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Chapter Text

Till is four when the first mark appears on the right side of his neck. It is shaped like an odd looking letter b.

His mother coos over him when he points it out to her. It’s a music symbol called a flat, she says. A symbol indicating the note should be played a semitone lower.

“Till, remember. Not a lot of people have these marks, but when they do, they will have a very special person,” she lifts him in the air and he squeals. She hugs him tight, smelling like warm milk as she nuzzles into his hair. “Even if I’m not there anymore, you won’t be alone as long as you have that mark on your neck. And it won’t just stop at just one mark. There will be multiple all over your body, telling you about the life you will have with them. You aren’t going to be alone, Till, and you will be loved.”

When Till is taken away from her, alone in the discount box, he thinks of that someone she described.

Are they going to save me? he wonders, tugging at the collar around his mouth curiously.

Then he sees another human, a boy with dark, dark hair being led in front of his case.

Till blinks. It’s the first time he's seen another human since his mother. He goes up to the glass, hands leaving faint marks on it as he presses closer, wanting to see more of this new person.

He’s short enough to be the same age, maybe younger than him. He’s thin enough that the shirt he’s wearing almost slips down a shoulder, or maybe the aliens just didn’t care enough to give him a size that did fit. There's a small mark that peeks a little above his collar on the side where the shirt is too tight, but he can’t make it out clearly.

To his surprise, the boy turns to look back at him. Till freezes as teal eyes meet black. It reminds him of when he was still with his mother, telling him to look for shooting stars to wish upon but only finding the dark expanse of the never ending sky. No, if he looked closer, they’re so dark and empty it feels like he’s going to drown in it. Like the abyss. He holds his breath as he waits for the boy’s next move.

However, before either of them can do much, that boy gets pushed back into the hallway by the alien accompanying him, moving somewhere where Till can’t see him and his inky, mesmerizing eyes anymore.

It’s been six years since Till was bought and now growing up in Anakt Garden. Two more marks have appeared on his skin since then. The first one is a flower, resembling the ones that grow artificially in the Garden; a small, red one with five petals and a yellow-black middle, like the ones he makes flower crowns out of, placed behind his left ear. The second is a xylophone, keys painted a pretty rainbow, and a pair of xylophone mallets, which are hovering over the shorter keys where the higher pitched ones would be, right over his heart.

One day, the robot in charge of teaching that day is droning on mechanically about the human body.

“On Earth, some humans had traces of something on their skin. As Earth was destroyed, fewer and fewer humans had these marks. We do not know where they originated from, nor do we know their biological purpose. Some of you may have them, some not. It matters not, as you are all able to sing.” The robot pauses and beeps. “It is now mandatory playtime. Class is dismissed.”

Most of the children stand up and run around, finally free from lectures for the day.

“Till.”

He looks up from his sketchbook.

“Are you drawing Mizi again today?”

Till glances over to her, who is smiling as she talks with Sua, then back at Ivan.

“What’s it to you?” he asks as Ivan sits down next to him.

He doesn’t answer his question, but instead points at his drawing of Mizi, right where her neck meets her jaw.

“She has a bass clef there.”

Till frowns. “I thought we weren’t supposed to have things tattooed on our bodies? To maintain visuals or whatever the aliens said.”

“It’s not a tattoo. It’s a soulmark,” Ivan presses a finger behind Till’s ear, on the flower, smiling as he shivers from the unexpectedly cold touch. “Like this one. It causes unnecessary scarring all over the body if they try to remove it, so they usually don’t bother. Till, you never told me you had a soulmate.”

“There wasn’t any need to. Who needs a soulmate in this society anyway? If anything, they might drag me down,” he draws a bass clef onto the spot that Ivan had pointed out. “Why? Do you have a soulmate too?”

“Curious?”

Till huffs. “Not particularly.”

However, to his disbelief, Ivan responds softly, “I do.” He grins wider when Till looks up from the drawing to give him a calculating look. “Wanna see?”

Before he could say anything in return, Ivan pulls down his shirt collar, revealing a music symbol. A sharp, a music symbol that indicates the note should be played a semitone higher. Oddly enough, it contrasts with Till’s flat symbol.

“Huh,” He blinks and turns back to the drawing. “I feel bad for whoever’s your soulmate.”

They sit in silence for a while, Ivan leaning over Till’s shoulder to watch him sketch the frame of Mizi’s glasses.

“Hey…” Till hesitates. “Who do you think Mizi’s soulmate is?”

Ivan keeps quiet for a while, thinking. “I would be surprised if it were anyone other than Sua.”

Till droops. “Hm.”

Silence blankets over them again, save for the soft scratch of graphite on paper, until Ivan reaches a hand over the drawing and promptly crumples it between his fingers.

Till’s jaw drops. He swings a fist at him, sketchbook and pencil dropping to the synthetic grass and his collar glows red. “You–I’ve been working on that for a week!”

Ivan punches him back in retaliation, expression too serene for someone who’s actively beating another person. “Why do you always start a fight if you know you’re going to lose?”

Till doesn’t answer, but slight tears spring to his eyes.

He is thrashing under Ivan, a leg pinned down by one of Ivan’s knees, when a robot finally comes over to separate the two; both dangle from the robot’s mechanical arms when they are grabbed by their shirt collars.

“Analyzing camera data,” it whirrs. “Student Till has been confirmed as the instigator of the fight. Two prior warnings have already been issued to this student. Now rerouting to solitary confinement container B.”

Before Till could be dragged off, Ivan calls out, “Wait. I…” He pauses, looking like he’s trying to think of an excuse. “I accidentally ruined one of his belongings, so it wasn’t his fault. It was really important to him, so…”

The robot doesn’t move, processing the intervention, but eventually sets Till back onto the grass, none too gently. “One last strike and it’s off to solitary confinement with you,” it warns, and levitates away.

Till rubs his neck, which is slightly red. “You provoke me to start a fight, but help me avoid solitary confinement? What are you even doing?”

Ivan gazes at him and says slowly, “I was bored.”

Till stares. “Seriously? You didn’t have to ruin my week-long work because you were bored.”

“You didn’t answer my question earlier. Why fight me when you know you’re going to lose?”

“Well, if I do nothing, I don’t even have a chance, you know? If I do, there’s a possibility of me winning, as slim as it is,” he shrugs. “Something like that.”

Ivan blinks, then a big, goofy smile spreads over his face. “You really are an enigma, Till.”

He scowls. “Wipe that stupid smirk off your face before I do it for you.”

A few days later, he gets another soulmark; this time in the shape of a meteor, trailing streaks of red and yellow behind it. Strangely enough, it’s placed where Ivan had pinned down his leg during the fight.

Frowning as he exits his room, he sees Ivan giving a piggyback ride to Mizi. She shrieks with laughter, one hand clutching around his neck while the other waves over their heads. He catches a glimpse of the bass clef, exactly where Ivan had said.

Her sleeve falls to reveal her arm, but that’s not what draws Till’s attention. There, on the inside of her wrist, is a mark that looks like a white ball with an odd sheen to it. A pearl, he thinks. Like in the books said Earth had.

As the two disappear out of sight, he takes a seat outside the dorms, under the same tree as last time, to draw again.

A sketch and two doodles later, he finally looks up, feeling a familiar gaze on him.

“Done playing?”

“Why do you ask? Did you want a ride too?” Ivan sits down next to Till, looking at the paper.

“I’m taller than you, you know.”

He shrugs. “I’ll grow. I might be taller than you one day. Plus, I’m strong enough. Did you already forget how I beat you in that fight the other day?”

Till scoffs, but doesn’t push him away when Ivan leans into his space as he continues sketching.

It isn’t long before Ivan prods him. “Hey, can you draw me too?”

Till squints. “Why?”

He tilts his head. “I only ever see you draw Mizi.”

“I do draw other people though.”

Ivan blinks. “Who?”

“My…” Till looks down. “Provider.”

“Provider?”

“You know what I’m talking about. Mother, creator, whatever the aliens say they are.”

Ivan hums. “I’m surprised you remember about yours. I don’t remember much of mine.”

“Yeah, well…” Till continues the sketch. “She was better compared to some I’ve heard. If you met her, you’d know what I’m talking about. She liked hearing me sing, and with your–” He snorts. “–smiliness, she would’ve loved you.” He smiles, sardonic. “I don’t know where she went after they took me away, though.”

Ivan is quiet. “I hope we'll get to meet in another life then,” he whispers. As if sensing the mood had gone a little sour, he tugs at Till’s sleeve. “Draw me too.”

Till, with a pinch in his face, draws a tiny face at the top of the page, complete with dark hair and a peeking fang on the corner of the smile. “Happy now?”

Apparently Ivan is happy now, because he rips the drawing out of the sketchbook, ignoring Till’s yelp as he does so.

One day, when the sky is red and stars, that were once thought to be immortal, are falling out of the sky, Ivan takes him outside.

For a fleeting second, Till feels truly free. Free of constant pressure, free of being constrained. There won’t be anything that demands him something in return for being kept alive.

Then he stops. He remembers her, and everyone else they left behind. He slips his hand out of Ivan’s and heads back to the familiar confines of Anakt Garden, unable to look Ivan in the face for the rest of the week.

Neither of them bring it up. It’s almost like the whole thing never happened, except for the rift inside him knows better. It grows larger and larger by the day, with every touch and glance Ivan gives him.

The guilt eats him alive. One day, he drops a flower crown he made onto Ivan’s head, a silent apology. The flora rustles as Ivan looks up at him. Till leaves before either of them can say anything.

He goes on with his life despite everything. After all, like he had said once, he should at least fight for a chance to win rather than keep his head down without a single window of opportunity. He rebels until he is taken to solitary confinement so many times he’s lost count. His guardian says to not forget that the only reason Till is still alive is because of his musical talent. He continues anyway.

Another mark appears on the small of his back four years later. He doesn’t see it at first, but as he’s changing one day, he notices it in the mirror on his right.

A number. 89.

He frowns. Is that the age I’m going to live up to before I die? He swipes a finger over the blocky, blue-white numbers before pulling his shirt over it and heading outside to write some sheet music. No way. The aliens would never allow me to live that long.

Till hums as he scrawls a couple notes down on the paper. As always, he feels eyes watching him after a bit and looks up. “Didn’t you have that interview with Sua for getting outstanding student?”

“I finished,” Ivan sits down next to Till like he always does, pre-escape attempt and post. Even if things had changed between the two, this had not been one of them.

One of Ivan’s sleeves slightly lifts as he adjusts himself. He has been growing a lot recently, or so he says. I told you I was going to grow taller, Ivan had said smugly a few days ago when he had shot up past Till’s height. The lifted sleeve reveals a small patch of skin near his wrist, exposing a part of a presumed soulmark. It looks like a neck of a stringed instrument, like a guitar, from what Till could see before the sleeve falls back down.

“It was boring,” Ivan continues, and Till’s eyes shoot back up to his face. “Even sitting here with you is more entertaining.”

He immediately puffs up. “What do you mean by even? If you don’t like sitting with me, just say that and go away.”

“I do like it, though?”

He blinks and settles back down, feathers slightly ruffled. “...Then say that early, dummy.”

Ivan lays his head on his shoulder and listens to the vibrations as Till continues to quietly hum.

Years later, he graduates from Anakt Garden and is accepted into Alien Stage as a participant. He holds his holographic screen that says pass, and the blue glow from it lights up the inside of his left wrist, where an eye, iris black with a tinge of red in the middle of it, rests. It is the last soulmark he receives before the competition starts.

On one of the screens in the venue, he watches Round 1. My Clematis.

He hears the sweet harmony of Mizi and Sua’s voices melding together to create a song for just the two of them, despite the huge audience that watches them, enraptured by their singing.

He sees Mizi truly enjoying herself; this is what she built up to, what her life was for. The two on stage beam, their love evident in their reflections in each other’s eyes.

He notices a treble clef on Sua, just below her collarbone, usually hidden by her shirt.

A treble clef and a bass clef. The two components to make a grand staff for music. They complete each other.

He watches the scoreboard blip to reveal 87 to 86, and keeps watching, in grim horror, as they shoot Sua on stage.

Mizi’s eyes widen as blood spatters onto her face, lips still frozen into a smile, and she collapses to her knees as Sua’s figure falls on the floor with a wet thud.

The aliens fervently roar in support, applauding like mad.

Both the bass clef visible on her neck and the pearl, identical to Sua’s earring, on her wrist fade slowly back into fair, unmarred skin. She doesn’t take note of the soulmarks or the audience; Mizi stays on her knees, looking, looking at her god, her universe’s body, the blood seeping into her boots, until she is collared and taken away.

For his round, his collar is attached to a cord that connects to the rafters of the stage. They don’t trust him enough to not run off. He strums his guitar, an alien by the name of Freddie, and firmly cuts off his opponent before the duet starts.

He glances over at Mizi, collar off as she hangs her head in defeat inside her pod.

His voice reverberates within the crowd, attracting the eyes of both aliens and pet humans. It’s that raw emotion in it that he knows the aliens cannot replicate, can never hope to achieve. It’s almost exhilarating.

He sings for a girl he can never have, a girl he’s been in love with for so long that he has almost forgotten times in which he had not. He thinks of the sketches he spent nearly every day drawing and music written for her, thinks of her as the brightest star in the sky, the ones that humans look at and wish upon, craving its light that it benevolently shines on everyone that dares to glimpse at it.

When his opponent opens his mouth to sing, he slams the alien onto the ground, spilling the innards out all over the stage.

For a sick, twisted second of schadenfreude, Till thinks, So aliens have organs and blood inside them too.

The aliens in the audience point and whisper amongst themselves, now confused and worried, but all Till is looking at is Mizi, searching for a reaction. He grins as he sees her slowly lift her head, eyes slightly vacant, but now watching the screen.

He’s still grinning when the guards come in to gag and knock him out; he knows that this round is his.

Now inside his pod, he is still gagged and restrained. He bobs his head, blood dripping down his forehead and dyeing his sight slightly red, and his vision goes dark.

He doesn’t notice two pairs of eyes glance at him as he slumps forward.

Till wakes up to find that Round 3 had already ended, with his restraints off but still collared. He barely notices it.

The crowd cheers as Round 5 starts. Luka caresses the microphone, kisses it. The music is a slow, romantic melody as the duet starts.

He touches Mizi’s face with blue tipped fingers, her eyes filling with panic as she sees something only visible to her. She flinches when Luka’s finger glides over her neck, where the bass clef used to linger, and recoils away from him as he continues to reach out to her, almost as if offering her a dance.

Luka grabs her waist and they sway around the stage, dipping her once, then jerking her back up. Before her hand makes contact with his face, he seizes her wrist, the one that bore a pearl on it once upon a time. She rips it away from him, attempting to calm down as she tries to keep singing.

The tune turns hypnotizing and her eyes, teeming with fear, darts around the stage. No one knows what causes the next scene to happen but the two on stage.

The terror in Mizi’s eyes spills over into pure, unbridled rage as she steels herself and wraps her hands around his neck, pushing him down onto the floor as she relentlessly starts beating him into the ground.

She does not stop fighting when Luka doesn’t attempt to defend himself underneath her. She does not stop fighting even when she is forcibly pulled off of him, mouth open in a howl. She does not stop fighting as they pin her on the floor and put a gun to her head, finger on trigger, as she growls like a caged animal. No, the fury in her golden eyes intensifies, and the crowd stares in shock, frozen.

Suddenly, there’s smoke across the stage, obscuring it all. When it clears, there is no trace of Mizi or her body, and the only things left are collapsed security guards and Luka, with a bloody, bruised face.

Till’s put into a karaoke room shortly after the round is over.

Despondent, he looks down at the floor, bathed in a red glow from the gaudy lights, as the aliens tell him to sing something from a previous round.

My Clematis. A song that whispers of hope, of love, that brims with it throughout its entire duration.

A song from the kindest, most brilliant ray of light in his life dedicated to her universe, her savior.

A god who was cruelly ripped away from her arms and that light dwindled down into a small ember, now flickering precariously.

How could he possibly desecrate that?

He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Urak, his guardian, throws something at him. He stalks over to Till, grips his face hard enough to bruise. He stares defiantly back into Urak’s face, and in return, the alien forces his head down to look at the table where a newspaper is lying.

His blood runs cold. A familiar, soft smile from an old photo is on the front page, with ‘Missing? Or dead?’ plastered in bold across it. Additional pictures of Mizi are lined up neatly on the side.

Till breaks away from Urak’s grip and grabs a bottle off the table.

He fights. He always does.

They restrain him. They always do.

He is tracing slow, tired circles over the eye on his wrist, desperate for any semblance of comfort. It was a bad habit, especially if he was on stage. He had nearly rubbed the skin raw until his guardian had hissed at him to stop or he would surgically remove the soulmark there, scar be damned.

There’s a soft creak as the door opens quietly and his hands freeze.

Small but human steps approach Till, yet he has no strength left in him to tell it to go away or to even open his eyes anymore.

Half asleep, he waits for them to make a move as he keeps his breath even and hands still.

Till almost falls asleep completely before the person acts again. They reach behind his neck.

There’s a gentle click as the collar around Till’s mouth opens and slides down to hang by his neck, covering the soulmark near it.

Before he succumbs to his exhaustion, he feels a cold hand slightly lift up his face and something brushes against his cheek tenderly.

It hasn’t been a lot of time since the previous round before they tell him to get him ready for the next.

He has the first part in the duet. It only fuels the audience with more anticipation. Will he act out like last time? Will he overwhelm his opponent, even though his opponent is predicted to go to the finals? Will he kill another alien?

Till steps out onto the stage and holds the microphone. He's been fighting for twenty one long years. He’s so, so tired of it all.

But he sings anyway. It’s the only way he can convey that bone deep frustration, the hatred, the unfairness of the world. Ironically, it’s the one thing the aliens want him to do, that they kept him alive for.

Briefly, his mind wanders back to the day Ivan had taken him out of Anakt Garden and had seen the real sky, not the usual painted one. Even now, as he stands on the stage, he can vividly recall the feeling of his hand slipping out of Ivan’s perpetually cold one, sees the meteors streaking across, like someone took a paintbrush, dipped it in fire and left splatters on their canvas called the sky.

He wonders, what kind of expressions did they have that day? Would they be happier if Till hadn’t run back? And the one question that runs through his mind the most after that day comes back again: why did Ivan come back with him? Why choose the glamorous, showy facade instead of running, having all the freedom he could want out there? To choose this hellhole of endless tests, of false smiles, of torture, than run free. Not for the first time, he doesn’t understand.

He looks down at his shoes as Ivan continues the song. The rain drizzles on, water sliding down his face as his voice washes over Till. The rain, Ivan’s voice, the captivated audience, all of it, starts to make him feel a great sense of emptiness, like he’s floating throughout the galaxy without a destination in mind.

The music continues and continues, and the two sing and sing.

Until. Until Till can’t physically force the lyrics out his mouth anymore. Until all he can do is hold the microphone and continue to look down. Until the music and the rain that beats down on their backs is all he can hear. Until Ivan looks at him and casts away his microphone.

Ivan turns his face away from the audience, pressing his lips to the inside of his wrist for a slight moment, where a mark of an electric guitar rests, and walks over to Till.

He presses a hand to Till’s cheek, lifts it up slightly so he is coaxed into looking at Ivan’s face.

There’s an epiphany in his eyes and his pupils dilate.

Ah, so it was you.

He doesn’t – no, he can’t – think of anything for a second, not Mizi, not the aliens or the audience, not even the ongoing competition, when Ivan’s hand moves to his neck and pulls him closer until they’re kissing.

Till’s eyes are blown wide as Ivan continues, pressing harder and harder. After his brain kicks back into gear, Till struggles and pushes him away, breathing heavily, but Ivan draws him in again by the back of his head.

When Ivan finally pulls back, giving Till space to gasp for air and look at him with confusion, he leaves him a soft, chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth, nothing like the raging passion of the last one that had left both of their lips swollen and gasping for air, before wrapping his hands around Till’s neck.

His eyes bulge, but he does not struggle. There’s soft lips against his once more, before they withdraw and the hands around his neck tighten imperceptibly.

The music continues even with no singers. Ivan leaves one last peck, one of those small, bittersweet kisses, like he can’t help it, before his hands squeeze, not enough to cut off his breathing, but much more harsher than before.

Till’s eyes glance back at his face before they close in acceptance. He feels the hands stutter, falter, before gripping his neck once again.

Until they completely fall away and Till opens his eyes to watch Ivan falling to the floor, blood flowing down his chin, with a smile and eyes fixed onto Till’s face, like he always had.

The music has finally stopped, but despite the silence, the roar of blood in his ears is deafening.

He stares at the blood pooling around his shoes as the rain pours, stares at the reflection of the score that shows that he had won. He stares at Ivan’s crumpled body on the floor, the red on the ground growing, until, finally, he numbly tears his eyes away to look over to his wrist, where the soulmark of an eye, a replica of Ivan’s, burns his skin and fades away as the spotlight clicks off.

Till can still feel the cold of the rain seeping into his skin when they doll him up for the next round.

He had almost screamed his throat raw when they had taken away Ivan’s body before the guards held him down and gagged him, so that he couldn’t ruin his voice before the next round. He had scrabbled at the ground, fingers slipping on the soaked floor, kicking out futilely, until someone finally stuck a tranquilizer in his neck.

He stares down at the pants they forced him to wear. It’s stained red from the knees down.

“Contestant Till.”

He looks up.

“It’s time.”

As the guard guides him to the stage with a gun in hand, Till wonders how easy it would be to snatch it away. It is a mere passing thought; he acts obedient enough that they take away his collar for the final round and replace it with a silver choker.

The two contestants step out from either side of the stage as it grows dark.

The disco ball overhead flashes alongside the beat. The round starts.

It’s a proper duet, with the other chiming in when the first is done. Nothing like Till’s previous rounds.

The music of the beat, the holographic guitar and the violin blends with their voices, one desperate and the other carefully composed.

However, halfway through the song, Luka strides towards him. He caresses his chin, the side of his face, touches his neck where the flat symbol used to reside before it disappeared with the others after the previous round had ended. He wraps his hands around Till’s neck, touches his lip.

He pushes Luka away, heart pounding erratically. The lingering touch burns him, reminds him of the feeling when all the marks had disappeared the second the spotlight had turned off, plunging the stage into darkness.

Can ash turn back into bone? Can the dead come back to life?

Get a grip.

He gazes out into the audience. Purple and green lightsticks stare back out at him, along with two red lights. Snipers. His blood runs cold.

He rips his eyes away from the lights and continues to sing, this time a little more frantic.

The scores finally show on the screen behind the two, rising and dipping every second as the music continues.

Till pants and the holographic guitar flickers back into nothing.

The memories from the previous round that he had tried to avoid come back. Ivan kissing him, Ivan strangling him, Ivan dying for him.

The chorus starts and it’s at this time that his focus and momentum slowly slips away from him. Blood drips down from his nose as he tries not to pass out, vision spinning slightly.

Luka and Ivan’s faces overlap as he attempts to distinguish the two and there’s fingers on his chin as Luka (or is it Ivan, coming back to haunt him?) tilts Till’s face up slightly. The fingertips are cold, too similar to Ivan’s.

Till tears his eyes away from his face, looking out back into the audience to distract himself and sees her.

Her hair is cut short and she has a hood over her head, but he could recognize her anyway. How could he not? The eyes that held uncontrollable rage in a previous round, the eyes that held so much love for others and the world once upon a time – it was beyond what he could bear to see, the lips he had loved curved into a near constant smile, the lips that pulled back to bare teeth at the guards that pinned her down.

Mizi.

She sees him, too, and he gains back his momentum, hope filling in his heart again.

Luka immediately glances in the direction Till is looking at and continues to sing as well, albeit with a displeased expression clear on his face.

Till sings and paces towards her, trying not to alarm the snipers.

He reaches a hand to her, a disbelieving smile across his face, as she mirrors his expression, holding out a hand.

Their fingertips are inches apart.

Just a little more.

The screen behind him finalizes the scores.

There is a blinding pain in his neck as the music, the lights and even the audience stops. He sees his vision tilting, his hand still outstretched to reach Mizi’s, who now has a stunned expression on her face. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot stop himself from falling.

Till hears high pitched notes from a xylophone, like the mark that used to be over his heart, like the one he was gifted for one of his birthdays. He remembers something small, yet nostalgic nonetheless, from his time at Anakt Garden. He had gone along with Mizi to an area they were most definitely not supposed to be in. As a robot patrolled the hallway, they had hid together in a small alcove.

He had looked away, flustered, when she pressed against him. She had dragged his shirt down, making him look at her. She held up a finger, indicating a shared secret, and then had let go, silently giggling. She had looked at him, beamed at him.

Mizi is looking at him now, too. She has silent tears trickling down her face onto his, as she hunches over and cradles his head in her lap with a hand placed on his cheek.

With a shaky hand, she tries to brush away the pieces of hair in his eyes.

As he shallowly inhales, blood bubbling slightly in his throat, he attempts to reach up to try to cover her hand with his.

There’s a brief moment of contact before the tinny music of the xylophone slows and stops, and his hand falls to the floor.

Chapter Text

Till is four when the first mark appears on the right side of his neck. It is shaped like an odd looking letter b.

His mother coos over him when he points it out to her. It’s a music symbol called a flat, she says. A symbol indicating the note should be played a semitone lower.

“You will have a very special person in your life, Till.”

He blinks. “Special?”

She squeezes him tight. “Yes, special. Even if I’m not there anymore, you won’t be alone as long as you have that mark on your neck. And it won’t just stop at just one mark. There will be multiple all over your body, telling you about the life you will have with them. You will be loved, Till.”

When he starts school, he sniffles when she drops him off and clutches onto the fabric of her pants before she can leave. He has an odd feeling, like he might never see her again, but she smiles and pinches him gently.

“Of course I'll come back for you,” she kisses his cheek. “How could I leave my adorable Till behind? I’ll be back soon, so have some fun with everyone else in the meantime, okay?”

She pats his head when he lets her go.

The teacher, a scary-looking man with a scar over his face named Isaac, kneels down and holds out a tissue to him, which he tentatively takes. His voice is soft, which contrasts sharply with his appearance.

“Do you want to meet the other kids? You’ll have fun playing with them.”

“A new student?” a girl with round glasses and long, pink hair that reminds him of the sky when the sun is about to set, bounds over to them and they both look up. “Look, Sua! A new student!” She takes the hand of another girl, who has significantly less energy, but still holds the first girl’s hand dutifully.

“Mizi,” Isaac calls out to the first girl, who smiles. “Do you mind showing Till around? He’s new, so try to get along.”

“Of course! Leave it to me!” The pink haired one, Mizi, raises her head and puffs out her chest proudly as Till notices a mark on her neck. A music symbol, his mind supplies. But what was it again…?

She turns to him as Isaac leaves to help another child in the background who is crying, and his eyes shoot back up to her face. “Your name is Till, right? I’m Mizi, and this is Sua.” She holds up their connected hands. Sua tilts her head in greeting. “Follow me, I’ll show you around.”

Till thinks that he might be left behind and forgotten if he strays too far, so he stays by Mizi’s side as she eagerly points out everything.

“Currently it’s free time, so most people are over there, with all the toys. When the bell rings, that means it’s time to clean up,” she says as she points over where a horde of children are stacking blocks, straining to reach the top. “If you take a left and a right, there’s the bathroom…”

When a sharp whistle rings out a couple minutes later and the children’s heads snap to the tables Mizi is currently showing him, he flinches.

She blinks. “Oh, it’s lunch time. Come on, let’s go quick before everything good is taken.”

The smile she gives him is dazzling; it outshines even the sun.

A few months has passed and Till has successfully integrated into the class. He understands now that his mother won’t leave him behind, that he will eventually see her again when the day is over.

It’s nothing like…

He pauses. Nothing like what exactly?

The thought slips away as Mizi comes into his vision and grins at him. The mark is stark against her skin. He finally realized what it was several weeks during his time in the class.

A bass clef.

He looks somewhere past her ear, unable to look directly at her. “Mizi. Sua isn’t with you?”

“There’s a new student today, so she’s showing them around. They said that she and the newbie were related?” She perks up when Sua walks to them and beams. “Sua! We were just talking about you. Are you done showing the new student around?”

She nods. “Yeah. All I had to do was point out the essentials.” She crosses her arms. “So what were you two discussing about me?”

Mizi hugs her tight and Sua pouts slightly. Till is speechless. Never, ever has Sua shown anything but bland or mildly frosty expressions towards him. But here she is, pouting, as Mizi assures her, no, they weren’t talking about anything bad about her, and yes, she’s going to play with her, sorry Till, but she’s going now, so maybe he should try to talk to the new kid?

He watches as she flounces away with Sua in tow. He blinks, unsure of what just happened, and goes to sit down in the corner of the play area, drawing.

Till is sketching Mizi’s hair when he hears a commotion near him.

Surrounded by four boys, who are all known troublemakers, a smaller, black haired child is standing in the middle of them as one of the four kicks them.

He blinks. The only black haired child that he knows of is Sua, who just left with Mizi, and would never take fighting lying down. He had seen her shove a kid a head taller than her who had tugged on Mizi’s hair to the ground, her face so cold he could almost feel the ice radiating from her before they ran away, tail tucked between their legs.

Till sets down the sketchbook and pencil. So it’s the newbie, then?

He hears the one who had kicked say, “It was mine, I called dibs on it first.”

“I didn’t hear you say that,” the new student’s voice is calm. “It’s not like your name is on it either. Isn’t it better if everyone gets a turn? I saw you play with it before anyway.”

“This guy is really–”

One of the kids whispers in the group. “Let’s just push him and take it away. What’s the new kid gonna do? He’s probably too chicken to rat us out to the teacher.”

Before the four could do anything, Till steps in front of the new student, shielding him. In his peripheral vision, he can see the black hair shift slightly to face him. “I heard that. You better not do anything to him.”

Another kid in the group scoffs. “Well, would you look at the two newbies getting along together? And here I thought you kept to yourself.”

Till narrows his eyes. “Don’t you already have two strikes? If Mr. Isaac catches you bullying another student again, he’s going to put you in timeout.” He pauses and adds after a moment, “Also, I’m not new. I’ve been here for months already, which you would’ve realized if you actually paid attention to other people.”

The child flushes red. “You–!”

There’s a tap on Till’s shoulder and he leans down slightly, not taking his eyes off the group who are getting antsy, as the kid cups his hands to whisper in his ear. “Should we just fight them? They’re getting really annoying.”

His breath leaves him as he puffs out a small chuckle and he sees the boy’s hands freeze. “Try not to make trouble on your first day here.” he whispers back.

There’s a smile in the boy’s voice as he says, “Trouble was already made when those guys teamed up on me.”

Tense silence descends over the groups, and before either can make a move, there’s a sharp whistle as lunch time starts. Till uses the distraction to grab the new student’s hand and tug him away to the tables where everyone is crowding.

“We’re safe for now,” Till turns to him, finally looking over at the new student.

He has a snaggletooth on the corner of his mouth and black eyes, darker than his hair. There are smidges of red in the middle of them, like the glow of a lighthouse shining through fog. There’s a mark that peeks out right where his collar stops.

The boy tilts his head. “Oh. You’re the one Sua mentioned.”

Till blinks. “Sua mentioned me?”

He nods. “She said if I had any further questions, I should go ask you or the teacher. She also said to not bother her or her friend while I was at it.”

Till huffs out a laugh. “So, you have any questions for me, newbie?”

He grins. “For starters, what’s your name?”

Mizi is introduced to the new student, whose name is Ivan, despite Sua’s comment about having him not bother her or Mizi. She adores him. Ivan, on the other hand, seems slightly bemused by her enthusiasm, but goes along with her whims anyway.

Weirdly enough, Ivan clings to Till for the remainder of the day, even when Sua leads Mizi off. He allows Ivan to sit next to him during lessons, just in case the bullies come back, but other than that, he sticks to him like glue, no matter how hard he tries shaking him off.

When Io comes to pick Till up, Ivan is still stuck to him, hiding behind him like a second shadow as he gazes at her.

She tilts her head and kneels down to them. “Oh my. Who’s your new friend, Till?”

“He’s,” Till struggles to say something about him. “The new kid. He’s Sua’s cousin. He keeps sticking to me.”

“I’m Ivan,” he says, giving Io a shy smile as he fists the back of Till’s shirt. “Nice to meet you.”

She beams at him. “Ivan, then. I’m Io, Till’s mom. It’s very nice to meet you too.”

Till finally manages to detach himself to grab his backpack when Ivan is distracted, still staring at Io with those eyes, now filled with curiosity.

“...welcome to stay at our house whenever you want.” Till hears her say. Ivan says something soft in response that makes her laugh and pat his head.

Io notices Till waiting for her and says goodbye to Ivan, who waves.

She is already at the door when Ivan pulls Till back, looking straight into his eyes.

“See you tomorrow, Till.”

He blinks. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “See you tomorrow.”

Ivan smiles at him and lets Till’s hand slip out of his.

“He’s a very nice boy, Till.” Io says as they walk to the car.

He pouts and swings their hands. “But I just met him today.”

She gives him a knowing smile, but doesn’t say anything else.

Till is singing while he and Io lie in bed, her arm curling around him.

There is a bang as the door swings open and the aliens come in.

Io immediately sits up and one of the aliens picks Till up.

There are tears streaming down his face as he stretches out a hand for her. He doesn’t want to be separated.

She tries to reach for him as well, crying as she is held back by another alien.

He can only watch through blurry tears as she screams for him. It is no use.

The door shuts and the scene shifts.

He is now in a room, three tiled walls and the last a pane of glass. Like he’s out on display.

He has a collar over his mouth as he spots something–no, someone, walking along with an alien in front of his case.

A human! he thinks, as he watches the black haired boy trudge alongside his captor.

He places his hands against the glass, curious.

He blinks as the two humans, both separated by a thin pane of glass, make eye contact.

The boy’s eyes are black and empty as the abyss; there are no stars to decorate them.

Till waits with bated breath. Thoughts run through his mind: Who is he? I want to know more. Is he like me, too?

The alien jostles the boy before either human could do anything else.

The boy looks away, and Till is left to watch him go.

The only thing left that stares back is his reflection. His small hands, still slightly chubby from baby fat, pressed up against the glass. The collar blinks yellow against his face, wrapping around his mouth and an injury on his cheek made from an alien when he struggled. And there, on the right side of his neck, lies a flat symbol.

Till is crying when he goes to Io’s room after waking up from the dream.

She blinks sleepily as he crawls into the bed. “What’s wrong, my love?”

He curls up next to her. It’s too similar to the dream. He can vividly see the aliens open the door, can still hear her pleas as she begs them not to take him away. “I had a nightmare that I was taken away by aliens.”

She chuckles and nuzzles him. “Aliens? Silly. Don’t worry, I can fight them off. I won’t let them take you away.”

He doesn’t mention that, no, she could not do anything as he was taken away. Neither of them could. He just wraps his arms around her as her breathing slows and he listens to her heart beat until the sun rises.

It’s been a few weeks since Ivan was introduced to the class. He has relaxed much more in their presence. He does not seem puzzled by Mizi’s kindness anymore; he has learned to accept it, embrace it, even starts to respond to her enthusiasm with some of his own. He bickers with Sua, fights over the pettiest things. And Till…well. Much to his chagrin, Ivan does not stop following him. Till gives up on trying to stop him when Ivan attempts to trail behind him into the bathroom.

“Don’t follow me here,” he warns. “Just stick to me after I’m out.”

So Ivan obediently waits outside the door for him until he comes back out. It’s a little odd for sure, but as he has learned over those weeks, Ivan has always been slightly prone to odd things.

One day, Io is dropping Till off at the school.

“Have a good day, Till,” She kisses his cheek and hands him his lunch. “Have fun and get along with your friends, okay?”

He takes the box from her and his cheeks turn pink as he echoes back, “Okay. Have a good day.”

She giggles, ruffles his hair and leaves.

As he turns, there’s a tug on his hand and it’s the only warning he gets before his cheek gets slobbered on by a pair of lips and a copious amount of saliva.

He flinches and pushes the person away. He wipes his cheek as he looks at the person who kissed (?) him. “Ivan,” he says finally. “What are you doing?”

Ivan tilts his head. “Kissing you?”

“...Why?”

“Your mom did it,” is all he says, like that’s an explanation.

Till just stares at him in disbelief until Mizi and Sua come over to them (more like Mizi does, with Sua in hand).

Mizi is blissfully oblivious, asking Ivan if he could braid her hair during lunch, while Sua gives the two with a withering look of disgust, clearly saying with her eyes, I saw that. Why would you put me through the misery?

The four go about their day as per usual after, until when it comes to free time.

Till sits against the painted wall–one with a smiling sun and clouds on the top, the rest the blue of the sky and the green of grass–to draw and Ivan sits next to him.

Ivan opens his mouth to say something, but looks at somewhere near Till’s ear and frowns.

Till frowns at that too. “What are you looking at?”

He scrunches his eyebrows at that, and lifts a bit of Till’s hair by his ear. “There’s something here.”

“Huh?”

“Like…” he squints. “A red flower.” Ivan presses a finger somewhere behind his ear, the cold making Till hiss.

“What are you talking about?”

“It looks like a tattoo or something.”

Till blinks, mouth open in an o. He sets down his sketchbook and pencil, and takes Ivan by the hand to Isaac, who is at his desk grading papers.

“Mr. Isaac,” Till calls and Isaac looks up. “Ivan said there’s something behind my ear. Is it true?”

Isaac frowns and tilts Till’s head to check. After blinking a couple times in surprise, he finally says, “It is. It’s a soulmark, I believe.” He pats both of their heads. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

Ivan cocks his head. “Soulmark?”

“You’ll learn about it more when you get older,” Isaac responds patiently. “But they say if you have these kinds of marks that look like a tattoo, you will have a special person, or as people say, a soulmate.”

“What kind of marks?”

He hums, thinking, as he musses up Ivan’s hair. “It changes from person to person, so no one ever has the same exact one, but it usually has to do with the life you live with that special person. Well, it’s not like you have to have these marks to be in a relationship, but most people who have them end up with their soulmate. It just means that Till will have a special person in his life, one way or another.”

“Hm…” Ivan uses the hand not currently in Till’s hand to pull down his shirt collar. “Is this a mark, teacher?”

Till looks over to him in surprise. There’s a music symbol, clear on his neck. A sharp.

“Oh,” Isaac blinks. “Yes, it is.”

Ivan grins and squeezes Till’s hand. “Does that mean I’m Till’s special person?”

“Maybe,” Isaac ruffles Till’s hair this time. “You two might be, or might not. Either way, you both will have someone special to you eventually.”

The two walk back to their previous spot, still hand in hand.

“Doesn’t it sound cool?” Till eventually says. “Having someone in the future. My mom said that as long as you have it, you will be loved.”

Ivan turns to look at him. “Loved?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Then…what happens if you lose it?”

Till turns to look at him, too. Ivan is frowning, still holding tightly onto his hand. “Lose it how?” he asks, confused.

Ivan stares at him for a moment, then looks away. “I don’t know. What if they use surgery to get rid of it? What if…” he pauses and whispers. “One of them dies?”

Something in the back of Till’s mind nags at him, like he recognizes those words. But there shouldn’t be; this is the first conversation he’s had with Ivan pertaining to soulmarks. Right?

He eventually settles on a scowl. “I don’t know. Ask Mr. Isaac.”

When Ivan doesn’t move, Till shakes their hands. “Stop it. I want to draw.”

“Okay…”

He is humming a song he’s heard his mother sing once while drawing as Ivan looks over his shoulder.

“Till…”

“Hm?”

“Do you like music?”

The pencil raises, the eraser tapping against Till’s lip rhythmically. “I guess so. It comes kind of easily to me. What about you? Music must be pretty important to you if you have a soulmark about it.”

Ivan dips his head, expression hidden. “I don’t know. I don’t hate it, but I don’t particularly like it either. Maybe my soulmate likes it better than me.”

Till is staring at the fake grass, hovering over a fake flower. It looks like the soulmark behind his ear, although the one on the ground has a petal that had fallen off.

“Is it dead?” a voice from next to him asks.

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he kneels down next to the flower. “Cheer up,” he says to it. “Cheer up.”

The voice next to him must be confused because there’s no sound coming near him other than the laughter of other children running around, but he eventually hears them kneel down next to him anyway.

“Cheer up,” they echo. “Cheer up.”

The two continue until another voice joins the fray. “What are you losers doing now?” they ask.

Till’s head jerks up. “What?!”

“What’s a loser?” the first voice asks him.

He turns to them, but strangely enough, Till can’t quite see their face, like he’s behind a pane of frosted glass. He can see the outline of them if he squints hard enough, but it isn’t clear enough to make out any defining characteristics or facial features. All he can see without anything being blurry is their body starting from the collar down.

“A loser is a moron without any friends, you moron.”

“So that is you, then.”

He can feel the indignation well up inside him. Aren’t they his friend? Could it be possible that they never even saw him as one, even after everything? If they weren’t friends, then what were they?

But he says none of that. Instead, his mouth twists and he smacks them. He stalks away as they fall back onto the grass.

Once can be called a coincidence, but twice is a start of a pattern. New soulmarks don’t appear often, but when they do, Till knows soon that he will have a dream.

The dreams seem to be connected in some way. Save for the first dream, they all take place in the same location. Fluorescent lights that almost mimic the sun, the grass rough beneath his feet, the same, plain white uniforms everyone he sees wears, and most of all, the music. The singing, the instruments he had played, the sheet music he wrote. He had loved it, once, and then it became all that he had left.

He has heard that dreams are bizarre in nature and that the limits of reality do not apply to them. However, occasionally he can’t help but feel like they’re too real, like everything he sees in them might’ve happened, despite an inane concept like being captured by aliens and forced to sing. It just feels too detailed for it to not be real.

And then there’s the people who are around him.

He never really can see their faces, but hears their voices nonetheless. Sometimes he hears a soft, mild voice that could change to be sharp and snippy in a blink. Other times, he hears a bright, lilting one, that he can feel with his whole body that he adores. But almost always, there is a calm, mellow voice by his side that he can’t quite understand, but grounds him all the same.

He never wakes up remembering the sounds; the only thing left are the words they left behind, and as the day passes, he forgets those too.

He knows those voices, he knows they’re ingrained into his brain somewhere.

But whenever he thinks he can grasp it, the second he thinks he can recognize it, the thread slips away between his fingers once more, and the chase begins all over again.

Till is minding his own business drawing one day when Ivan comes up to him, unprompted, and wraps him in his arms.

He stiffens in his hold. “What are you doing?”

Ivan doesn’t respond, but instead nuzzles into his neck. “Till…”

Awkwardly, Till pats his back. “Did someone bully you again?”

Ivan gives him a watery laugh.

Wait, watery?

Till pulls him back, frowning. To his alarm, Ivan has tears coming in steady streams out of his eyes.

“What happened?” he asks, agape.

“Nothing,” Ivan wipes a hand over his eyes and sniffs. “Can’t I just hug you? Just for a little bit… Please?”

Till sets aside his sketchbook and pencil. He gives Ivan a quick glance, who, to his surprise, is still looking at him.

He sighs, and spreads his arms. “Okay, weirdo.”

Ivan nearly tackles him and the two fall back onto the couch.

“You’d tell me if something was going on, right?” Till pats his back again.

Ivan just hugs him tighter.

A few years have passed since getting his last soulmark. A xylophone over his heart.

The dream he had at that time was different from the rest.

It was his birthday, he believed. He had received well wishes and presents. Some had been odd, like a bug or a curse (?) letter, but some had been genuine, like a xylophone (curiously, it looks a little similar to the soulmark), candy, or bandaids for his blistered fingers.

The dream had been a little sweet, a little nostalgic, nothing like the others, where he had a feeling of dread hanging over his head almost constantly. One misstep and everything would be over otherwise.

He gets another soulmark soon. It’s on his thigh, a meteor with streaks of red and gold glittering behind it.

The sky is a deep red as stars, once thought to be immortal, fall out of the sky. Meteors fly past as the fire of their tails leave their traces behind.

Till is almost out of breath as he’s running hand in hand with someone.

There’s a feeling of pure, unadulterated joy reverberating throughout his whole body.

Finally, he thinks, a smile spreading across his face. Finally, I’m out of this hell. Finally, I can be free.

Even though he can’t see it, he knows that the person he’s running alongside with is smiling at him too.

Then a thought occurs to him.

What about…

He stops. He has to. He can’t leave her, can’t leave everyone else behind.

He looks up at the person’s face, but quickly looks down in guilt in what he’s about to do.

He slips his hand out of theirs and he turns back.

The morning Till wakes up from that dream, he is left with a gnawing sense of guilt, a gaping hole left with the need to fill it.

Ivan notices the change in his demeanor when he gets to school. He sticks to him–if possible–even more than he did the first day they met.

He follows him throughout the whole day (which isn’t saying much, considering he does that on regular days when they’re free, but still), links their pinkies together, does things that Till knows would usually annoy him. There is a rising feeling inside him that he can’t quite place his finger on, but it staves off his normal responses nonetheless.

Till is sitting in the music room, which is empty besides him and Ivan, humming as he scrawls a couple notes down. Out of all the vacant seats in the room, Ivan had chosen the one next to him.

“Till.” Ivan whines, trying to cajole a reaction out of him. He tugs at Till’s sleeve when he doesn’t answer.

The silence drags on, only broken when Till hums here and there. At his side, Ivan pouts.

“Are you feeling alright today? You’re acting weird.”

Till replies with a grunt.

“Are you mad because I stole your pencil case the other day?”

Another grunt.

The silence falls over them again until Ivan slides his chair closer so he doesn’t strain his neck to lay his head on his shoulder.

Till’s hand pauses. The purpose of it is to make him snap and push at him, like he usually would, but this time, the dream runs through his mind.

Pushing someone who wanted the best for him away to go back to what he knows is hell, because he couldn’t leave others behind. He hopes that person left without him. He hopes they found their happiness. Because it wouldn’t be fair otherwise. Because why would they want to stay?

Shaking a little, he tilts his head to meet Ivan’s, nuzzling into his hair for a few seconds. There’s a moment of quiet fragility, like saying something could shatter it and make it feel awkward all over again, as Till breathes him in.

An apology. An indulgence.

He feels Ivan freeze up against his shoulder before he pulls back and continues his song, like nothing had happened.

“Till!” he hears one morning as he jolts up from his bed. “Ivan’s here for you!”

He hurriedly pulls on a hoodie and flails when an arm gets caught. He’s still struggling when Ivan opens his door as the two freeze in their tracks, staring at each other.

“...How did you put it on backwards and inside out?” Ivan smiles. “Wow, I’ve never seen sleeves knot like that before. You really are amazing, huh?”

Till scowls and goes to gesture, but realizes the hoodie had become more like a straitjacket. He frowns. “Help me take it off.”

Ivan whistles. “Take me on a date first, why don’t you.”

“Shut up.”

The two play tug of war with the stubborn hoodie and it ends with the garment flying across the room and Till getting the wind knocked out of him as he gets flung back onto his bed.

“God,” he scrubs a hand over his face and bends over to pick the offensive piece of clothing up. “It’s way too early for this.”

He straightens, dusting off the hoodie, and shudders when he feels a cold hand on the small of his back. He turns and glares.

There is a pensive expression on Ivan’s face as he thumbs it. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?”

Ivan pokes at whatever it was again. Till shivers again and hisses, “Quit it.”

“Did you get a tattoo out of a reckless impulse or something?”

“No,” he snaps as he pulls the hoodie over his body, this time successfully. “What have you been talking about all this time?”

Ivan gives him a complicated look. “There’s a number on ur back.”

He frowns. “Number?”

Ivan lifts the hoodie and takes a picture. “Look.”

Till squints at the screen, and to his surprise, there is a clear mark on his skin, like it was imprinted there since the day he was born.

In a blocky, blue-white font on the small of his back, lies a number. 89.

He is watching the competition start.

He still can’t see the competitors’ faces. It’s like hazy clouds were placed on their faces, but he can still hear their voices, as clear and sweet as the morning dew. He recognizes them as the same as the previous ones.

He has a feeling of dread hanging over his head, like he knows something will go wrong, but he’s as enraptured by the voices as the aliens in the audience to know exactly what.

On one of the screens in the venue, he notices something that he hadn’t before.

A treble clef below the collarbone of one of the contestants and a matching bass clef on the other’s neck.

Soulmarks? He wonders.

As the two harmonize on stage, Till gets an intense feeling of trepidation, like the cold blade of a knife is held against his throat.

The scoreboard in the background reveals 87 to 86.

He hears a gun go off and watches as the one with the treble clef falls to the ground with a wet thud.

The other falls to their knees, shaking as the blood pooling on the floor seeps into their boots. The bass clef on their neck fades, like it was never there to begin with, but the treble clef on the other stays on their body like not even death could separate it.

The blurriness of the faces on stage disappears.

The one who had been shot has black hair covering her face, adorned with a white headband and pearl earrings, as she lies on the ground, unmoving. The other, who collapsed on the floor, has her hair whipping around her face, pink as the setting sky.

Till wakes up, eyes flying open and hands fisting the soft fabric of the blanket.

He tosses the dream over in his head as he sits up. He recognizes those people. He recognizes those soulmarks.

No one ever has the same exact one.

He tells himself that it’s just a dream. That it’s not reality. That his friends had not died in a singing competition that aliens forced them to participate, of all things.

Then why does nearly every single soulmark he has corresponded to those in his dreams?

He has never seen the sky so full like he did in his dream with the meteors. Never felt that unbridled joy as intense as he did in that dream, and that feeling of guilt crashing down on him in waves as he ripped that happiness away with his own hands.

The more he thinks about it, the more it feels like he’s closer to the answer, despite knowing full well it’s foolish to think that this is something more than it ever was.

It’s a hot day for October.

Despite it being hot enough for an egg to fry itself on the pavement, the gym teacher is telling the class to run around outside and everyone collectively groans.

The humidity makes everything so much worse.

No matter how much Till wipes his brow, the sweat accumulates and drips into his eyes, annoying him further.

“Why are we even out here?” he complains.

“Right?” Mizi fans herself with a hand, face bright red and hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her glasses keep slipping down her nose and she pushes them back up for the umpteenth time. “I heard in one of the other classes that someone threw up on the side and the gym teacher still told them to run.”

Ivan’s bangs are carefully kept out of the way with one of Mizi’s clips. “There was another who almost passed out from heatstroke, too. Eyewitnesses report that the teacher just kicked them under the shade and told the class to keep moving.”

Sua makes a face as she trudges alongside them in the heat. “Sounds like him alright. He gives us like, what, a single one-minute break for the entire fifty-minute period? Can we report that for child abuse?”

Till looks up at the sky, squinting, raising a hand to cover his eyes as sweat drips down his back and their teacher barks at them to pick up the pace. “I’ll testify.”

The next day, it’s bone chillingly cold and approximately half the student body gets sick, including Till, who is wearing a thin sweater and wholly unprepared for the cold.

He sneezes as the wind blows directly into his face. “Global warming is ruining this world,” is the first thing he says when Ivan comes up alongside him to walk to school.

He passes over a tissue and Till takes it gratefully.

“Your voice sounds like you swallowed a cheese grater.”

Till glowers. “I’m aware.”

“Why didn’t you check the weather?” Ivan wraps his scarf around Till’s neck when he shivers.

“I was busy,” he replies with that nasally voice that doesn’t quite sound like you when you’re sick and blows into the tissue. “I forget things too.”

Ivan presses the back of his hand to Till’s cheek and he tries not to lean into it. “You’re not that feverish, but I think you should still go home.”

He coughs. “It’s not even that bad.”

It gets worse.

He’s in class, woozy as he tries to concentrate on whatever the teacher’s writing on the board. On the back of his neck, he can feel the pinpricks of Ivan’s gaze and almost hears the I told you so.

He barely registers the bell ringing and keeps his head down on the desk.

There’s fingers running through his hair before long and he forces himself to look up.

“I told you so,” Ivan says. He knew he would say that. Bastard. “Go home. Here, I’ll even help you to the nurse.”

He turns back to the desk. “Many thanks for your magnanimity.”

“No problem. Come on, let’s go to the nurse.” he holds out a hand.

“...Do you think I can make it through lunch?”

“Not in the least.” Ivan replies cheerfully, hand still out.

Till watches the hand wiggle a bit before sighing and taking it with little more pushback.

The nurse allows them to leave and sternly reminds Ivan to come back after dropping off Till.

He blinks as Ivan shrugs on his thin sweater. The perp of all of this. “That’s my sweater.”

“Thank you for your amazing input.”

“Don’t be an asshole. Why are you putting on my sweater?”

Ivan wrinkles his nose. “You always assume the worst of me.”

“You didn’t answer,” he answers dryly. "It would also help if I hadn't caught you sniffing my clothes multiple times when we were younger."

He sighs. “Till, you were about to pass out in class and if you wanted to wade through a half a mile of below freezing weather, you could’ve just said so. Just put on my jacket. There’s hand warmers in the pockets.”

Till grumbles as he shimmies his way into the jacket, already warmer by several degrees. He passes him a hand warmer and the scarf used earlier in the morning silently.

Ivan blinks in surprise, then a smile spreads across his face. “Playing with my feelings. How cruel of you.”

Till leans down to the ground to grab his bag, ears slightly red. “Let’s just go.”

And so begins the trek to Till’s house.

It starts off with a gentle breeze, but soon enough, the wind is strong enough to make a thick branch snap off a tree, collapsing next to the two.

The two look at each other and continue.

Halfway to his house, there’s an odd, misshapen small ball of brown that flies past them.

Not long after, a girl is charging towards them, screaming, “Fluffy!” as the empty leash in her hand whips around in the wind.

The two look at each other again and continue.

Till breathes a sigh of relief when they finally close the door with some difficulty, but with no further mishaps.

A violent shiver goes through him as he looks around for a blanket.

“I’ll draw you a bath, so just sit for now,” Ivan waves and heads to the bathroom. “Try not to keel over and crack open your skull when I’m gone, okay?”

Till lies on the couch, head pounding, and closes his eyes at the sounds of Ivan’s puttering.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed since then, but when he opens his eyes again, Ivan is standing over him with a rare solemn expression on his face, which brightens when he sees Till wake up.

“Hello to you too,” Till holds a hand to his throbbing head and coughs as he sits up. “How long have you been standing over me like that?”

“The bath is ready,” Ivan responds in lieu of an answer. “Call me if you need anything.”

As he rifles through his drawers for clothes, Till calls, “Shouldn’t you go back to school now?”

“My grades will be fine even if I skip today.”

He snorts. “Some model student you are.”

He soaks in the nice, steaming bath, which is, of course, at a stupidly perfect temperature, for about half an hour, before the water gets cold and he hurries to get dressed.

“This is why you get sick easily,” Ivan rubs his wet hair with a towel. “Did you even attempt to dry it?”

“Quit nagging,” Till mumbles, focus broken by the rhythmic pats as he leans into the touch. “I–” He sneezes. “I’m fine.”

He starts nodding off as Ivan blow dries his hair, almost falling over before he catches Till by the shoulder.

Ivan pulls his head back against the couch, feeling for his temperature. Till looks up at the upside down face, before Ivan shoots him a smile and lets him go. “Still okay?”

“Hm.” He watches him head into the kitchen and come out with crackers, a new, shiny pill bottle, and a glass of water.

Till stares down at Ivan’s hands with a complicated expression. “How do you know where the medicine is kept?”

Ivan shrugs. “Oh, you know,” he says, like that explains anything. “Here, you can’t have these pills on an empty stomach.”

Till raises an eyebrow, but takes a cracker before popping the pill in his mouth, downing it with some water.

“You might feel drowsy as a side effect, so go lay down.” Ivan says when he’s finished, heading back to the kitchen to clean up.

Till is snug in his blanket, observing as Ivan pulls out his study workbook out and starts scrawling.

“Aren’t you supposed to go back to school?” he asks with half lidded eyes.

Ivan hums. “I am.”

The cold must’ve done something with his brain, because all he does is continue to watch until the sound of scratch of graphite on paper lull him to sleep.

There’s a bone deep tiredness in him as the rain patters around him.

He grips his microphone and sings. As he looks out into the audience, he has the vague notion that he is missing something–no, someone.

His duet partner picks up the song as he turns his gaze to the floor.

He sees the reflection of himself in the water, as well as the occasional lightning strikes. If he looks in his peripheral, he can see his partner too.

Unlike before, he can also see the image of them in the water.

It’s all a mess of black and white. He strains to see clearer, but his body won’t listen.

He can’t quite hear his partner’s voice either, like he’s underwater, but he can still hear the baritone reverberating through the crowd.

It washes over him; it’s perfect in every way, carefully poised yet still full of emotion. Like it was practiced and made ideal from all angles.

The music continues, but when it’s back to his part, his body doesn’t pick up the song again. There’s a sense of tired defeat in him. He doesn’t want to move again, doesn’t want to sing again.

Moments pass with only the patter of rain and the ongoing music to accompany him, before there’s a clatter of a microphone being discarded and wet steps being made towards him.

A gentle hand coaxes his head up to look at them.

There’s a flash of recognition that the body realizes, but all Till can see is that same, frustrating cloud of frost that almost never goes away.

Before he could dwell on it any longer, the hand on his cheek moves to his neck and pulls him closer until he thinks he’s about to hit them.

Instead of a harsh impact, he watches, half in shock and half something else that he can’t identify, as they start kissing him.

He’s frozen for a few seconds, before his body has a half a mind to push them away, gasping for air, before he’s pulled back into their grasp and finally let go, albeit with a small kiss at the corner of his lips.

Their hands wrap around his neck, but it doesn’t hurt. They’re just holding them there, when they go back for another kiss.

How many times are they going to kiss me? he wonders distractedly, slightly flustered as they press their lips to his once again, before the hands tighten.

It’s not suffocating, but his body closes his eyes in spite of himself, as if accepting it. Accepting the death they believe to be inevitable.

With closed eyes now, his senses are sharper. He can hear the music more clearly, the rain drumming down onto the floor and on him. He can feel the hands on his neck falter before gripping it tightly again.

When the hands completely fall away from his neck, his eyes fly open.

The hazy cloud around their face is gone as he watches him, with a familiar smile on his face he must’ve seen at least thousands of times by now, fall to the ground.

He sees the blood pool around his shoes. In the reflection, he can see the score with his name saying that he’s won. He’s staring down at Ivan’s body, an electric guitar mark bold on his wrist.

The body tears his eyes away from his figure, still lying on the ground.

He doesn’t understand why until he feels a burning sensation on his wrist.

He sees the eye, the same as the pair he just saw, on his wrist fade away and the spotlight clicks off.

He wakes up with a gasp, scrambling against the stifling blanket.

“Ivan,” he rasps. “Ivan–”

He’s trying to sit up when there’s a light tap on his shoulder, a signal for him to stop and lie back down.

“What’s wrong?”

Till sucks in a breath in relief as Ivan thumbs the corner of his eye and it comes away slightly damp.

“Did you dream of something?”

“I…” Trembling, he turns over his left wrist to inspect, the same as the one where the eye in his dreams laid. He exhales when he sees an eye–black with a red middle–yet he can’t quite shake off the feeling of it burning his skin and disappearing. “I saw you.”

At his side, Ivan stiffens fractionally. “Me?”

“Yeah, I…” The medicine makes him sleepy when he lies back down onto the bed and hears Ivan’s soft voice. His eyes flutter as he tries to stay awake and continues in a whisper. “I saw you die in front of me. You…wrapped your hands around my neck and I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, you smiled at me and you fell. You didn’t move after that.”

There’s an unreadable expression on Ivan’s face before he breaks into a smile. No, it can’t be called a smile when it looks like that.

He’s smiling, but it really looks like he’s about to cry. A little hopeful, but also like it’s tearing into the seams of his mouth, forcing it until he can’t hold its shape any longer.

“Okay,” Ivan brushes a hand over Till’s bangs, voice low and a bit hoarse. “Let’s talk about it when you get better, okay?”

He tries to tell him, you smiled just like that in my dreams too, but his mouth won’t move when Ivan tenderly places a hand over Till’s eyes, shielding him from the light streaming through his window.

“Will you still be here when I wake up again?” Till eventually slurs out, trying to look between Ivan’s fingers for his reaction.

When he looks into Ivan’s eyes, he normally sees a sheet of ice that covers a body of water, to give a rough example. He doesn’t know what goes on behind them exactly, but he knows what he does show and has a vague idea of what goes on when nothing is shown clearly.

Now, however, it’s like a bottomless ocean. Swirling with emotions Till can’t recognize, but feels like he should, Ivan has a tired look on his face, like he’s lived through many years without the age to show it.

No way. A thought comes to him suddenly and now, he desperately wants to see Ivan’s face without anything obscuring it. It’s absurd, it’s idiotic. But… is it true? Is it possible? Could it be that he also–

“Yeah,” he replies quietly and the train of thought stops before he can think it through in its entirety. “I will. Go rest now, okay? Sweet dreams.”

It isn’t long before his eyes quiver and finally fall shut.

He wakes up some time later. Only a dream of his childhood is left imprinted in his head.

He looks over to his side. It’s empty.

He sits up immediately, going lightheaded as he does so, his foot still swinging by his bed feeling around for his slippers.

He freezes when he hears two muted voices past his door. Both are familiar. A foot inadvertently collides with one of the slippers, making it glide and hit the door.

He relaxes and releases a breath. He’s still here. He didn’t leave.

His head is still a little foggy as he goes to slide on the slippers and investigate.

“He already took some medicine,” comes a familiar voice. “I’ll be back with some of the homework he’s missing after I come back from cram school, so…”

Then Io’s voice. “Thank you so much, Ivan. Really, you can come back tomorrow, no need to stress yourself out over this. We aren’t going anywhere, so take your time! Oh, before I forget, take some food with you too, you’re still growing after all.”

When Till peeks around the corner, he sees Ivan near the front door with his mother pressing a bag into his arms. For reasons he can’t really name, he stops before crossing into view.

“I really can’t take all this, Ms. Io…”

“Oh right, cram school. No problem, just take it tomorrow when you drop off the papers, okay?” She reaches up, like she’s about to pat his head, but her arm doesn’t quite extend that long, so with a slightly dejected expression, she pats his cheek. “Run along now. Don’t be late for your classes.”

He gives her one of his regular perfect smiles; nothing like the one he had given Till right before he had fallen asleep. “Thanks again. Give Till my get well soons when he wakes up, or rather…” He sneaks a glance at the corner where Till is hiding behind, but shakes his head. “Anyways, I’ll be taking my leave now, then.”

Till walks past the corner when he hears the door shut. “Mom.”

“You’re awake? How are you feeling?” He bends down slightly as she feels for his temperature. She hums approvingly. “No fever.”

“Mom,” he calls again, slightly hesitant. “What…do you think of Ivan?”

“Where did this come from? Did he do something?”

Till opens his mouth to say something, but really what can he say? Oh, you know. I dreamt I was in a singing competition run by aliens and my best friend kissed me, pretended to strangle me, and died in front of me. It was so unbelievable, but detailed so I kept thinking it was real and now I don’t know how to feel about him. What are your thoughts on this?

Instead of the word vomit that would probably make his mom send him to a therapist, he opts to say, “Nothing. Some…things are going on between us.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Did you fight? Even after he took care of you?”

“Not really…”

She taps her chin with a finger. “If you say so. As for what I think of him, he’s a sweet boy. I still see the tiny child hiding behind you when we first met. And… he treats you well, really well.”

He huffs. “Is that all it takes to get in your good books? To treat me well?”

“You can tell a lot about a person based on how they treat others, Till.” she sings.

“He’s a brute, you know.”

“Well, he has been nothing but polite in front of me.”

He pouts. “It’s just that he doesn’t show it in front of you. But I know him.”

She grins. “Of course you do.”

Ivan starts avoiding him after that day, leaving Till utterly perplexed.

At first, he had thought it was his imagination and chalked it up to Ivan being extra busy, being on the student council and all.

But as the days slip by with no sign of Ivan sightings other than in class, he begins to worry. With no one else to talk to, he brings it up to the girls.

“I don’t get it,” he says as he takes a vicious bite out of his sandwich during lunch. “What’s wrong with him? I just wanted to check up on him in case he caught my cold. But no, he bolts as soon as he sees me anywhere else but class.”

Mizi hums and tilts her head. “Maybe he’s also worried about something?”

“Like…what?”

She lifts a spoon to her mouth before setting it down with a pensive look. “I… don’t know? Maybe something student council related.”

“I thought about that too, but he’s been in it since we entered this school, and he’s never acted like seeing my face would make him break out in hives. He’s not even texting me back.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Sua pats the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “You probably haven’t felt his leering in weeks and that’s the reason you’re talking to us now. Am I right?”

“...You are.”

“I am?” Her mouth falls open in disbelief, which quickly turns into amusement.

“Please don’t.”

“Okay, so let me guess this straight,” she announces giddily. God, he hasn’t seen her this excited since they both watched Ivan faceplant into the playground floor when they were six. “So, you got sick, he took care of you, something happened, and now you’re in a love quarrel–”

“What?”

“Love quarrel,” she continues, like he hadn’t spoken. “Because he won’t talk to you, won’t text you, and won’t even look at you. And now you’re asking us for advice?”

He looks down at the table in silence as she starts clapping his back, none too gently, and honest to god, starts laughing.

“Are you done?” he bites out when her laughter winds down to amused huffs.

She sighs in satisfaction and wipes a tear from her eye. “Have you considered that you did something?”

“All I did was be sick.”

She hums as Mizi pipes up again. “Then, did you say something?”

“I…”

I saw you die in front of me.

Let’s talk when you get better, okay?

“It’s… I just want to talk to him about something, but he keeps running away.”

Mizi pats his shoulder comfortingly, while Sua taps her finger on the table, then snaps her fingers. “I have a plan.”

He’s in the library, head in his folded arms on one of the tables. It's a few hours past dismissal. He’s lying in wait.

It’s surprisingly empty. It’s Friday. Everyone might’ve just headed straight home or to cram school or clubs and here he is, waiting to ambush his best friend so they could talk, he thinks with a bit of misery. How sad is this?

He thinks back to the plan Sua told him at lunch.

“I’ll tell Ivan that you got sick again after dismissal. You’re in the library, being pathetic or something. Pretend to be asleep or rolling in your pain; your choice. When he gets close to you–” she made a fist. “–Grab him.”

“How do you know he’s going to come up to me? What if he just circles around me, or–”

She shook her head. “That won’t happen. It’ll all be up to you when he steps into the library, you understand?”

“Yes, but how do you know–”

“It’ll happen,” she poked his forehead as she stood up. “I can’t visualize a scenario in which it doesn’t.”

Mizi waved as she stood beside Sua. “Good luck! You can do it!”

So, here he is. In the library. Head in his arms. Halfway to despair.

He nearly jerks up as he hears the library door creak open. He closes his eyes, heart beating faster.

Keep your breath even, he chides himself. That freak will definitely know if I'm awake based on my breathing pattern.

As he takes in slow, deep breaths, he hears steady footsteps approach him and eventually stop right next to him.

He furrows his eyebrows. Is he just staring at me or something?

A few beats pass. There’s a soft touch between his eyebrows, smoothing it.

He almost freezes, but reminds himself quickly to play the part. He can’t give in, not when he’s so close.

Minutes pass, but neither of them make a move. He almost thinks Ivan left if it wasn’t for the light breathing still next to him.

Eventually, he hears a rustle of clothing when Ivan moves again.

This time, Till feels fingers gently brush back some of his hair. An opportunity.

His eyes snap open and he sees Ivan’s face drop into shock. Before he can get away, he latches onto Ivan’s wrist.

“Finally caught you.”

“Till,” he shakes the wrist with Till hanging off it. “Let go.”

He narrows his eyes in response. “You go radio silent for weeks with the only indicator that you’re still alive is being in class, and you’re telling me to let go?”

“Till.”

“You said we were going to talk, but you’re running away. Can’t we at least talk before you avoid me?” His voice cracks a little at the last word.

“Till. It’s beginning to hurt.” Ivan shakes the wrist again.

He looks over at it and his hand loosens. There are lines dipping and weaving, like a drawing of something, under his thumb and he peers at it, confused.

His heart nearly stops. On Ivan’s wrist, there’s a mark of an electric guitar.

His breath hitches, and Ivan realizes that something isn’t right. Till lets go and stumbles back, gripping the table to steady himself.

“You… what’s on your wrist?”

Ivan looks down at it before carefully folding a sleeve over it. In a voice colder than Till has ever heard come out of him, he says, “Nothing. Forget about it. Didn’t you say you still feel sick?”

“I’m fine,” he spits out. “You said that we could talk when I was better. So, let’s do it now. Do you know something about the dreams I’ve been having?”

“No.”

Till grits his teeth and shoots back with a great deal of venom, “Then why did you smile like that?”

“You’re grilling me over a smile?”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you looked in a mirror. Did you know what it looked like?” his voice raises in spite of himself. “You had that same exact smile when you died in front of me. You looked like the living dead, do you hear me? How could I not worry when you looked like you were going to off yourself, for all I know? How could I not when all you’ve been doing is running away from me?!” Something colors his voice; whether it’s desperation or anger dyeing it, Till doesn’t know.

Ivan narrows his eyes. “What answer do you want from me? Because all you’re telling me is what I did and not what I should do. What did you want me to say? To tell you that I know what you’re going through? To tell you that it’s fine that I died?”

Till recoils as Ivan continues and presses closer, the frost in his voice a blade that threatens closer and closer to Till’s neck. “Go ahead. Hit me. Hit me like you’ve always done. We can fight again for old time’s sake. Go on.”

There’s a tense, silent moment before Till slowly says, “We’ve never fought physically.”

Ivan blinks and goes still, lowering his eyes when he realizes his mistake.

They’ve never fought physically. They’ve jabbed each other with harsh words, pushed each other away, shoved each other until they really were on the brink, like they are now, but they’ve always done their fighting through barbed words, through arguments, leaving both of their prides bruised and battered, but never their fists.

It dawns on him slowly. They had fought each other once upon a time, communicated through fighting, because they didn’t have the words for it, didn’t know how to voice out their complaints because how could they? They were only taught the very basics. There was no one to guide them, to make an example, to say, this is how you do it, see? Now you try.

“Do,” Till tries to ask him, but it nearly chokes him before he is able to word it in a high, reedy voice that hangs in the air like a noose. “Do you…remember it, too?”

Do you remember those aliens? Do you remember the training, our memories, the agony of being kept as a pet human? Do you remember the pain, the sorrow, the sacrifices you made for me, who threw them away?

Do you… remember those dreams that seem like past lives?

Ivan’s eyes grow wide, looking at his face. He looks away guiltily, down at where he grips the hem of Till’s shirt, tugging it slightly. He is unable to look at Till’s face, but it’s a silent plea of wanting to be near despite it. Till sees the small, pitiful child being led away by an alien, the one who was shorter than everyone else and got bullied. Ivan whispers the next words, small, tired and resigned. “Would you hate me if I said that they really happened? If… I said I remembered it and more?”

Till’s breath catches in his throat. Together they stand, the sunset bathing them in its warm glow.

Ivan had shot up past Till a few years ago. He had made fun of Till’s not-as-excessive-growth-spurt, especially since Till had been the one taller throughout their childhood.

But now, looking at the person holding the edge of his shirt, he can only see the child who he had been enamored with when he had first seen a human besides his mother. The one who had led him through into the open world. The one who had been during his side, even if it meant to walk back into hell. The child who grew up into a man that had sacrificed everything, including himself, for him. What did he see in Till that he himself couldn’t, no matter where he looked?

Then, the child he had met in that classroom, seemingly for the first time. The one who had asked him for his name. The one who had clung to him no matter where he went. The child who had gripped his shirt just like this when he first met Till’s mother.

Eyes gleaming, he gently cups Ivan’s face in his hands and tilts it so they’re looking at each other. “How could I?”

It’s been two lives, Ivan. It’s been so long already. It’ll be okay now. Neither of us are alone now.

The two are sitting on Till’s couch watching some obscure movie.

Tinny, slightly squeaky voices are flitting through the air when Ivan lies his head on Till’s shoulder.

“Why didn’t you push me away that day?” he asks quietly when neither of them move. “Was there really something wrong that day?”

Till thinks back to the day in the music room when he had leaned into Ivan in the same position as they are now. The meteors falling from the sky. “No. Nothing was wrong. I had a dream that day and it…” He trails off, not wanting to break the moment.

He exhales when Ivan doesn’t push the issue and just hums in acknowledgement.

“Since we’re asking questions, when did you remember the past lives?” he turns to Ivan, who is already looking up at him.

“It was much earlier than you, at least,” Ivan raises a hand and pinches Till’s nose, laughing to himself when he jerks and squawks. “I think it was that day I started crying and hugged you.”

“...Should we tell Mizi and Sua about it?”

“I don’t want them to remember something so…disturbing. Mizi was pretty shaken up over Sua’s death, after all.”

Till hums as Ivan’s thumb absentmindedly traces slow circles over the eye on his wrist, identical to his own. An old habit Till himself used to have, a source of comfort when he had nothing else but the marks on his skin to prove he wasn’t alone.

But now, there’s proof. Proof that he didn’t need to do anything. Proof that he didn’t need to look far, that all he had to do was wait. Proof that even someone like him isn’t alone and is loved.