Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The tunnel from ANAKT Garden is mossy and narrow, the walls seemingly pressing in on them. The only sounds are their hurried footsteps and the distant whirring from the guards nearby. Ivan's heartbeat pounds in his ears, but he keeps moving. One foot in front of the other. Fast. Steady. Don’t look back.

He’s spent his whole life learning how to act normal, how to be someone worth staying for. Don’t mess this up now. The exit is close- he can smell fresh air. A small gap in the structure, barely wide enough to squeeze through. It’s real. They can actually leave.

They’re running through the fields of meteors, the red fire burning in his eyes once more. He remembered this, from before Unsha. He remembered that light, the hope of something better. Turning, he expects to see Till right behind him. But their hands slip apart, and Till has stopped. 

Ivan’s stomach twists before Till even says anything. He already knows. No.

"...I can’t." Till’s voice is quiet, uncertain- but firm. He’s looking back. (He’s already gone.)

Ivan’s fingers twitch. His lips curl into that easy, practiced, pathetic smile, but inside, his chest is caving in. "This is the only way, Till. You know that."

"I can’t leave her."

Ivan’s breath comes sharp through his nose. Of course. Of course. It’s Mizi, isn’t it? It’s always been Mizi. Not that he hated her- Mizi was his best friend. A ray of sunshine in the world of darkness that loomed onto them all. But to refuse freedom, something Till valued dearly, for her? It doesn’t make any sense. Wasn’t this what you wanted? His mind is screaming, his fingers clenching into fists. Yet his body feels like it’s locking up, begging him to stay. 

Till turns back toward the facility, and something in Ivan fractures. He doesn’t call out. Doesn’t argue. What would be the point? Till’s never chosen him before. Why would he now?

But his legs- his legs don’t care about any of that. They move . They force him forward, toward the gap, toward the outside. His chest is tight. He’s dizzy. He feels sick. But he doesn’t stop. The air outside is sharp and cold. It burns his lungs. His fingers grip the metal edge of the vent like a lifeline, like an anchor. He turns back, half-expecting- half- praying - to see Till following. But there’s nothing. Just darkness.

His body keeps moving. Step. Then another. And another. The outside world stretches before him, vast and unknown. But it doesn’t feel like freedom, no- his mind is still trapped in the tunnels, watching Till disappear. His legs tremble, but they refuse to stop. Why? His mind asks, What’s the point, if Till isn’t here? If no one is here?

His body answers, You’ve taken his will as your own. There is nothing left for you there now. After all, something is innate about the desire to be free. It’s the most powerful urge Ivan’s ever felt.

He barely registers when he stumbles, his knee scraping against rough pavement. His breath shudders. His hands clutch at the ground like he can hold himself together. His body keeps crawling forward, even as something inside him screams to turn back . Even as his heart begs, please, let me stop.

But he doesn’t.

Because at the end of the day, he is just human.

Chapter Text

The world outside is vast, open, wrong. Too big. Too empty. The air is different, sharp and full of smells he doesn’t know. His body shivers, muscles tight with exhaustion, but it won’t stop moving. He is nothing without walls around him. He doesn’t know how to exist without containment. His whole life, he has been kept. Raised in glass cages, trained under artificial lights, surrounded by the distant hum of cameras and the sharp edge of applause. His life in the slums was but a distant memory, one that Unsha trained out of him and his brain forgot. Yet out here, there is nothing. No rules, no paths, no audience. No Till. His body still moves though. Crawls, limps, staggers forward. Because that’s what bodies do; they survive, even when the mind wants to quit.

Ivan doesn’t even remember the last time he ate. Doesn’t care. He drinks from a puddle, filthy water stinging his throat, but he doesn’t stop. His body is a machine, taking in what it needs without thought.There’s a half-rotted carcass in an alley. His stomach twists, lurches. The smell is awful. But he stares at it longer than he should.

He keeps moving. Keeps searching. The city isn’t made for him- it’s made for the segyein that belong here. He doesn’t. At night, he curls into himself, pressing his knees to his chest, tucking his chin down like a cornered animal. His fingers dig into his own skin, holding tight, like if he lets go, he’ll disappear completely.

If there’s no one to see him, does he exist?

The hunger gnaws at him. The cold seeps into his bones. But it’s not the worst part. The worst part is the silence. No voices. No distant performances. No Till. Ivan tries to hum, but the sound is thin, weak. It dies in the air before it can reach anyone. He presses a hand to his chest. His heart is still beating. Why? What for? Who cares? He laughs, but it comes out broken.

He finds a bridge. A high ledge. A way out. He grips the edge, leans forward, feels the wind against his skin. Would they even know? Would they even care? His mind is empty, hollow. But his hands tremble. His body hesitates.

He leans forward. This is it. This is-

But his foot slips. His body reacts. Hands latch onto the railing, arms burning as they pull.

His chest heaves. Breath comes in harsh gasps. He shakes. But he’s still here.

Why?

His body won’t let him die. No matter how much his mind begs. No matter how much his heart screams. He collapses onto the concrete, curling in on himself and collapsing into a fitful sleep, hands fisting in his hair.

He is alive.

(It is the cruelest thing in the world.)

An hour later, his sleeping form is prodded gently by a foot.

"Is he even alive, Dewey?"

"Does it matter? Look at this kid, he's miserable!"

Brown hair and sunglasses pick up the sopping wet bundle of ANAKT white, and her brows settle into a frown. She sighs loudly, enough to alert her other two companions.

"Hyuna...?"

"Let's just get this kid back to base."

Chapter Text

The first thing Ivan registers is warmth.

Soft fabric under his fingertips. The scent of something medicinal, sharp and sterile. His body is sluggish, limbs tangled in sheets too heavy, too unfamiliar. A distant murmur of voices reaches his ears, but they sound warped, like he’s underwater. For a moment, he wonders if it were all a dream, if he was still back there with everyone. With Till.

Then the world shifts, his stomach lurches, and his eyes snap open.

The ceiling above him isn’t the polished white of ANAKT Garden. It’s a patchwork of concrete and rusted pipes, dimly illuminated by the flickering overhead light. (A part of himself whispered: this looks like a nice place to die.) But his breath catches, coming too fast, too shallow. 

Where was he?

The air is thick with the smell of sweat, metal, and damp fabric, which was nothing like the artificial crispness of ANAKT’s recycled air. His body tenses, instinct kicking in before thought.

He bolts upright.

A hand clamps onto his shoulder, and Ivan jerks, his entire body flinching away, sending him tumbling off the cot. His knees slam into the ground, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His fingers dig into the floor, muscles coiling, trapped trapped trapped-

"Whoa- watch it, kid!"

The voice is too casual, too amused for the situation. Ivan's gaze snaps up.

A man leans over the cot, brows raised. Messy dyed hair, a necklace sitting low on his neck, a lopsided smirk pulling at his lips. He tilts his head, studying Ivan like he's some strange creature.

"Chill," the man drawls, resting his forearms on his knees. "You're actin’ like we dragged you into a murder basement or somethin’."

Ivan doesn’t respond. His heartbeat thunders in his ears. The room is too open. The shadows stretch too long. He doesn’t know where the exits are.

A second voice cuts through the air.

"We should've left him."

Ivan's head snaps toward the speaker- taller, broad-shouldered, dark eyes sharp with skepticism. His arms are crossed, posture stiff, gaze burning with something untrusting.

"Isaac," the first man groans, rolling his eyes. "Give the kid a break. He's barely been awake for five seconds."

Isaac doesn’t back down. “We don’t have time to babysit, Dewey.” So that's his name.

Ivan’s fingers twitch against the cold floor. The words aren’t new. A liability. A lost cause. He knows this role well.

A third voice interrupts.

"He stirred something in Hyuna."

Ivan barely notices the man at first- his presence quieter, steadier. Older. He stands near the doorway, arms folded across his chest, gaze unreadable beneath the long scar running over his left eye.

The name strikes something in Ivan.

Hyuna. Who is she?

He turns his head.

She’s there.

Sitting in the farthest chair, arms crossed, legs sprawled out in an easy slouch. Her sunglasses conceal her expression, but there’s a tension in the way her fingers drum against the armrest.

She hasn’t said a word.

She doesn’t look at him.

Ivan stares at her. His throat is dry. His chest tightens.

“You got a name?”

The older man’s voice grounds him. Ivan blinks, forcing his gaze away from Hyuna.

His name. Right.

“…Ivan.”

The rebellion is… loud.

Not in the way ANAKT Garden was, with its rehearsed music lessons and buzzing monitors. It’s a different kind of noise- voices overlapping, arguments thrown across the room, the scrape of metal against concrete.

People move without choreography. They don’t walk in neat lines, don’t wait for approval to speak. It’s chaos, messy and human in a way that unnerves him. He's never been surrounded by so many stray humans who were, well, human-acting.

He sits stiffly at the edge of the room, gaze flickering between them. They don’t acknowledge him much. A few wary glances, nothing more.

“Eat.”

Ivan looks up.

Jacob stands in front of him, arms folded, expression unreadable. A plate is shoved into his hands- something barely recognizable as food.

Ivan hesitates. The food at ANAKT had been carefully portioned, calculated down to the calorie. His own meals with his guardian had been on the luxurious end, splurged on as a tool to be maintained. This… this is sloppy, unevenly cut, thrown together without precision.

He doesn’t touch it.

Jacob exhales, crouching down to meet his gaze. “Listen. You don’t have to trust us. But if you’re gonna stay here, you pull your weight.”

Something about the way he says it unsettles Ivan. Like he’s offering something, something Ivan doesn’t understand.

Jacob stands, ruffling Dewey’s hair as he walks past. “Keep an eye on him.”

Dewey grins. “I was already planning to.”

The days blur.

Ivan doesn’t sleep much. When he does, his dreams are sharp with color- blinding red meteors, an outstretched hand, fingers slipping through his grasp.

He wakes up gasping.

The others don’t hover, don’t pry. Even so, he feels the weight of their eyes when they think he isn’t looking.

Hyuna is the worst. She avoids him, and when she does speak, her voice is clipped, irritated.

"Stop acting like a kicked dog," she snaps one night. "No one's gonna pity you."

Ivan flinches. They were just words, but he doesn’t know why it hurts.

That night, he finds himself on the rooftop.

The wind howls. The city stretches below, its neon lights distant, uncaring. His fingers curl around the edge of the railing.

If there’s no one to see him, does he even exist?

His breath comes shallow. He leans forward. This time, I won’t stop myself.

But just as he leaps, a hand yanks him back.

Ivan gasps, stumbling and crashing into something solid.

Hyuna.

Her grip is ironclad, nails digging into his arm. Her expression is unreadable, lips parted slightly, breath heavy.

“You think you’re the only one who wants to die?” she whispers. Her voice is quiet, bitter. “But no, Ivan. We must keep living. If not for yourself, then those that need you to help them.”

Ivan stares at her. The neon glow paints her in harsh colors, casting deep shadows beneath her eyes. He sees it now- the exhaustion, the weight in her posture, the cracks in her carefully crafted exterior. She understands him. Issac told him that Hyuna was also from ANAKT. If no one else, she'd understand the weight of his burden. She was right, anyway. He'd have to breathe for those he left behind. Sua. Mizi. Till.

She lets go.

“If you’re gonna throw yourself away,” she mutters, voice hoarse, “do it somewhere else.”

She walks off.

The next morning, something hard smacks against Ivan’s forehead.

“Ow-” He blinks, staring down at the stale bread roll now in his lap.

Dewey grins from across the table. “You looked like you needed it.”

Isaac rolls his eyes. “Don't copy my tricks.”

Dewey kicks him under the table. “Shut up, Isaac.”

Jacob sets down a map. “We move in two days. Ivan, you’re coming.”

Ivan looks up.

“What?”

Jacob’s gaze is steady. “You want to survive? Prove it.”

Ivan grips the bread roll tighter.

He still doesn’t understand these people. They’re reckless, foolish, alive in a way he doesn’t know how to be.

But for the first time since stepping outside ANAKT, his body doesn’t instinctively search for an exit.

Later that night, Hyuna watches him from across the room.

“You remind me of someone,” she says finally.

Ivan doesn’t ask who.

For now, it’s enough that he’s still here.

Chapter Text

Jacob had called it an easy job.

“In and out,” he’d said. “No need to be heroes.”

They were supposed to scavenge supplies from an abandoned warehouse- a quick operation on the outskirts, away from Segyein patrols. The outskirts weren’t as heavily patrolled, and the Rebellion had done this a dozen times before.

Jacob had insisted on bringing Ivan along. “Time you learned how we do things,” he’d said. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

Ivan had agreed. What else was he supposed to do?

Now, as Ivan is yanked to the ground, cheek scraping against rough concrete, he knows just how wrong that had been.

It happened too fast.

One moment, they were slipping through the marketplace, just two nameless humans in a world that doesn’t care if they live or die. The next, Ivan was frozen in place, lungs seizing, heart hammering so violently he thought it might burst out of his chest.

Unsha.

He hadn’t seen his guardian in years. And yet the moment his eyes landed on that face- sharpened by time, still just as cold, still just as unreadable- something inside him cracked wide open.

His body locked up.

The air thinned.

The world blurred.

Jacob had noticed immediately.

Then the Segyein had noticed them.

Ivan didn’t fight when they were taken. He barely even registered it.

The warehouse had been empty. Supplies long looted.

It should’ve ended there.

But Segyein patrols had moved in fast, like they knew someone would come sniffing around. Specifically, the mafia, which was why Unsha was there.

Jacob shoved Ivan behind a rusted-out hover truck, but the moment boots stomped into the warehouse, there was no escape. They were outnumbered. Outgunned. The Segyein seized them before they could even reach the exit.

Ivan didn't fight back.

But Jacob had.

The older rebel had knocked one of their captors out cold, elbowed another in the gut, and even managed to disarm one- but it hadn’t mattered. They were swarmed. Dragged away.

Now, Ivan kneels on the floor of a Segyein transport, wrists cuffed behind his back, cold metal biting into his skin. Jacob is beside him, breathing heavily through his nose, a fresh cut bleeding from his temple.

It’s happening again. The collar is tightening around Ivan’s throat, reeling him back into a world of chains and control.

He feels sick.

He can’t go back.

He can’t- 

The transport jerks to a stop. The doors hiss open.

Then, a voice- smooth as silk, curling with amusement.

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

Ivan’s entire body locks up.

He doesn’t have to look again. Doesn’t have to turn his head to know now. 

Unsha. Again.

His stomach drops. His breath turns shallow. He can’t go back, he can’t…

Jacob’s gaze flickers to him. Ivan can feel it, even as he keeps his own eyes trained on the floor, his hands clenching into fists behind him.

Then- Jacob shifts. Puts himself between Ivan and the voice.

Ivan dares a glance up.

Unsha is there, standing in the entrance of the transport with all the effortless control of a king surveying his court. Tall. Sharp. Unshakable.

And, by some mercy, Unsha’s gaze is locked onto Jacob, not him.

He doesn’t recognize Ivan. Doesn’t even seem to register that the trembling mess of a kid behind Jacob is anything more than another street rat.

Jacob notices.

He pieces it together. The way Ivan has gone rigid, the way his breathing has turned shallow, the way he refuses to lift his head.

Jacob knows.

And he makes a decision.

His stance shifts. “You’re wasting your time,” he tells the guards. “The kid’s a nobody. Hardly worth locking up.”

One of the Segyein sneer. “That so?”

Jacob smirks. “Yeah. But me?” He tilts his head, grinning like he’s got nothing to lose. “I’m someone worth keeping.”

The words settle like a trap snapping shut.

One of the guards frown. “Wait- ?”

Jacob winks. “Took you long enough.”

The guards exchange looks.

Unsha hums, amused. “Interesting.”

Ivan’s heart pounds. Jacob is redirecting their attention.

But why?

Then, without warning, Jacob lunges.

Elbows a guard in the ribs, kicks another in the shin, throwing all his weight into disrupting the hold on him. Creating chaos.

In the chaos, he twists and shoves Ivan backward.

“Run.” The word is a command.

Ivan barely has time to process before he’s tumbling out the back of the transport, the handcuffs snapping open as Jacob shoves a stolen key into his hands. His collar snaps open with the force of his hands and an old trick he learned.

...

"See Mizi? Look what I can do!"

"Till... I can free you now."

...

The last thing he sees before he scrambles to his feet and bolts into the city is Jacob being slammed into the wall, pinned down by a half-dozen Segyein, laughing like he doesn’t have a single regret.

The door slammed open as Ivan burst inside, panting, legs burning, lungs raw.

Dewey jerks upright. Hyuna lowers the microphone in her hands, like she’s just sang another number.

But it’s Isaac who moves first.

His hands grab Ivan’s shoulders, shaking him. “Where is he?”

Ivan is shaking too hard to respond.

Isaac’s grip tightens. “Ivan. Where. Is. Jacob?”

Ivan’s lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come.

It takes too long for Ivan to find his voice. “He- he’s gone.”

Isaac stiffens.

“He got caught,” Ivan forces out. “We both did, but- ” He swallows, his throat too tight. “He- he let me go.”

The room goes still.

Isaac’s breathing is slow, measured- but his hands are trembling.

“You ran,” he says, low. Ivan swallows dryly. This was it. He’d be kicked out for sure if Issac didn’t end his life first.

Hyuna moved forward, her brows drawn low, observing him.

Finally, Ivan forced it out. “…They took him.”

Isaac went still.

A thick silence settled over the room.

Then Isaac moved.

His fist slammed against the wall just beside Ivan’s head. “Damn it!”

Ivan flinched; his breath caught in his throat.

Dewey steps forward. “Isaac, man, don’t- ”

Isaac’s fingers curled into a fist, his knuckles pressing white against the concrete. But then, slowly, he exhaled. His shoulders sagged, and his hand dropped back to his side.

“You came back.” He steps away, his expression unreadable. Ivan blinked at him, unsure if it was an accusation or a relief. “You could’ve run, but you didn’t.”

Ivan sways on his feet. It doesn’t feel like enough.

Isaac’s voice is rough when he finally speaks again, sighing.

“…We’ll get him back.”

No one said what they were all thinking.

If he’s still alive.

(That night, Ivan missed someone who wasn't Till for the first time. Hyuna hugs him, and the tears come out. They stay like that for a while.)

Six weeks later, the door creaks open.

Dewey stumbled inside, panting, Jacob’s half-conscious body slumped against his back.

For a second, everyone is frozen.

Then Isaac was there, catching his brother before Dewey’s shaking arms gave out.

Jacob barely had the strength to lift his head. His face was gaunt, his ribs pressing against his skin, bruises staining every inch of him. But when his weak gaze flickered up to Isaac, something close to a smirk twitched at the corner of his lips.

Ivan feels his stomach churn.

Jacob blinks, dazed, and offers Isaac a weak smile. “Hey, little brother,” he rasps.

Isaac swears under his breath. “You’re an idiot.” Together, they half-carried, half-dragged him to his cot. 

For hours, they take turns tending to him. Dewey cleans his wounds, Hyuna forces him to drink, and Isaac sits beside him, fingers curled into his lap, unable to look away.

Jacob weakens by the hour.

It’s Ivan he looks at, though, when he gathers the strength to lift a trembling hand- and ruffles his hair while Ivan’s hands press a damp cloth to his forehead.

“…Hey.” His voice was hoarse, but the edges of his lips curled.

“You did good, kid,” he mutters.

Ivan’s throat tightens. His hands clench in his pants.

Jacob then shifts his gaze, turning to Hyuna. His expression softens. “…Forgive yourself,” he murmured.

Hyuna inhales sharply.

Finally, he turns to Isaac.

His hand twitched, reaching toward Isaac next. His breaths were shallow now, but still, he pushed forward.

“Listen to me.” His tone sharpened. “You’ve gotta hold the line now, Issac. Keep them together. Don’t let this fall apart.”

Isaac’s throat bobbed. He nodded.

Jacob’s breath hitched. His fingers weakly gripped his brother’s sleeve.

“…Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

Isaac bit down hard on his bottom lip, looking anywhere but Jacob’s face. He grips his brother’s hand. “You can tell me yourself when you wake up.”

Jacob’s lips twitch like he wants to smile.

Then his chest rises, shudders- 

And stills.

Isaac’s grip tightens. “Jacob?”

Silence.

Isaac didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. Just clinging aimlessly to the now-limp hand, eyes wide in disbelief.

Dewey turned away.

Hyuna covers her face to conceal the rising tears.

And Ivan- 

Ivan sits there, heart pounding, a storm raging inside him. He was supposed to be the one who didn’t return, but here he is.

Something breaks in his chest.

Jacob had forgiven him.

And now he was gone.

Chapter Text

Five Years Later

The world hadn’t changed much. But Ivan had.

He wasn’t a scrawny, wide-eyed boy anymore- wasn’t the terrified child darting through the slums, slipping between alleyways with bloody knees and aching lungs, running from alien hunters who wanted fresh meat for the competition.

Back then, he had survived on instinct, never staying in one place too long, belonging to no one. But now, he had a home. A place that was his, tucked deep within the rebellion’s stronghold. Small, quiet, but his. The walls bore the marks of restless hands, the cot was stiff but familiar, and the shelves were cluttered with old machine parts, a dull knife, trinkets he couldn’t bring himself to throw away. Outside, voices filled the air- Dewey laughing, Isaac and Hyuna bickering, the steady rhythm of footsteps coming and going.

They were here. They were his now.

And yet, some nights, when the room was too quiet, he could still hear Jacob’s voice. Could still see the way he had ruffled Ivan’s hair with a weary smirk, even as his body barely held together. Could still hear his last words, echoing in his skull like an unshakable curse.

Ivan curled his fingers into his sheets. You did good, kid.

Jacob’s death had shattered them.

Not all at once. Not immediately. But like the slow, inevitable cracking of glass before it finally shatters.

For weeks, the rebellion had been in disarray. Isaac, too angry and grief-stricken to lead properly, Hyuna, suddenly forced into a role she hadn’t been prepared for. Dewey had thrown himself into his work, hammering away at scrap metal like he could somehow forge Jacob’s absence into something tangible. And Ivan-

Ivan had almost left.

He had packed a bag. Had stood in the doorway of his small, shared quarters, staring at the dimly lit corridors of the stronghold, debating if this was truly his place.

But then Isaac had found him. Hadn’t yelled, hadn’t accused. Just stood there, silent and tired, before finally exhaling through his nose and saying, “If you’re going to run, do it properly this time.”

It was the first time Isaac had ever acknowledged that Ivan had once tried to run before.

Ivan hadn’t left that night. And not the next, or the night after.

Hyuna had stepped up. Slowly, hesitantly, but she had found her voice. She had learned to command a room, to strategize, to lead in a way that wasn’t just trying to fill Jacob’s shoes but carving out her own space. Isaac softened, not all at once, but in small ways- offering Ivan a drink when he looked particularly worn, letting him sit nearby without speaking, fixing up a busted radio together in companionable silence. And Dewey, ever chaotic, had remained Dewey.

Time hadn’t healed them, but it had reshaped them.

Jacob had been their anchor. His absence left them drifting. But together, they had learned how to keep afloat.

Ivan hadn’t meant to sneak into the competition. Not at first.

But when he’d heard the names- when he saw Till’s name- something in him moved. He shouldn’t have been here. Should’ve turned back.

But he didn’t.

He had known people would die. He wasn’t naive. He had seen the intel, had heard the whispers, had known that this game only ended in blood. But knowing wasn’t the same as witnessing.

And he hadn’t expected to see Mizi sink to her knees like that.

And he hadn’t expected to feel the loss like a knife in his ribs.

Sua had been quiet. Withdrawn. The kind of person who faded into the background, who spoke only when necessary. But Ivan had seen her. Had recognized the way she moved like a ghost, had heard the silence that spoke louder than words. He had understood it. Because he had once been the same.

And now she was gone.

Mizi had loved her; they both loved each other. Ivan had seen that too. Had seen it in the way Mizi’s eyes softened when she looked at Sua, in the way Sua spoke to her in quiet, unguarded moments.

And now Mizi knelt on the cold stage, shoulders shaking, hands clenched as if she could hold on to what had already been lost. He had been too late, and now the world moved on without her.

The next round was announced.

Ivan barely heard it over the blood rushing in his ears.

The second round began. Now, Ivan could intervene for once, on time and ready to fight. He had come alone on impulse, so he decided he must have at least something to show for it when he returned to base.

Till was the obvious choice. It had to be Till. If Ivan could keep anyone from being another Sua, it would be him. Watching from a perch on the roof, his eyes widened. He hadn’t seen Till in five years, after all. He still took his breath away.

Till was taller now. His presence was sharper, more refined. But he still played with his heart, and Ivan just knew it. He had been watching, in fact, from the moment Till stepped onto the stage. Had been tense, poised, waiting for the moment to intervene if necessary. But he hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected Till to change the song. The shift in melody threw Dotori, Till's opponent and their old classmate, off entirely. Yet Ivan smiled. Till never really failed to amaze him with his spark of rebellion.

But even when the song changed. Even when Till took the win, even when Dotori crumpled to the ground, bleeding, nearly dead-

Ivan saw it in his face.

The way his hands trembled slightly after the final note.

The way he clenched his jaw.

The way he didn’t look at Dotori.

He wasn’t okay with this.

He was just like Ivan had been.

Ivan wasn’t angry.

How could he be? He knew what it meant to cling to life with everything you had.

But he wasn’t going to let another person die.

No matter what.

The second the contest ended, while the guards swarmed Till after he smashed his guitar- while chaos erupted around them- Ivan moved.

He wasn’t the same kid who had frozen in the marketplace, where the hunters had taken him. He wasn’t the boy who had watched Jacob sacrifice himself and did nothing.

He had learned.

His body moved on instinct- twisting, slipping past the guards, eyes locking onto the sniper perched above.

A single, well-placed strike.

The rifle clattered to the floor. The sniper collapsed.

And before anyone could react-

Ivan was at Dotori’s side.

Dotori was still breathing. Luckily, the shot hadn’t been lethal- had torn through his side instead of his chest. He was shaking, his eyes fluttering open just enough to recognize Ivan, to understand what was happening.

Ivan pressed a hand to his mouth. “Don’t make a sound.”

Dotori swallowed. Nodded weakly.

The guards were still busy with Till. The crowd was still roaring.

Ivan slung Dotori’s arm over his shoulder, hoisted him up, and ran.

Dotori was supposed to be dead.

But now, Ivan had stolen him.

Just another ghost to carry.

Dotori was shaking. He had barely spoken a word since Ivan had dragged him into the dimly lit hideout, safe behind the walls of their resistance.

His eyes were too wide, his breaths too shallow.

Ivan had seen this look before.

Had felt it before.

The moment when survival felt more terrifying than death.

“Breathe,” Ivan muttered.

Dotori swallowed hard. He squeezed his eyes shut.

A beat of silence.

Then- 

A shaky inhale. A slow, exhaled breath.

“…Why?” Dotori finally rasped. His voice was small, brittle. “Why did you save me?”

Ivan hesitated. For a moment, he saw Jacob’s smirk, heard his voice.

“ You did good, kid. ”

Ivan exhaled through his nose.

“Because I could,” he said simply.

Dotori’s lips pressed together, his fingers trembling against the fabric of his sleeves.

He didn’t say thank you. But he didn’t need to.

Ivan could see it in the way his shoulders slowly relaxed, in the way he no longer looked like he was waiting for someone to rip him away from safety.

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

Hyuna’s voice was sharp, but not angry.

Ivan sat on the edge of the cot, arms crossed, waiting.

Hyuna let out a slow breath. “You can’t just disappear like that. We’re a team.”

Ivan didn’t argue. Didn’t tell her that for years, he hadn’t felt like part of a team. That for years, he had been drifting, walking between the ghosts of his past and the weight of his guilt. Didn't tell her just exactly who he went back for. But she knew that already, somehow. Hyuna always knew everything.

Hyuna sighed. She crossed her arms.

“…Dotori stays,” she muttered, almost like it physically pained her to admit. “But next time, you tell me before pulling something like this.”

Ivan smirked, just a little. “You’re welcome.”

Hyuna scowled. But her side hug was a little tighter than usual.

“Don’t push your luck. Why did his guardian even name him after an acorn...?” She mutters, walking off.

And for the first time in a long time, Ivan almost felt he had made the right choice.

Chapter Text

The days blurred together in the dim light of their hideout, the steady rhythm of Dotori’s healing punctuating the time. After all, Hyuna had taken one look at Dotori and immediately demanded strict bedrest, no exceptions. Ivan had gotten used to it- the stillness, the quiet hum of machinery in the background, the soft drip of water as dew formed in the corners of the hideout. It was always too quiet, but at the same time, that silence was oddly comforting, something that anchored him. The occasional bursts of laughter from Dewey outside, or the low conversations filtering through the walls, reminded Ivan that life still moved forward, that there was still a place for him here. They weren’t alone, not truly.

But in these moments, when it was just him and Dotori, there was something more, something private about the space between them. A kind of intimacy that had bloomed out of shared trauma, a bond forged in the quiet aftermath of violence. Ivan wasn’t sure if the isolation kept him here or if it was the fact that the rebellion had become something like family to him- a team he couldn’t abandon, not anymore. His life, once fractured and adrift, now had roots. There was something about the open air, living in a place that truly belonged to him... he could breathe here. For the first time in years, he felt more connected to himself than he ever had. Like he was born to be free.

Dotori, on the other hand, was starkly new to all of this. Ivan could see it in the way the man flinched at the noise of a door slamming or how his hands shook when he tried to steady himself. From his time at ANAKT, Ivan had learned that Dotori was from a human mill, bought young, raised for a purpose he had no say in. He could see it now, too. Dotori wasn’t meant for this life of war, of bloodshed. He was too soft, too tender. But that wasn’t a flaw. It was just who he was.

The first few days after Dotori’s rescue had been filled with fevered dreams, sweating through the heat of infection and pain. Ivan had kept a careful eye on him, checking his temperature, making sure he was stable, and trying to push down the flare of old guilt when he remembered Jacob’s face. He kept himself in check. Dotori needed him to be solid, needed him to be someone who could hold things together when everything around them seemed to be falling apart.

“How’re you feeling?” Ivan asked one day, leaning against the wall as he watched Dotori attempt to sit up. The bandages wrapped around his torso looked pristine, but there was something in the boy's eyes, something that didn’t belong there. The trauma of surviving, of making it past the point where others had fallen, weighed too heavily on him.

Dotori shrugged, the movement stiff. "Better." His voice was hoarse, cracking with the effort. He reached for the water Ivan had left by his side, then winced as the motion tugged at his injury.

Ivan moved without thinking, his hands steady as he adjusted the pillow behind Dotori’s back. "Slow down. You’ve still got a while before you’re back on your feet."

Dotori gave him a tight smile, the edges of his mouth pulling slightly. "I’m not dead, am I?"

Ivan didn’t laugh, but there was a flicker of something- recognition, perhaps. The same dry humor he had once used to keep people at arm’s length. Ivan was familiar with that look, the one that said the world had broken you but you still had the fight left in you to stand up, even if it was just to throw a sarcastic comment. “You okay?” He nudged him with his foot.

Dotori blinked, snapping back to the present like he hadn’t realized he’d drifted away. "Yeah. Just thinking."

Ivan tilted his head, waiting.

Dotori sighed. "I still don’t get why you saved me."

Ivan rolled his eyes. "You’re really stuck on that, huh?"

Dotori didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he studied Ivan like he was trying to piece together a puzzle with missing edges. "I was supposed to die there."

A muscle in Ivan’s jaw twitched. He had heard this before, in different words, different voices. He had said it himself once.

"You were supposed to live," Ivan said simply. "And you did."

Dotori huffed a laugh, but there was no humor in it. "I don’t feel like I’m really here."

Ivan understood that, too. There had been days, weeks, where he had walked through the rebellion’s base like a ghost in his own body, waiting for something- anything- to wake him up. The weight of surviving, of carrying people in his memory, never got lighter.

“You are, though,” Ivan murmured. “And that’s enough.”

Dotori exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "You say that like it’s easy."

Ivan leaned back against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him. "No. I say that like I know what it’s like."

For a while, neither of them spoke. Outside their little space, the rebellion kept moving- Dewey was shouting something about fixing a broken transmitter, Isaac’s voice a low rumble as he made plans, Hyuna pacing like a caged animal.

Then their eyes met. In that instant, Ivan saw more than just the shell-shocked young man who had been thrown into a war he never asked for. He saw someone who had been through too much, who was still trying to figure out how to survive it all. Dotori’s chest heaved with every breath, his hands were stiff as they rested on his lap, but there was something else in his eyes. Not just fear, but resignation. The kind that came when you realized survival didn’t always mean victory- it often meant becoming someone else.

“Dotori…” Ivan began, unsure of where to go next. What could he say to someone who had been forced to live with this game, to watch their world crack open, piece by piece? He was still learning how to be someone who could help, who could bridge the chasm of their brokenness.

Dotori looked at him, eyes narrowed slightly. "Really… why’d you save me? You said it was because you could, but I don’t buy it."

Ivan froze. He wasn’t prepared for this question. The truth, if he spoke it, might crack open something he wasn’t ready to face. But he’d said it already, and maybe Dotori could hear it more clearly now, in the silence of their shared space.

"Because it was the right thing to do," Ivan replied, his voice distant, almost like he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. "And you didn’t deserve that fate. No one does."

Dotori shifted, his body pulling tight, like the act of moving hurt more than it should have. And Ivan finally saw him. Not the shell of the survivor, not the pawn in this twisted game of life and death, but the person underneath. The one still searching for a reason to exist beyond the battle.

"I don’t think I should be here," Dotori said quietly, and Ivan could hear the pain in his words, the rawness. "I don’t belong with you. With all of this."

Ivan sat down beside him, careful to give him space, but not enough to let the distance between them grow too large. This was the moment where Ivan could either pull away or offer something more, something deeper. 

"Nobody does," Ivan said, his voice soft, but steady. "We all have our reasons. And we’re all a bit broken."

Dotori looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since he had come into the hideout. His gaze softened, and Ivan could feel the shift in the air between them. Like he had said something that made sense to Dotori, that they finally understood each other in a way words could never fully capture.

“But you’re not like the rest of us,” Dotori murmured, his voice still rough, but stronger now. “Even in our classes, you were… different. You’ve been through more. You know how to survive. And I thought Sua was going to too but…” his expression grew pained at the mention of Sua’s name. He didn’t have to say more; the weight of what he meant was obvious. He hadn’t been able to save her. Not like Ivan had saved him.

Ivan was silent for a moment, his breath caught somewhere between the past and present. Then he finally spoke, his words more vulnerable than he’d meant them to be.

"You think that just because I know how to survive, that makes me okay?" Ivan’s laugh was hollow, the sound distant and cold. "I’ve survived a lot of things. But I’m not okay. Not really. And I’m not sure I ever will be."

Dotori’s brow furrowed, like he was processing what Ivan had just said. Ivan could see the pieces clicking together in his mind, but there was still something left unsaid. Something they both knew but hadn’t voiced. 

"You think you’ve got it figured out, don’t you?" Ivan asked, nudging him gently. "You think you're the only one who feels like they don’t belong. But none of us do. Not really."

Dotori opened his mouth to reply, but Ivan raised a hand to stop him, offering a tired, small smile.

"You just have to decide what you’re going to do with it," Ivan said, his voice low but firm. "What we do with the pieces of ourselves we don’t know how to fix. What we do with the ghosts that follow us."

Dotori looked at him, his expression a mix of awe and uncertainty. Then, unexpectedly, he spoke, his voice steady, stronger than Ivan had expected.

"You’re right," Dotori said, sighing. "But I’m not going to be haunted by ghosts forever. I’ll make sure of it."

For a brief, terrifying second, Ivan thought Dotori might be trying to make a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. But then he realized something. Dotori wasn’t just trying to survive.

He was going to live.

And that was more than Ivan had ever dared to hope for himself.

The days continued to pass, and Dotori healed, but something had changed between them. Not just their shared trauma, not just the fact that Ivan had dragged him from the jaws of death, but something deeper. Something in the way they looked at each other, the understanding they felt. They weren’t just survivors anymore. They were two people who had been broken and reshaped by this world, trying to piece themselves back together, one quiet conversation at a time.

"Hyuna’s getting ready for another mission," Ivan muttered one evening, as the sounds of preparations echoed in the base. "She’s going after someone in the next round, she said. More blood. More sacrifices." He didn’t mention that she had always been more willing to dive into the bloodshed if that's what it took. That wasn’t something Dotori needed to hear yet.

Dotori frowned, shifting to sit up straighter. “Who?”

Ivan hesitated. He had his own suspicions. Mizi. If Mizi was still alive, Hyuna would bring her back. And if she wasn’t… well. That was something Ivan would have to figure out how to live with. "Mizi."

Dotori, despite the weight of his injury, nodded. "Mizi? That seems likely, since she'd be going up against Luka." Ivan raises a brow. "What? Everyone knows Luka's a past winner. He'll definitely win round four."

"Right."

Dotori didn’t press him, but he was watching Ivan closely, gaze sharp beneath the lingering exhaustion. He was always good at reading people, even back in training. “You’re thinking about Till again, aren't you,” he asked quietly.

Ivan flinched before he could stop himself. How'd he even know? Then Dotori gave him a look like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He was good at reading people, even back in training. “...so?”

Dotori tilted his head, unreadable. “So you still care.”

“Of course, I do,” Ivan snapped, then inhaled sharply, forcing himself to unclench his fists. “That’s the problem.”

Dotori didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for the small knife Ivan had left on the bedside table, twirling it between his fingers. Ivan had noticed he did that when he was trying to ground himself.

“Ivan,” Dotori said finally, voice steadier than before. “If you could go back- if you could change something, I mean- would you?”

Ivan’s breath hitched. His mind was a battlefield of half-formed thoughts, memories like open wounds. His fingers twitched at his sides.

Would he?

He had spent so long running forward, surviving for the sake of it, that he had never let himself answer that question.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, the words tasting foreign in his mouth.

Dotori hummed, setting the knife down. “I think you do.”

Ivan swallowed around the lump in his throat. He looked at Dotori, really looked at him. He had nearly lost him once. Just like Jacob. Just like-

“I won’t let it happen again,” Ivan murmured.

Dotori’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“I’m not losing anyone else.” Ivan stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hyuna’s going after them. And I’m going with her.” 

Love was sacrifice; Jacob had proven that. And now Ivan would die for his resistance, for his family here. Sua had been lucky to have Mizi, someone who’d shown her another way. But Ivan was destined for nowhere. This had always happened to him, after all- no one to follow him into the dark and pull him back. Only the greatest reasons to pull him in.

Mizi, of course, and... Till.

Till wasn’t just a potential casualty in this fight. He was regret, a reason to keep going. When Ivan wanted to end it all, Hyuna told him to live for the people he needed to save. Ivan couldn't save him before or protect him by staying with him then, but he could now.

This time, it would be different. He would right his wrongs.

Yet Ivan wasn’t sure he was ready to face that.

Dotori stared at him, then, slowly, smiled. It wasn’t his usual teasing smirk, but something quieter. Warmer.

“Guess I’m coming, too.”

Ivan’s stomach twisted, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he reached out, nudging Dotori’s shoulder.

“You really are an idiot.”

Dotori grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

Ivan laughed. And for once, it didn’t feel like a defense mechanism. It just felt real.

Chapter Text

The ride was long, the road uneven beneath them.

The old van rattled as it hit another pothole, and Ivan barely caught himself before his head slammed against the window. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the cracked pavement and the occasional ruins of old structures swallowed by nature. The city had been far behind them for hours now, nothing but a distant glow on the horizon.

In the driver’s seat, Isaac drove in silence, one hand gripping the wheel, the other drumming against the dashboard in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. Dewey sat shotgun, keeping up a one-sided conversation that no one was really listening to.

"And I’m just saying," Dewey continued, waving a hand, "if you’re gonna go all dramatic and sneak into the biggest death trap known to humanity, at least tell someone, you know? What if you got shot? Or kidnapped? Or-"

"Did get shot," Dotori muttered from beside Ivan, arms crossed. "Just not lethally."

Dewey turned in his seat, grinning. "See? Exactly my point."

Dotori rolled his eyes, shifting slightly as the van hit another bump. He was still healing, the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso, but he was doing better. Ivan had caught him attempting push-ups the other day, to which Hyuna had threatened to break his arms if he tried anything that reckless again.

Ivan exhaled through his nose, watching the dark road blur past them. The air in the van was thick with something unspoken. The mission loomed over them all, the weight of what they were about to do pressing down like a storm cloud.

Hyuna sat near the back, quiet.

That, more than anything, was what put Ivan on edge.

She was usually the loud one, the first to break tension with a joke, a sharp grin, or an easy confidence that made even the most suicidal plans sound doable. But tonight, she barely spoke. When she did, it was clipped, focused on the plan. The moment they made it to the supply base, she’d split off, disguised as a guard, and find Mizi before the match could officially start. If things went south, she had an escape route planned.

Easy. Simple.

But Ivan knew better.

The van jolted again, and he caught Hyuna staring out the window, her fingers twitching against her leg. She wasn’t focused on the mission anymore.

She was thinking about him .

About Luka.

The supply stop was an old, abandoned checkpoint, one the rebellion had used before. They parked just out of sight, trekking the rest of the way on foot. Dewey and Isaac scouted ahead, checking for movement, while Ivan and Dotori stayed back with Hyuna.

"How much do we need?" Dotori asked, adjusting the strap of his bag.

"Enough to last a while," Hyuna said. "Weapons, rations, medical supplies-" She cut herself off, rubbing a hand over her face. "Just- whatever you can grab. Be quick."

Ivan didn’t comment. He and Dotori moved together, weaving through the broken remnants of what had once been a security post. The shelves were mostly picked clean, but there were still some useful things- dried food, old medkits, a few rounds of ammo that looked like they might still work.

It wasn’t until later, after everything had been packed away and the fire was crackling low in the distance, that Ivan found himself alone with Hyuna.

She sat a little ways from the others, cigarette between her fingers, the glow of it flickering against her face. Ivan hesitated, then stepped closer, settling down beside her.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The night stretched open around them, vast and suffocating.

Hyuna exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl up into the sky. "I hate quiet nights like this," she muttered.

Ivan tilted his head. "Why?"

She scoffed, taking another drag. "Gives me too much time to think."

Ivan didn’t have to ask what she was thinking about.

"Luka’s gonna be there," she finally said, voice quieter than usual. "I haven’t seen him since..." She trailed off. "Since everything."

She didn’t need to say more. Ivan knew what Luka had done, at least from the fragmented stories he had picked up over the years. How he had won his season. What he did to Hyunwoo, Hyuna’s brother. How, in some twisted way, Hyuna still loved him.

"You scared?" Ivan asked.

Hyuna let out a dry laugh. "Of him? No." Her gaze turned distant. "Of myself? Maybe."

She flicked the cigarette to the side, watching the embers die against the dirt. "Luka was everything to me once," she admitted. "And now? I don’t even know if I want to kill him or save him."

Ivan stared at her, at the tightness in her jaw, the way she clenched her fists like she was trying to hold herself together.

She turned to him then, her sharp eyes locking onto his. "And that’s why you can’t do the same thing with Till."

Ivan froze.

"You keep looking at him like he’s something worth saving," Hyuna continued. "Like he’s still yours to protect. But he’s not, Ivan. He made his choice, and he has to face it."

Ivan’s hands curled into fists. "You think I don’t know that?"

"Then stop acting like you can bring him back."

Ivan inhaled sharply, the words hitting harder than they should have. But Hyuna wasn’t done.

"He’ll never love you like you want him to," she said, voice blunt. "And even if he did, it wouldn’t change what’s already happened. You gave him a taste of freedom, and he pushed it away. "

Ivan’s breath stilled.

Hyuna sighed, shaking her head. "I just don’t want you to make the same mistake I did."

Ivan swallowed, throat tight. He could feel the weight of her words pressing down on him, the warning buried beneath them.

For a moment, they just sat there, watching the clouds disappear into the night.

She reached into her pocket, pulling out another cigarette. Without thinking, Ivan held out a hand.

She raised a brow. "Didn’t take you for a smoker."

"I don’t," Ivan muttered, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. "Just figured- why not?"

Hyuna chuckled, a low, tired sound. "Be careful with that mindset, kid."

She lit it for him, the flame flickering between them. Ivan took a slow drag, the taste bitter on his tongue.

Ivan sat beside her, staring out at the dark horizon.

She didn’t speak for a while.

Then- 

“You’re still thinking about going after him.”

Ivan exhaled slowly.

He didn’t bother lying. “Yeah.”

Hyuna looked at him in bewilderment, then let out a quiet laugh. “You’re a damn idiot.”

He smiled, barely. “So I’ve been told.”

They sat in silence.

Then, Ivan passed her the cigarette.

She took it.

For a moment, they shared the quiet smoke, the tension in the air thick but familiar.

Then, Hyuna sighed.

“Don’t do it. It’s not worth it.”

Ivan swallowed.

He thought about Luka.

He thought about Till.

He thought about himself.

Hyuna nudged him lightly. “Promise me, Ivan. Please.”

Ivan met her eyes.

“I promise,” he murmured, not as wholeheartedly as he usually did.

For the most part, everything was going smoothly.

Ivan and Dotori sat in the van, headsets on, monitoring the situation from the screens Isaac had set up. The old machine hummed, flickering lines of security footage glowing faintly against the dark interior of the van. Outside, the night stretched on, moonlight barely illuminating the crumbling outskirts of the city.

Hyuna had slipped into the facility with ease, her voice steady through the comms.

“Security’s tight,” she murmured. “But nothing I can’t handle.”

Isaac’s voice crackled over the radio. “Keep it clean.”

“When have I ever been messy?”

Dotori smirked slightly. “Do you want an answer to that?”

Ivan barely registered their conversation. His fingers were tight on the edge of the desk, his gaze locked onto the grainy security feed where Hyuna was moving in real-time. She had swapped into the guard uniform seamlessly, her posture perfect, her face hidden beneath the helmet. If she weren’t speaking into their comms, even Ivan wouldn’t have recognized her.

For the next several minutes, everything was calm.

Then, the cameras flickered. A burst of static cut through the comms.

And the silence after was suffocating.

Then- 

A scuffle. A thud.

A muffled shout. The unmistakable sound of something heavy hitting the ground.

Ivan tensed.

“Hyuna?”

No response.

His grip on the radio tightened. “ Hyuna - ”

Then, her voice, sharp and breathless:

“Got her.”

Ivan exhaled so hard his chest ached.

Mizi was safe.

Hyuna’s breathing was audible through the line, rough and uneven, like she’d just been in a fight.

“Status?” Isaac asked, voice urgent.

There was some movement, the sound of shuffling. Then, Hyuna muttered, “She’s out cold. Had to knock her out before she made too much noise.”

Ivan exchanged a glance with Dotori.

“She put up a fight?” Dotori asked, adjusting his headset.

A pause.

“…More like she jumped Luka and lost her mind.”

Silence stretched between them.

Luka.

Ivan’s stomach twisted. He should’ve known.

Mizi had been fighting Luka.

Because Luka had been mimicking Sua.

Ivan clenched his jaw. He’d seen the reports, had heard the whispers of Luka’s strategy- how he had spent the last few rounds imitating fallen contestants. How he had taken Sua’s mannerisms, her voice, her presence and worn it like a second skin.

Like her death had been nothing but a performance to borrow.

He should’ve known Mizi wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“I’ve got her now,” Hyuna continued, her voice clipped. “I’ll get her out through the back.”

Isaac exhaled. “We’ll be waiting.”

Ivan and Dotori exchanged glances.

Then, Ivan turned back to the screen, watching as Hyuna hauled Mizi over her shoulder and disappeared into the dust.

The meet-up spot was just outside the city limits.

They heard the motorcycle before they saw it, the low rumble of the engine cutting through the stillness. The moment Hyuna rolled into view, her long hair whipping behind her, Mizi slumped against her back, Ivan felt his heart stop.

Mizi was still unconscious.

The others were already moving. Dewey rushed forward, helping Hyuna steady the bike as she swung her leg over and carefully unhooked Mizi’s arms from around her waist.

“Damn, she’s out ,” Dewey muttered, shifting Mizi’s weight.

“She’ll wake up,” Hyuna said, rubbing her face. “I think she just... shut down after everything.”

Ivan barely heard them.

He was already stepping forward.

Mizi stirred.

And the moment her eyes fluttered open, the second she caught sight of him- 

She froze.

Her breath hitched.

And for a long, unbearable moment, she just stared .

The others fell silent.

Then, her entire body trembled.

And she lunged.

Ivan barely had time to react before she was grabbing him, her fingers clutching at his shirt, her breath coming in ragged, broken gasps.

“You- ” Her voice cracked.

Ivan’s hands hovered uselessly over her back, his chest tightening with something raw and painful.

“You were alive this whole time?”

Ivan opened his mouth. No words came out.

She shoved him.

“You left me.”

Her eyes were wet, her face twisted in something between anger and devastation.

“You left,” she choked out. “And I- ” Her breath hitched violently.

Ivan barely managed to speak, his voice hoarse. “Mizi, I- ”

Her grip tightened. “ Sua’s gone. ”

Ivan’s chest caved in.

“I know,” he whispered.

The fight drained from her all at once.

She crumpled against him, her body wracking with silent sobs.

And Ivan- 

For the first time in years, he let himself break .

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, his fingers curling into the fabric of her clothes. His breath came in short, uneven bursts, and before he knew it, he was whispering, over and over-

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Mizi clung to him.

And for the first time in years, they weren’t best friends standing on opposite sides of a lost world. They were just two people who had lost too much together.

The camp was quieter now. Most of the others had retreated for the night, exhaustion from the mission settling into their bones. Dotori was still outside, keeping watch, while Hyuna and Isaac argued in hushed tones over the radio, trying to figure out their next move. Dewey had passed out somewhere in the back of the van, half-snoring.

But Ivan and Mizi sat together, cross-legged on an old blanket near the fire, just looking at each other.

It was strange.

For five years, Ivan had convinced himself that the past was unreachable. That Mizi, his best friend Mizi , the girl who once stole his notebooks and doodled all over them when they were writing songs, who called him an idiot every time he did something reckless, who never let go of his hand first- was nothing more than a ghost from another life.

And yet here she was. Alive. Right in front of him.

Her face was different. Sharper. Stronger. The softness of youth had hardened into something unbreakable, but her eyes- her eyes were the same.

And right now, they were filled with everything .

Anger. Relief. Sadness. Confusion.

Love.

"You really are alive," Mizi whispered, her fingers tightening against the fabric of her own sleeves, like she was holding herself together. "You- " She let out a shaky breath, eyes darting across his face, as if she were committing every detail to memory. "I thought I’d lost you forever."

Ivan exhaled through his nose, lowering his gaze. "I thought I lost you first. That you would be dead when we rescued you.”

Mizi swallowed, her throat bobbing.

Then she punched him in the arm.

Not hard. Just enough to make him blink in surprise.

"You left me," she said, voice thick. "You absolute bastard - you left and you didn’t say a damn word."

Ivan rubbed at his arm, more out of habit than pain. "I know."

"You know ?" Her breath hitched, and suddenly she was shoving him again, fingers curling into his jacket. "Then why didn’t you come back ? Why- why did I have to find out like this ?"

"I thought you’d moved on," Ivan admitted. "I thought- I thought it’d be easier if I just stayed away." He didn’t want to tell her about how every night, he begged his most primitive instincts to just turn back to go to ANAKT Garden. Or about the fact that Unsha would have had his head.

Mizi laughed, but it was a hollow, sharp thing. " Easier ? You think it was easier ?"

Ivan’s jaw tightened.

She let go of his jacket, shaking her head. "You don’t know what it was like after you left, Ivan. You don’t know what we went through."

Ivan frowned. "Tell me, then."

Mizi inhaled deeply, exhaled shakily.

"The first few days, it was awful ," she started. "Everyone knew something happened. That you were gone. Vanished. And Till- " She hesitated.

Ivan tensed.

"Till never said anything," she continued. "Not once. Not even when they questioned him. He was just… silent ."

Ivan’s breath caught.

Mizi’s lips pressed together. "He was different after that. Colder. Not to me, not really, but- he stopped arguing as much. He did what he was told. He never told us what really happened that night, only that you were gone and we should leave it alone."

Ivan blinked.

His heart ached.

Till… never ratted him out ?

Even when he had every reason to?

Even when he had been left behind ?

Something inside Ivan twisted painfully. He clenched his hands in his lap, staring at the fire.

Mizi sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I didn’t believe him. I thought he was lying, or that- " Her voice wavered. "I thought you were dead , Ivan. That you got caught trying to run and they-"

She didn’t finish.

She didn’t have to.

Ivan reached out before he could stop himself, his hand covering hers.

"I’m here," he murmured.

Mizi’s breath shuddered.

"You shouldn’t be," she said, voice trembling. "But you are."

She turned her hand over, gripping his fingers tightly.

"You belong here, Ivan. You deserve to be here. I don’t care if you think you don’t."

Ivan’s throat burned.

He squeezed her hand back.

They sat like that for a long time, neither of them speaking. Just breathing, just existing, just holding on to the fact that neither of them had lost each other completely .

Then, softly, Mizi whispered- 

"...Till’s next."

“ What ?”

The words barely reached him, but they were loud in his mind.

Ivan’s entire body went still .

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

The world seemed to shrink around him, narrowing until all he could hear, all he could feel , was the weight of those words pressing against his ribs like a stone.

Till.

His Till.

The one he had watched walk away. The one he had let go of , right back into the lion’s den.

The one who had never given him up, even when he should have.

Mizi was still looking at him.

She didn’t ask. Didn’t try to stop him.

She knew .

She had always known.

Ivan swallowed hard.

His fingers trembled slightly where they were still entwined with hers.

Then- 

He let go.

The camp was silent.

Ivan moved carefully, his breaths even, his steps practiced. His bag was already packed- he had done it earlier, in between conversations, in the moments where no one was looking. His boots barely made a sound against the dirt as he slipped past the others, past the dying embers of the fire, past the van where Dewey snored softly inside.

No one stirred.

No one saw him go.

The night stretched wide and endless before him, swallowing the footprints he left behind. The cool air bit at his skin, but he didn’t shiver.

He turned to glance back. Not for too long, if he did that he wouldn’t be able to leave at all;

Dotori, curled in sleep, still healing;

Mizi, still reeling from the weight of their reunion, knowing of his heart but not of his plans; 

Dewey tucked under his blanket, facing away;

Isaac with one arm slung over his eyes, his breath deep and even;

And Hyuna.

Hyuna was still, barely visible in the dim light, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

Ivan’s throat tightened.

She’d kill him if she woke up.

She’d drag him back by the collar, probably beat his ass for even thinking about going after Till again and lock him up in the trunk.

But she was asleep.

And she didn’t have to watch him leave.

Maybe that was better.

Maybe it was kinder .

Ivan exhaled softly. He’d apologize to her later, when he returned- if he returned. Then, whispered just under his breath, so quietly that no one would even wake to hear it, 

"I'm sorry. I'm not as strong as you think I am."  

No one stirred; n o one answered.

And the words vanished into the cold night air, unheard.

Ivan turned.

He didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

Ivan made it back earlier than he expected. He should've felt victorious about that, but all he could taste was ash in his mouth. The air in the hideout was heavy, and even the dim light couldn't soften the shadows stretched across the walls.

Till was quiet. Had been quiet. Ivan thought he understood silence, had been forced into it long before he even had a name- but Till's silence was different. It wasn’t trained, it wasn’t chosen. It was the kind of silence that came after something broke and no one bothered to pick up the pieces.

Till should have been preparing for his next performance. Another fight in the arena of alien amusement. Another song. Another moment to pretend he was something he wasn’t. He was supposed to sing "My Clematis." But when the handlers shoved the microphone toward him, he didn’t even reach for it.

They showed him Mizi’s missing poster.

And then, something inside Till snapped.

The next moments blurred together in a chaotic spiral. A shout. A flash of movement. Till lunging for the nearest alien, throwing punches with the reckless desperation of someone who had nothing left to lose. Ivan had moved before he could think- before he could tell himself this wasn’t his fight, before he could remind himself that he wasn’t supposed to care.

By the time he reached Till, he was already unconscious, restrained, and crumpled on the floor. Ivan didn't hesitate. He swept forward, breaking Till’s collar open with a flick of his wrist, the same way he always had. But Till never looked at him, despite Ivan willing every power in the world he knew to help.

Never even saw him.

And then he had to leave.

The moment Till’s guardian stormed into the karaoke bar, fury in his every step, Ivan knew he couldn’t stay. He had no choice but to slip away into the neon-lit night, with nothing but the ghost of a memory and the bitter sting of regret burning at his throat.

Ivan knew he shouldn’t have come back, but knowing had never stopped him before. He stayed in the shadows, hidden where no one could see. Watching. Waiting. Till’s voice had never been good, but this time, it was barely there at all. He wasn’t going against Luka- just some faceless human from outside ANAKT Garden. But it didn’t matter. The result would be the same.

Ivan’s chest tightened. He moved without thinking.

A whisper. A glance. A flicker of something that should’ve been impossible.

Till’s voice faltered mid-note.

His eyes widened.

Disbelief. Confusion. Hope.

His lips parted, like he was trying to form a word- like he wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was real. His breath hitched. His fingers trembled around the mic stand, his whole body frozen in place.

Ivan knew he should leave. Knew this was a mistake. But then- 

Till sang.

Stronger this time. Clearer. Something raw and real breaking through the exhaustion, through the despair.

Ivan’s throat tightened. He could see it- Till wasn’t singing to the audience anymore. He was singing to him.

The moment stretched between them, weightless and infinite.

And then- 

Gunfire split the air.

Ivan’s heart stopped.

Till’s body jerked. The mic fell from his grip, clattering against the stage. Blood bloomed against his chest like a grotesque flower. He staggered, breath hitching, eyes wide- not in pain, but in understanding. Like he knew this was always how it was going to end.

Ivan reached him just as he collapsed.

"No- no, no, no- Till- " Ivan caught him, arms locking around his frame, hands pressing against the wound like he could hold him together, like he could keep him here. Till coughed, blood staining his lips, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

For a moment, he just looked at Ivan. Looked at him like he was something impossible. Something he never thought he’d see again.

And then- he smiled.

"You’re alive," he rasped.

Tears blurred Ivan’s vision. "I’m here, I’m here, I never should’ve left, I- " His voice cracked. "Mizi is too."

Till exhaled sharply, like some invisible weight had lifted off his chest. "Good," he whispered. "That’s... good."

Ivan shook his head, choking on his own breath. "Don’t do this. Don’t- don’t leave me again. Please, Till- please- "

Till’s bloodstained fingers curled weakly into Ivan’s sleeve. He coughed again, a thin trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. His breathing was growing shallower by the second.

"I thought I was dreaming," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "When I saw you... I thought- thought maybe I’d finally lost it."

Ivan let out a choked laugh, his fingers trembling as they cupped Till’s cheek. "You’re not dreaming. I’m real. I’m here. And you’re gonna be okay, alright? Just- just hold on."

Till blinked sluggishly, his gaze hazy. "You were always so bad at lying."

Ivan sucked in a sharp breath. "Till, please- " He swallowed, gripping onto him tighter, like that could tether him to life. "I should’ve- should’ve fought harder to keep you with me that night. If I had- "

"No." Till’s fingers twitched, barely brushing against Ivan’s. "You did what you had to. I- I was scared, Ivan. But I never stopped thinking about it. About you. About what could’ve been."

Ivan’s breath shuddered. "It could still be, Till. You just have to stay. Please- "

Till exhaled, slow and uneven. "I don’t think... I don’t think I can."

Ivan sobbed, pressing his forehead against Till’s. "You can. You have to. I can’t- I can’t do this without you."

A weak chuckle, barely there. "You always were the strong one."

"Not without you."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Till’s fingers twitched once more against Ivan’s sleeve, but there was no strength left in him to hold on.

"I’m sorry," Till murmured, voice slurring. "For not running. For not going with you that day."

Ivan let out a strangled sob. "It doesn’t matter, just- just stay with me- "

Till’s eyes softened, a small, tired smile ghosting his lips. "Live, Ivan. For me?"

His body went still.

Ivan shattered.

A scream tore from his throat, raw and broken and full of everything he had lost. His grief burned through him like wildfire, uncontrolled, all-consuming. The stage blurred around him, everything fading into static- except for the unbearable weight of Till’s body in his arms.

Till was gone. Till was gone . Till was- 

And then something in him snapped.

His hands curled into fists, his breath came in sharp, ragged bursts.

Then he moved.

He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. His body was running before his mind could catch up, gunfire erupting around him, his own hands shaking as he tore through the arena, blind with rage and devastation. If he was going to lose everything, then so would they. The aliens. The stage. The entire damned system. He would burn it all down.

He didn't stop. Couldn't stop, until all that was left was a ruined stage with no audience, Ivan as its sole performer.

Ivan didn’t know how long he stayed there, kneeling in the blood-streaked dust, staring at nothing. Till’s weight was gone from his arms, but the warmth lingered- false hope, the cruelest kind. The gunfire had stopped. The crowd had quieted. The stage, the world, the universe had all shrunk into this singular moment of grief.

Till was gone.

The realization tore through him like shrapnel, embedding itself deep, too deep to pull out. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.

Then hands found him. A firm grip on his shoulders, tugging, shaking, grounding.

“Ivan.”

A voice. Familiar. Alive.

Dotori.

Ivan barely registered being pulled up, barely felt the arms wrapping around him, holding him upright when his knees threatened to buckle. He was shivering- when had he started shivering? Dotori’s hands were steady against his back, not forcing him forward, just holding.

“I’ve got you.” The words were quiet, meant for him and him alone. “I’m here.”

Ivan squeezed his eyes shut. The contact, the warmth- it was unbearable. It wasn’t Till. It wasn’t Jacob. It wasn’t any of the people he had lost. It wasn’t fair.

“I can’t,” Ivan rasped, his voice raw, scraped clean of everything but grief. “Dotori, I- I can’t.”

Dotori pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, his expression unreadable in the dim lights of the ruined arena. “You can,” he said. “And you will.”

Ivan wanted to argue, wanted to tell him how wrong he was, how impossible it was to move when his entire world had just been carved out of his chest- but Dotori wasn’t listening. He pressed a hand to Ivan’s own, gripping it tightly.

“You told me once,” Dotori murmured, “that living isn’t the same as surviving.” His fingers curled, pressing Ivan’s hand against his own chest. A heartbeat. Steady. Present. Real. “You taught me that, remember? You’re the reason I made it out.”

Ivan swallowed against the lump in his throat. “That was different.”

Dotori scoffed, shaking his head. “It’s exactly the same.”

Then, softer, more broken: “Don’t make me watch you die too.”

The words landed like a punch to the gut. Ivan sucked in a breath, the world tilting, memories rushing in too fast, too strong.

Jacob, grinning even as he bled out, telling him to be brave. Sua, small and silent, her absence still ringing in Mizi’s voice. Till, warm in his arms, whispering live, Ivan.

…but also Hyuna, pressing a cigarette into his hands, warning him not to lose himself. Isaac, furious and grieving, forcing him to hold on. Dewey, loud and reckless, always laughing, always there. Mizi, broken and still fighting, just like him. And Dotori. Standing here. Holding him together. Refusing to let him go.

Ivan exhaled shakily. His fingers tightened around Dotori’s, grounding himself in the present, in the living, in the people still here.

He couldn’t look at Till’s body anymore.

Because Dotori was right. If he did, he might never move again.

Mizi appeared then, breathless and sharp-eyed, slipping into place beside them. “We need to go,” she said, urgency bleeding into her tone. “Now.”

Dotori nodded, but he didn’t let go of Ivan’s hand. He squeezed once, firm, unyielding. “Come with us.”

Ivan hesitated. The weight of everything, of loss and rage and exhaustion, pressed down on him all at once.

But then he forced himself to move. Step by step, breath by breath, away from the ruin, away from the grief, away from the ghost of a boy who once held his heart.

Because he wasn’t surviving anymore, no-

He would live.

Chapter Text

The drive back to base is quiet, the hum of the vehicle the only sound cutting through the tension. Ivan stares out the window, the neon-drenched ruins of the city blurring past. No one speaks, exhaustion pressing against their ribs like an unspoken weight. The radio crackles to life, static filling the car before the inevitable announcement.

Luka had won the 50th season. Just as he did before.

No one reacts at first. The words sink in, thick and inevitable. Mizi’s fingers tighten in her lap, Ivan exhales sharply through his nose. Even Dotori, usually the first to crack a joke in a moment of tension, stays silent. The car feels smaller, suffocating. Another champion crowned, another cycle completed.

And yet- 

Life goes on.

Hyuna is the first to shatter the silence. But she doesn’t speak. She moves.

The moment Ivan steps out of the car, she is on him like a storm. A hand grips his collar, slamming him against the side of the vehicle with enough force to rattle his already bruised ribs. "You absolute menace," she seethes, eyes burning with something between fury and relief. "What the hell were you thinking? Were you even thinking?! Do you have any idea what you put us through?"

Ivan barely has a second to process before she’s listing every single reckless, idiotic decision he made, punctuating each point with a shove or a well-placed smack to the arm. He doesn’t fight back. He just takes it, because this is Hyuna, and she only yells like this when she cares. When her voice cracks near the end, when her hands shake against his shirt, he knows what’s coming.

She pulls him into the tightest, most suffocating hug. He freezes, then sinks into it, the tension in his shoulders unraveling.

He is alive.

Mizi grieves, but she is healing. Some days, she sits by herself, eyes distant. But other days, she hums, a faint melody under her breath. Ivan catches her looking at an old, tattered scarf- Sua’s- but when she turns to him, she doesn’t cry. She just nods. "I think she’d be proud," she says.

Dewey and Isaac rebuild a car, arguing over mechanics and making it worse before making it better. It smells like rust and oil and the sweat of people who refuse to be beaten. When the engine finally roars to life, Dewey whoops so loudly that even Isaac- perpetually unimpressed- grins. Ivan watches them work, hands itching to do something, to create rather than destroy. Dewey catches him staring and grins. "You should learn how to ride a motorcycle," he says. "It’d suit you." Ivan snorts, but doesn’t say no.

Dotori stays by Ivan’s side.

It starts subtly. Dotori sitting beside him at meals, their shoulders barely brushing. Dotori reaching out, adjusting the strap on Ivan’s gear without a word. Dotori waiting up for him at night, even when Ivan doesn’t say where he’s going.

Then, it becomes something more. A quiet presence when Ivan needs it most. The way Dotori’s hand lingers just a second too long when passing something to him. The way he looks at Ivan sometimes, like he’s memorizing every inch of his face, like he’s waiting for something Ivan isn’t ready to name yet.

One night, after everyone has gone to sleep, Ivan finds Dotori sitting on the roof, staring at the sky.

"Couldn’t sleep?" Ivan asks, lowering himself beside him.

Dotori huffs a quiet laugh. "You’re one to talk."

Silence stretches between them, comfortable. The stars burn bright overhead, scattered like embers in the dark.

"You ever think about leaving?" Dotori asks suddenly. "Just… getting on a rocket and going somewhere no one can find you?"

Ivan exhales slowly. "I used to."

Dotori tilts his head. "And now?"

Ivan glances at him, at the way the moonlight catches in his hair, at the warmth in his eyes despite everything they’ve lost. He swallows. "Now, I think… I’d want someone to come with me."

Dotori doesn’t look away. He doesn’t say anything either. He just smiles, small and knowing. Ivan looks back at the sky before his chest can betray him.

They honor the dead in their own ways. Jacob’s old jacket hangs by the door, worn but never discarded. A makeshift plaque is carved with names- Till, Sua, the ones lost along the way. But they do not live in mourning. They just live.

And one day, when the wind is high and the sky burns with the fire of a thousand falling stars, Ivan boards a sailboat.

For what, he doesn’t know. A mission, a journey, a moment to himself.

The red meteor showers paint the sky, just as they did the night he ran.

But this time, he is not afraid.

This time, he sails forward.