again but of grief instead of betrayal.

Except Ivan wasn't dead, not yet. Till folded on himself and hid his face in his knees as he cried and longed for his friend's soft hair to play in, his hands to fidget with or just his chest to lie on, and then as if lightning had struck him, he realized, he could do all that.

Ivan wasn't dead, he wasn't far and the distorted version of him was hard to keep believing when Till saw his soft face on the paper. In that moment, the only reason Till was suffering alone was himself, his hideous self-saboteur. He groaned in frustration and kicked his feet as he tried to fight off his demons with the very little mental strength he had left.

Once dinner time had arrived, he had significantly calmed down. He asked Hyuna if he could go see Ivan, knowing he'd be told no, so he made sure to give her the saddest look he could, which worked. As soon as she opened the door for him, he ran out. He ran as fast as he could until he barged into Ivan's room.

Ivan jumped, suddenly startled, and surprise widened his eyes since he never expected to see Till ever again.

"Till— I'm sorry—"

He couldn't finish before Till flopped on the bed and hugged Ivan tightly. The sudden weight on him had Ivan groan in pain but he sucked it in to wrap his arms around the other who was now sobbing again.

"I didn't like being away from you." Till's speech showed his vulnerable state through the easy words and straightforwardness, reminding of a kid. He continued, "Don't lie to me ever again," and squeezed around Ivan's neck even tighter, his tears wetting his neck.

"I'm sorry..." the words hung in the air for a few seconds, allowing Till to calm down from the shock. "I didn't think you'd start caring about me, no one does."

Till moved to rest more comfortably for himself and Ivan and his ear was right above Ivan's heart. He could hear it beat clearly and tried to push away the thought that it would stop beating sooner than he wished it to.

"Well, they're missing out," he concluded with a few sniffles.

They ended up taking a long and needed nap but Till woke up jumping as loud beeping noises suddenly appeared. Ivan, who had been awake for a while, patted his back with reassurance.

"It's ok, it's not me."

Till looked around just to make sure and all the machines around them were quiet. He laid his head back down again and saw a bed pass rapidly by the door frame. He sighed. Time was unforgiving, unfair and had no mercy. For all he knew, this could be Till's last night with Ivan.

He looked up at him and smiled at his stupidly beautiful face, his mesmerizing traits and the grace of the harmony of his features.

"You're pretty," he whispered, causing Ivan's face to show shock and blush to appear.

Till moved up slowly until his lips pressed very gently on Ivan's. They exchanged an innocent peck that lasted no more than 3 seconds but it felt as if the clock on the wall had stopped ticking and the world stopped turning. Ivan's nose pressing on his cheek sent butterflies flying all over every organ as it made him aware of just how close they were. Ivan was too stunned to move but Till's hand cupped his face and he left it there when he pulled away.

"You're dehydrated," Till pointed out.

His face was incredibly red, to an embarrassing degree, but he tried to mask his giddiness.

Ivan's brows creased in confusion but he remained quiet, the wheels in his mind visibly spinning.

"Your lips are chapped."

Till sat up and extended his arm to reach for the glass of water on the nightstand and, after straddling Ivan's lap, he carefully placed it on his mouth, then slowly tilted it to have Ivan drink a little.

"Are you hungry too?"

Ivan looked to the side, analyzing his stomach situation and then nodded positively.

"We could go and get cookies? I'll get you a wheelchair. It can't be fun staying in bed all day." He said the last sentence looking down as he felt bad for having left Ivan alone even if it had been for a short period.

Ivan sat up as well and held Till's chin to make them look at each other again then pecked him a second time. Till's face grew redder, causing Ivan to chuckle.

"I would love that," he finally answered.

Till fetched a chair and came back as quickly as he could, then they explored more of the hospital. Till noticed sunlight piercing through a big window he had never seen before, so he crossed the door frame he wasn't allowed through. If a staff had failed to lock the door, how was that his fault? Ivan looked around, confused as he had never been in that part of the building.

"I don't think we can be here..."

Ivan didn't break the rules, it wasn't in his habits. Till, on the other hand, made it his pastime. They looked through the big window and took in the sunlight and the much-needed vitamin that came with it. They both hadn't been outside in a long time and this was possibly the closest they could get to it.

An unknown voice scolded, "Boys? You're not allowed here."

Till cussed under his breath, knowing his freedom was already on the line and ran with Ivan. He turned corners fast, causing the chair to almost flip twice, then hid both of them in the first closet he saw. The door shut behind them and they burst into laughter immediately. Till felt the walls to find a light switch in the blinding darkness and realized why it smelled so strongly of cleaning products when he finally found the light.

"Did you see how fast we went? I made you drift in the corners," Till chuckled.

"I bet you'd look hot in a sports car."

The sudden flirting made Till freeze and his face got red again, and just like before, Ivan laughed. Till was easily flustered, it was cute.

"I bet—" Till tried to push through the shyness and ignore his heart that pumped abnormally fast. "I bet you look hot as a passenger princess." He barely finished his sentence, too embarrassed to properly enunciate the word "hot".

Then came a silence, Till caught his breath, not realizing how bad his stamina was and the whole time he panted, he couldn't get his eyes off Ivan's lips. He recalled how nice kissing felt and he missed it already.

Once his breathing was back to normal, he boldly confessed, "I want to kiss you again."

Ivan's cheeks tainted pink but he hid his panic much better than Till. "Come, then," And he tapped his lap.

Till made a face that had Ivan giggle, showing he was flustered, but he straddled him anyway. Ivan groaned and his brows creased as the weight pained him, though he would never admit it, so Till lifted some of his weight by passing his legs under the chair's arms and keeping his feet on the ground. He leaned in and pecked Ivan again, except this time, Ivan's arms came wrapping around the other and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Till was clumsy at first, but he quickly relaxed, Ivan's scent calming him every time, and he synced their lips in perfect rhythm. His hands cupped Ivan's face and he grew greedier, eventually slipping his tongue between Ivan's lips and letting a gentle moan escape him when he felt the warmth of Ivan's tongue on his own. He felt his friend grow hard beneath him and his face flushed so bright that it seemed to glow.

If anything more than kissing was to happen, Till was ready, he wanted it, except his body seemed to feel otherwise. He melted with Ivan, let his chest rest on the other's, he felt their heart beat against one another and his blood heated his face, but nothing was happening in his pants. He focused on the kiss more, feeling the softness of Ivan's lips that were now hydrated, he tasted his saliva and opened his musical ear to every little sound that came from them — the moans, the gasps, the fabric rubbing together, the skins caressing one another and the smacks of their lips when they would occasionally briefly part to breath.

Ivan's arms travelled down to hug Till's waist and push their bodies closer, which felt nice, and secure, but he couldn't shake off the feeling of urgency to erect. The more seconds ticked by, the louder his mind got. It was yelling at him to do something as if there was anything to do. His moans turned into whines and a tear fell down his eye until it reached their kiss and Ivan tasted it.

"Till? Are you crying?" He pulled away immediately and held his face in worry. "Are you okay?"

That question made him finally break and he cried more.

"I'm sorry, because of my meds..." This was embarrassing, "I can't," a few sobs interrupted him. "I can't get hard."

Ivan's lips curved down. He reassured the other, showing genuineness, "That's okay. We'll find something we can enjoy that both our bodies allow us."

His thumb caressed Till's cheekbone to wipe a tear away and just like that, every worry Till had was gone. He leaned down to rest his head on Ivan's shoulder, which was a bit uncomfortable because he had to lean so low, but he cared more about proximity.

"You always know what to say with your stupid fancy words." He took a deep breath and buried his face in the other's neck. He felt breathless because the overwhelming feeling of tranquillity put his mind at ease. "Ivan, you make me want to live," he confided before crying a little more, unsure how admitting these words made him feel after spending so long wishing he was dead.

"And you make me wish I could."

Ivan's hug tightened and a tear rolled down his face as he closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

Ivan and Till stayed hidden for a few more minutes, both enjoying the privacy the dark of the closet brought them. Till's head was resting on Ivan's shoulder, his back bending uncomfortably low but not caring for it, and Ivan's hand caressed Till's hair. If Till's neck didn't hurt and Ivan's thighs weren't numb from the weight, maybe they could have fallen asleep. They talked about everything and nothing in a low hushed voice, but they knew they couldn't stay there forever so Till eventually sat up straight and stretched before getting off his friend.

On their way back to the room, they laughed again remembering the earlier chase but Till couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off. Ivan's fists were resting on his lap and it seemed like he was closing them with force, like coping with either anger or pain, trying to hide it. Till's suspicions only grew when Ivan's breathing got audibly unsteady.

"Hey, are you ok?" Till walked around the wheelchair and squatted in front of Ivan so he wouldn't tower over him.

"I'm fine," but his tone said otherwise, he was out of breath.

"Don't lie to me again."

Ivan looked down with a frown and his eyes shut tightly like preparing for impact when he would be hit with guilt, not wanting Till to feel abandoned but not wanting him to witness the storm that was about to come.

"Can you leave?"

Till's brows creased, offended.

"No, I'm not leaving you here—"

Ivan cut him off, "Please just go away, I don't want you seeing this." His words became increasingly filled with pain as the sentence came out of him with visible effort.

His hands gripped the arms of the chair and his veins popped. Till didn't understand what was happening but he knew he had to do something. He sprung up and looked around, not even knowing what he was looking for. His palms started to sweat and his heart to pump. His head swung around back to Ivan when the latter started moaning, breaths of pain that choked up since he was trying to hide them.

"Hey, hey," Till leaned his forehead on Ivan's for a second, "you're ok, I'll find Mizi."

Tears rolled down Ivan's cheeks and Till's brain hadn't had time to process or theorize that Ivan was having a burning fit, not until he started screaming.

Folded in half on himself, one hand remained holding on to the arm chair with hands digging into the soft part on top of it for comfort while his other hand was slammed on his mouth to try to quiet him down with no success. Ivan was trembling and Till panicked like never before. He launched himself at the chair to run and push it to Ivan's room where he smashed the "help" button. Ivan was trying to move his arms but he couldn't because the temporary paralysis had kicked in at the same time.

Till ran out, he needed to find Mizi. He cried as nerves were too much to deal with and his sobbing face was enough for Mizi to start running back to the room with him, no explanation was needed. She took Ivan with her and they disappeared without a goodbye.

Till stood alone in the room and the sudden quietness had all of his emotions drain down, leaving his face ghostly white. He fell sat on the bed and stared at the empty doorway for a few seconds before he was brought back to reality, then the crying started again, a different kind this time. He was still incredibly nervous, but the accident was like a slap that reminded him of the imminent end of Ivan. He curled up in the bed and cried into the pillow to muffle his whales, hoping no one would find him and bring him back to his room. At least, the bed there smelled like Ivan. Inevitably, someone came to fetch him but he had significantly calmed down by then. He kept repeating to himself it was just a fit and Ivan looked well before it, there was no reason to worry. Denial to its finest.

Roughly 5 hours after he had last seen Ivan, Hyuna gently knocked on Till's door before she cracked it open to peek her head in.

"A little bird told me Ivan is back, but you didn't hear it from me."

Till's beaming smile lit up the room and the halo of hope and joy followed him as he ran to his friend. Ivan didn't look the best he had but that was to be expected. Till climbed in the bed and shifted them so Ivan could lay on him, not wanting to risk his light weight being too heavy for his muscles that must be sore.

"Till... it's past your curfew soon. I don't want you getting in trouble."

"It'll be worth it," he looked down, showing his worry, "I'm scared you get another attack and can't press the help button... What if you can't move again?" he shook off his mood and kissed Ivan's nose, "Let's watch a movie," and they did but Till fell asleep in the first 10 minutes, finally at peace with the one he loved safe and sound in his embrace.

Till didn't fully wake up, so the exact words were a blur, but murmurs had his eyes slightly cracked open.

"Have you seen Till?.. He's here?.. Oh," then a sigh, "Fine, but just for tonight."

"Thanks, Hyuna," and a tight hug around Till's neck followed before silence settled again.

Till hurried into his room in the morning as if the staff hadn't already noticed the slip-up, but no one said a word about it. He ate breakfast and only when he headed out again was he hit with Ivan's state. The night before, he had been too blinded by glee to notice how deep his eye bags were, how, somehow, his cheeks were hollower and his eyes missing a spark. Death was creeping in the corning of his room like a vulture and was stepping closer to him with each tic of that cruel clock, but Till ignored it. He had a history of ignoring his problems, ignoring his lack of funds, ignoring homework, red flags, worrying bruises and so on, so this was a piece of cake. What else could he do but gaslit himself into believing Ivan would miraculously feel better in a day or two?

Till had brought his drawing materials to Ivan's room and was sitting on the bed, facing him and doing his portrait. He didn't expect to feel so flustered as he had done this plenty of times before, but drawing the person he loved, who he called his boyfriend, had a layer of intimacy he wasn't used to. Ivan seemed to be faintly blushing as well and his gaze would sometimes shyly drift away. The only sounds to hear were the ones of the carbon tip painting the rough texture of the paper. Till took his time to add as many details as possible, do justice to the long and gracious lashes heavy on Ivan's eyes and convey the innocence of his big and dark pupils as best he could, but he cheated a little. He added a few pounds to make his face rounder like he imagined it would be when his health wasn't declining to its end and his hair was more luscious on paper than they were in reality. When he flipped the pad around after a few hours of intense focus, Ivan smiled.

"I'm not that pretty."

Till frowned as if he had been personally insulted, "Yes you are, to me at least." Ivan remained silent, cleverly inviting Till to elaborate, "I could stare at you all day."

Ivan chuckled and Till's attitude shifted as he caught the grim reaper in the corner of his eye. Through the following days, random moments of happiness would get ruined by a reminder that everything good was temporary. That adorable chuckle would forever stop laughing way too soon. It was odd to suddenly wish to grow old with a person when one had spent their entire life wishing it could end as soon as possible. If a genie appeared in front of Till, he'd wish to get to be an old married couple with the other.

"Ivan, let's get married," Till looked up with a serious face.

Ivan initially laughed, thinking it was a joke, but then he realized it wasn't.

"Till, death already does us part."

"No, it doesn't!" His voice raised but he looked away for a second to calm down, "Don't say things like that."

He hated being reminded that his delusions were fruits of denial of the truth. It didn't take long before Till had to leave. Ivan promised he'd think about it. It hurt Till, why not say yes? He knew it was to protect him but it's not like there was much to do to save his feelings now. He had thought all night of silly and serious arguments as to why he would make a great husband and he felt playful as he woke up, excited to make Ivan laugh with his jokes, but when he got to his room, he wasn't there.

Till tried not to panic but "He must be doing a check-up," quickly turned into "He died," in his thoughts. Before anxiety would do permanent damage, Mizi walked in. Her face was empty of any happiness that Till used to use to escape his hell. His heart sank at the bottom of his chest. He didn't need any words, no explanation, he knew from her face; Ivan had died.

He fell to his knees and couldn't cry, it was stuck inside, but a hand on his shoulder had him look up. Mizi looked panicked.

"He didn't die!" she reassured, "but..." It was obvious she wasn't trained to give bad news, "it's not good, Till. He had a heart attack."

Till held his face in his hands and tears finally cried out, tears of relief. His breathing picked up again which was how he realized he wasn't breathing before that. Mizi left and Till waited anxiously in the bed until Ivan was brought in on a wheelchair looking ten times worse than he had before. Death had given him a makeover like it was preparing him for his coffin. The circles around his eyes were darker and his skin paler with no signs of warmth. They asked Till to leave so Ivan could rest but after they both protested enough, Ivan landed right in Till's arms where he slept a little. When he woke up again, something in the room weighed heavy on them and Till hated that he couldn't figure out what it was exactly.

"There's something you're not telling me."

"They told me not to," replied Ivan. Till rolled his eyes because of the dramatics but then Ivan continued, "Because I can't protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

"Yourself."

And right on cue, Luka walked in.

Everything clicked in Till's mind. Ivan's mass on him suddenly felt suffocating, the cold of his body burned him like ice and the weight in the air finally revealed itself to be the End. He wriggled out from under Ivan and ran for it. Luka let him to avoid hurting Till in an altercation but he ran after him. His youth behind him, Luka's stamina wasn't the best anymore so he stopped running while Till continued.

He talked loudly from across the hallway, "You'll regret not knowing this. I know I would."

The words hit Till like a wall, completely stopping him in his tracks where he fell sat on a bench by a grim window leading out the to thick dark clouds outside. Luka made his way to him and sat by his side.

Completely defeated, the youngest broke the silence, "Just tell me how long."

"Two days. Ivan has two days left to live."

Luka's professionalism flew out said window as his arms wrapped around his patient. Till almost strangled him for how tightly he squeezed him, then he cried. He cried for over fifteen minutes, his tears leaving a puddle on the therapist's blazer.

Luka spoke delicately, not wanting the volume of his voice to add to the slap Till had just been hit with.

"Be strong for him, kay? Then we'll work together, you'll be fine."

What a bunch of fucking bullshit. Of course, he wouldn't be fine. He probably would never be fine ever again from this moment to his very last breath, he knew he would spend the rest of his days grieving, but he did agree. He didn't want to remember his final moments with Ivan with him crying the entire time. He took a few deep breaths, let go of the hug and sat back straight. Luka rambled to him a few words of encouragement that would evaporate from his brain the second they entered his ear. He wiped his tears away with his wrist and left towards the cafeteria with an idea in mind.

He grabbed 3 straws, freed them from their wrapper and patiently folded the paper into the shape of a ring. It took a lot of trial and error, about an hour and roughly 36 straws, but he managed to get something sturdy enough to at least make it to Ivan's room. The time spent focused on the origami helped clear his mind. He thought of his future with his tongue out as he focused on neatly folding a small corner. Would he kill himself after Ivan died? He knew he'd want to, but a part of him felt inexplicably guilty when he thought about it. It had him feel like Ivan's efforts to cheer Till were to become insignificant after his passing like he had never even existed. He reflected more, thinking about how ending himself not long after Ivan would make it seem like Ivan was a simple distraction from his problems for a brief moment, not someone who helped fix Till's broken heart. He couldn't die after Ivan, he had to stay living proof of his legacy, of the healing he did on Till. He took a deep breath and patted himself on the back for how well he was handling the situation. He walked to the hospital room happy with his creation.

Seeing Ivan again and seeing the hourglass behind him running out of time wasn't as painful as it would have been without his newfound peace with what the future held for him. Ivan sat up, curious, when Till fell on one knee.

"I didn't have time to prepare some fancy speech so I'll just say it, even if it's short, I want to spend all your life by your side so, Ivan, will you marry me?" He looked serious as he brought up the paper ring.

Ivan's brows raised in surprise, then his face softened into a gentle smile, he held onto the rail of his bed to support his weight as he stood up, trembled his way to Till then fell sat on his raised knee because standing was too difficult.

"Yes," was all he said before Till put the folded jewel made of wrapper on his finger.

Ivan cupped Till's face and they kissed until Till's leg hurt too much to pretend it wasn't. He helped Ivan back into his bed.

"When are we getting married?" asked Ivan once settled in Till's arms.

Till chuckled, "I love you so much that I'm too impatient. Let's get married tomorrow."

It felt nice to be able to laugh despite the imminent tragic event.

"I love you too, let's do that," replied Ivan but seriously.

The hospital staff had the decency to leave them alone all day. They wouldn't even disturb to bring food, waiting for them to ring for it. They watched movies all day long, most of that time spent talking and not really watching the screen. They kissed a lot, sometimes sweetly, other times with tongue and with hands grabbing intimate places. Night fell way faster than anyone with empathy would. Till ran Ivan's bath, and helped him undress with a vibrant blush on his cheeks. Ivan was leaning against the sink and holding himself up this way since his legs were almost useless now. Till's arms were around his neck as his fingers fiddled to find the knot of his hospital robe, a new garment he had been wearing since the heart attack. Their bodies were close and they realized it would have been easier if Ivan faced the other way, but too late now. Till took a step closer, his chest against Ivan's, as his arms fully wrapped around his body and untied the strings in the middle of his back. His heart pumped so strongly that it cracked a smile on Ivan's lips making his fang peek out. Once the robe fell at their feet and Ivan put the fragile ring by the sink, Till's arms went to hold behind Ivan's legs and his back so he could lift him like a prince would his princess and then he gently put Ivan in the water. He wasn't that light, and Till was far from strong, but he pretended his arms weren't shaking with the weight. Ivan was far from ugly, miles away from it. He certainly looked better before but he was still more beautiful than any painting in all museums around the world regardless of his illness eating him away. Till, having never seen another person naked before, was shy and tried to avoid staring. He washed Ivan, wet a cloth to soap his body and appreciated the softness of his skin. He glided his bare hands down his arms and back and wished Ivan could do the same to him. The idea crossing his mind briefly was enough to saturate his face with red. Ivan noticed right away.

"Do you want to join?" he asked.

Till's flustered state worsened. "Am I allowed?"

Ivan cooed, "Do we care?"

And so Till stood up to strip. Ivan's gaze made him a bit embarrassed but he soon joined in the water and hid under the bubbles. He placed himself behind Ivan who rested his back on his chest for a few needed resting minutes. Ivan breathed calmly in the warm water, appreciating how it helped his muscles pause the constant ache for an instant, while Till was focusing as best as he could to not die of flustering. Ivan turned his head so he could kiss Till but ended up completely changing positions, sitting in front of him so he could touch him better. Under the water, Ivan's hand caressed Till's thigh, getting dangerously close to where he had finally started to erect. The kisses deepened and Till moaned into them. His grip found Ivan's hips where he tugged to bring him closer and guided him to sit on his lap.

Ivan broke the kiss regretfully, "I don't think... I have enough energy to go all the way."

Till smiled, "That's ok. Like you said, we'll find something that fits both of our bodies."

His tummy was swirling with an army of butterflies, the water enhanced their proximity as small waves formed from each of their movements and goosebumps textured his skin. Ivan was looking down when they began kissing again since he was already taller, but Till's lap added to his height. Ivan's fingers caressed down Till's chest, then his abdomen until they made their way down to his dick. Till's breath cut for a second as the hand wrapped around him and Ivan's thumb circled on his tip. He rarely ever touched himself, especially with the eyes always on him at the hospital, but this felt a hundred times better than when he masturbated. Ivan's hand was soft and his movements were slow under the water. Till moaned some more and interrupted the kiss when his neck rolled down to lay against the tub, his head thrown back.

"Ivan..." he whispered with pleasure.

"Till," replied the other with love before leaning forward and kissing on his neck.

He licked the thin layer of water on the skin, his warm tongue heating Till's temperature to its maximum, and occasionally sucked to attempt to leave marks that would hopefully stay longer than he would. It didn't take long after that for Till's brows to crease and his breathing to pick up a faster pace, matching Ivan's stroking on him. He warned that he was close and then came into the water.

They got out after that. Ivan sat on the edge of the tub and Till helped him dry. He couldn't hold eye contact, he was too shy, but he made sure to be delicate with the towel and rubbed it all over Ivan's body.

Once warm, clean and in bed, it was Till's turn to pleasure Ivan. Both lying on their backs, Ivan rested on top of Till whose back was slightly raised because he had inclined the bed.

"I'm not sure what to do..." he embarrassingly admitted.

Ivan's hand, decorated with the crafted jewelry he refused to take off, held Till's gently and guided it down in his pants to wrap around him, then moved it at the pace he liked. He hissed in delight as Till quickly learned. His chest rose up and down with every breath and Till added to the stimulation by dropping kisses near his ear. He lasted longer than Till but eventually came in the other's hand. Till left the bed briefly, cleaned them both properly then they went to sleep and surprisingly both slept well.

They were both woken up at the same time with breakfast in bed. Mizi had lied and said they were gifted chocolate milk instead of regular milk, but Till knew she had bought it herself because they were the bigger cartons, not the tiny ones they usually got.

Hyuna knew about the wedding, Till had told her at night when she came to fetch him but then opted for getting scolded by her boss for letting them sleep together again. Around 1 in the afternoon, she walked in with a towel she would use as a veil and then placed it on Till's head, secured with a headband she found Sua's car, another nurse who occasionally helped her, and she was accompanied by staff members who were close to both Till and Ivan. The boys had written their vows separately after breakfast and both held their piece of paper with the words scribbled on it.

"My beautiful groom," complimented Ivan about the veil with a kiss on Till's cheek.

They both sat on the bed facing one another and keeping the fingers of their free hand intertwined, they both were happy.

Ivan cleared his throat then began, "I, Ivan, take Till to be my wedded husband, and I promise to always look over you, to ease your suffering to my best abilities whether it be for these few hours we have left together or from above in the sky," Mizi frowned but Till's eyes were locked on Ivan's, following his pupils as they read along the lines. "I promise to come find you in our next life where we'll both live until we're 103 years old." Laughter eased the atmosphere, "I promise to haunt you so you can feel my presence at all times and never be lonely ever again. I promise to not only be your husband, but also your guardian angel, to never take my eyes off you, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till after death do us part," he looked up with worry as Till sniffled.

Always being more emotional than most, Till had promised himself not to cry, but realistically, that would have never happened. He pushed away the voice in his mind reminding him he would miss the honey in Ivan's voice.

Ivan squeezed his hand reassuringly, let go of the paper and with that hand, lifted Till's chin so they would look at each other, then continued, "I vow to not let my love for you die with me." Ivan's voice cracked, but he held it in for Till.

Ivan's vows had been dragged on and slow because speaking had become hard, draining, but now that he was done, he rested and listened as it was Till's turn. Till wasn't sobbing, but a few droplets had to be blinked away from his vision, causing them to wet his cheeks. He cleaned them away with his sleeve, the paper breaking the silence, then spoke with a husky voice.

"I, Till, take Ivan to be my wedded husband, and I promise to spend every day missing you, thinking of you and remembering our time together as the best moments my life will ever know."

Hyuna turned to face the wall, then realized she wouldn't be able to hold her cries in, internally scolding herself for how fond of Till she had become, then excused herself silently before leaving the room.

Till didn't pause, not noticing the scene because his eyes were fixed on his paper and the few droplets that would fall on it and smudge the writing, "I promise to keep on living for the both of us so that the memory of you will stay in my heart for as long as you deserved to live; old. I promise to find joy in life again like you wanted me to, go outside, find the beauty all around me to be reminded of how beautiful your face is. I promise to never stop drawing you so I'll never forget your features. I promise to not give up, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till after death do us part."

Till began sobbing and Ivan pressed his forehead to the other's. He cussed in his mind, how unfair it was that he had been begging for death only for it to take away someone who didn't deserve to die, someone who deserved to age until his bones ached because of the long-term effects of gravity, who deserved to travel the world, to share his soul with everyone lucky enough to cross his path.

Ivan smiled as he remembered a time when he felt alien for how empty inside he felt, which clashed with this love so overwhelming that he didn't know how to express it. His parents wouldn't even show their noses to see him one last time, but he preferred it that way. They didn't deserve to meet Till, to witness the rainbow he hid away inside of him with stormy clouds. They didn't deserve to take away a single second of his time with his now husband.

"You may kiss the bride," said Luka who was the only one left in the room.

Mizi waited for him at the doorway then he closed the door when he joined her.

As soon as the words were spoken, Till let himself fall on Ivan and kissed him, passionate embraces turning to sweet endless pecks. They were brought a simple meal which Till had to feed to Ivan but he was happy to do so. They watched one last movie together before tiredness got to them, never needing personal space. Till's head remained resting on Ivan's chest while he played in his hair, brushing his fingers through the wild and senseless locks while his other arm rubbed his back gently in circles. They fell asleep in each other's arms, everyone in the hospital turning a blind eye to the rules so they could spend every last second of Ivan's life together, Till already having forgotten the nightmare tomorrow had promised to him as Ivan's usually cold body temperature rose because of the shared warmth from himself.

For a faint second during the night, Till woke up. The sudden quietness had gently woken his mind: the heart his ear was resting on had stopped beating. He knew Ivan had just left him, and he surprisingly felt at peace, for now, as he held him a little tighter and fell back asleep, leaving the crying to the future.

Chapter Text

Prologue

They needed 4 men to get Till off Ivan's body. He yelled, cried, scratched, punched and kicked senselessly as if he was being abducted. His arms wouldn't let go of the limp body. Everyone who had the unluckiness of witnessing the heart-wrenching scene would never forget the gruesome sight of it and the screams of death that pierced their ears. The raw grief stabbed Till directly in the heart for weeks. He was often brought to confinement for his safety regardless that he kept his word to Ivan and never attempted to kill himself once. He had even found the strength to stop scratching his arms if he noticed them bleeding too much. The paper ring had been brought to him along with a few of Ivan's belongings a few months after his passing, once he had calmed a bit since Ivan's parents never even picked up the phone when called to come collect them. Till slept in his clothes, read his books and constantly listened to the music player Ivan had gifted him what now seemed like forever ago.

As months went on, Till eventually walked out of the hospital. It felt like being freed from jail despite having been allowed way more liberty in the final weeks. He never spoke to his father again and got himself the best apartment he could with the little he had. He tried doing what he told Ivan — finding the joy in life — but it seemed harder said than done. He found a nice job, lucky enough to get a salary that allowed him to continue therapy with a decent roof over his head. For 2 years, he worked his ass off to save as much as he could, that was the excuse he gave but in reality, it was to ignore his emotions. He drowned himself with 3 jobs so he would get home and pass out exhausted as soon as his body came in contact with his bed, with no time to spiral in his head and mourn Ivan too much. He still had harder days, their wedding anniversary, which was also Ivan's death anniversary, was the hardest of all.

The only spending he allowed himself outside of food was a nice silver ring because he was tired of getting asked where his ring was when he would mention he was married. He befriended coworkers, causing him to completely leave his old destructive inner circle. He fought hard to not fall into drugs when days were harder, remembering how his ex-comrades didn't seem to worry about anything when high, but Ivan would have hated that. He would toss his phone across the room because all he needed was 1 phone call to an old friend and a menu of toxins would open up to him. He didn't drink either. He coped with music. He spent every day off at a concert, the artist didn't matter, the louder the music, the better, and it helped him make even more friends, ones with similar interests to him.

On the 4th year post Ivan's death, he realized he had finally saved up enough to pack his bags and go travel, which was his plan all along, it simply took him longer than anticipated.

After he took his first plane, he never went back home and kept travelling the world for years, managing to make money with small jobs he picked up regardless of the language barriers. Not a day went by where he didn't miss Ivan and didn't shed a tear before bed, longing for his weight on his chest. He sometimes dreamed of hospital noises and robes, which would have him wake up to a complete breakdown as he missed looking at Ivan's slower heartbeat on the machine. He missed the small TV in the room and the hundreds of movies they watched for an excuse to hold each other. He never got over Ivan and the love he gave him never dimmed. He felt him by his side sometimes, remembering his vows and smiling, not caring that he might look crazy talking to himself in hotel rooms.

He died at the age of 33 because of a motorcycle accident in France, instant and painless, on his way back to his rented home after having witnessed the prettiest sunset of his life, with the warm colours piercing through the clouds at the top of a mountain.