Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Till was sure of three things:

One, confessing to Mizi was a terrible idea.

Two, he was going to do it anyway.

Three, Sua was going to murder him if she found out… and Luka would probably document the crime.

Standing in front of his locker, Till was sweating—thanks to his nerves and that ventilation-less hell they called a school hallway. Around him, insufferable teenagers shoved each other, screamed, and laughed at things he considered valid reasons to lose faith in humanity.

It was all a play written by idiots and for idiots… but of course, Till had been cast without his consent.

And still, there he was. Heart in his throat, ready to drag his dignity to the slaughterhouse.

He pretended to read the posters on the wall, stopping at each one with the forced focus of someone desperate to look occupied. Student council elections, cafeteria specials… meaningless.

None of it registered.

His only goal was to stay on his feet and not collapse.

Mizi stood only a few steps away, talking to a group of cheerleaders, glowing with that perfect light that seemed to follow her around like the actual sun had been hired to give her a spotlight.

To him, looking at her was like staring directly at an eclipse: something beautiful, intimidating, and probably harmful.

The pink-haired girl laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear… everything went into slow motion.

Well, not really. Just in Till’s head.

Because his brain, in its infinite stupidity, decided that the gesture deserved slow motion, soft lighting, and cheesy music—like this was some goddamn romantic comedy and not a public building that smelled like bleach and had a chronic empathy shortage.

Till took a breath and forced himself to walk toward her.

“Uh… Mizi. H-Hi,” he greeted, his voice cracking.

The cheerleader turned and smiled at him. So sweet, so radiant, so… her.

He felt a stab in his chest.

God, why did she have to be so perfect?

“Hey, Till! So weird to see you here. How are you? Everything okay?”

Okay? He was about to explode, but thanks for asking.

“Yeah, everything… yeah. Everything’s super.”

Till nodded energetically, pretending he had full control over his vital functions.

“I-I wanted to… ask you… something, well, t-to tell you something. I mean, a-ask if… if you’d like to go out with me. Sometime. Whenever you want. Or if you don’t want to, t-that’s fine too. Not ‘fine’ fine but not ‘bad’ either… o-or well, yeah. I mean I…”

He shut up.

HAHA, like he couldn’t mess it up any more.

Silence—a microsecond of it that pierced his ears.

“Aww, Till…”

There it was. The “Aww.”

It had never been so devastating.

“You’re really sweet, honestly. But… I don’t think it’s the best idea. Not because of you, of course. It’s just that I don’t feel that way. You understand?”

It hurt. Not because she said it badly, but because she said it well. So well it was impossible to be mad.

That was the worst part.

He nodded again, because his tongue was busy drowning in shame.

But it wasn’t over yet.

“But since I have you here… could you do me a favor?” she asked, lowering her voice a little.

“A favor?” he repeated automatically.

“Yeah, it’s just that I’ve seen that… you and Sua are close, right? Do you think… could you give me her number? Please?”

Till stood frozen. Processing.

“…Sua’s?”

“Yeah… it’s just, I don’t know if she’d find it weird if I asked her directly.” Mizi smiled nervously, and for the first time, looked down. She even blushed a little.

That expression—sweet, shy, kind—was too much for Till’s nervous system.

Till stopped thinking. Literally, his brain shut down.

She smiled at him like that… like that.

As if he were someone trustworthy. As if she hadn’t just crushed his heart.

Who could resist that?

But then, he made the mistake of looking behind her.

Oh, right… the cheerleaders.

Three of them, in formation, watching him like he had just confessed he liked chewing with his mouth open. They threw mocking and disgusted glances, whispering among themselves and clearly having way too much fun at his expense.

Till, fed up, flipped them off. Nothing too elaborate—just the classic.

They were scandalized.

“Ugh, gross!” one of them said.

“Did he show you his face?” spat another, hiding behind the tallest one.

A sigh escaped him.

How the hell were people like that friends with someone like Mizi?

Turning back to the pink-haired girl, he reached into his pocket with trembling fingers and pulled out his phone. Sua’s number spilled from his lips in a shaky, uneven rhythm. The digits came out wrong more than once. His face burned so intensely it felt like his soul might evaporate right out of his ears… but he gave it to her.

“Thanks, Till! You’re so sweet, see you around.” Mizi waved.

And she left. Floating in her own perfection with her entourage of harpies, as if nothing important had just happened.

Till stood there. Frozen… stunned.

The hallway suddenly came back to life—conversations, footsteps, shouting, the unbearable banging of over-slamming lockers and swinging backpacks. Everything sounded too far and too close at the same time.

It took him a few seconds to process what had just happened.

Rejection.

He knew it well.

In his head, he’d rehearsed the whole scene: the “No,” the condescending smile, the inevitable "You're really sweet, but…” Even had a few preloaded replies he’d never actually use— “I understand, don’t worry,” or “It’s okay, thanks anyway” —little polite lies meant to cushion the blow.

Everything had been anticipated: the sting of humiliation, the slow retreat to his emotional corner, heart (and self-esteem) left in carefully broken pieces.

What he hadn’t expected… was to become the messenger boy for the girl he liked.

Sua had beaten him. Damn it.

And she didn’t even know it. She was probably in class, acing a perfect test and caring for her flawless skin, while he was trying not to dissolve in the middle of a hallway.

That burning sting started in his nose, the pressure behind his eyes: he wanted to cry.

But he couldn’t.

All he could do was stand there, wishing he could disappear into the lockers like a cockroach.

He thought about going to the bathroom.
He thought about climbing into a trash can.
He thought about requesting a damn school transfer.

He even stopped fearing the idea that Sua might want to kill him.

She’d do it with a huge smile—and the worst part was, he’d deserve it.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath… and that’s when he heard that damn unmistakable voice. The one that sounded like a mix of arrogance and a self-help podcast.

“What’s up, Till?” said someone right behind him.

Till didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. That condescending tone, that overdone fake surprise… he knew it all too well.

Acorn.

“Damn. Ghosted already?” he started, with a smile you could smell: all plastic and overinflated ego.

Within seconds, something invisible seemed to activate—the footsteps, the laughter, the voices began to close in. A group of students started gathering around him. First two, then five, then ten. The usual choreography: see someone fall and rush for the popcorn.

The gray-haired boy didn’t even look at them, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor, wishing the tiles would open up and swallow him whole—then spit him out on the other side of the planet.

“Was it Sua who rejected you?” Acorn continued. “I mean, at least that would make sense.”

A couple of chuckles.

Not because it was funny—because they knew they were supposed to laugh.

“Or… was it Mizi?” he added, pretending to think. “No, wait… did you ask Mizi out? Bro! Seriously?”

This time the laughter was louder. Till felt his cheeks burn.

“What happened? She told you she just wanted to be friends? Or worse… asked you for someone else’s number?”

The hit landed straight. As if Acorn had heard it. And of course, he had.

Everyone knew.

Because in that school, shame lasted exactly five seconds before becoming public domain.

Till kept his eyes glued to the floor. Not out of fear. He knew if he looked up, it would only make things worse.

And Acorn, of course, kept squawking.

“That face again? I don’t know why you even try. By now you should be used to getting dumped.”

Another giggle. Again, not funny —just someone, as always, eager to join the chorus.

“What is this? Season four of your rejections? You’re gonna have to start recycling the drama, dude, it’s getting old.”

Footsteps. More murmurs. Someone clicked their tongue and another let out an excited “shhh.” The crowd started growing, closing in around them. Like a pack of hounds—they could smell it coming.

Till clenched his jaw. Blood rising through his neck like lava.

“You know what’s the saddest part?” Acorn said, crossing his arms. “That you still believe you’ve got a shot with someone.”

“But hey, I admire that,” he kept going, in fake reflection. “With that face, that…whatever-the-hell style, that weird-creature energy, and you still go for it. That’s not just pathetic—it’s committed pathetic.”

And there— right there —Till lifted his gaze.

He didn’t say anything. Not yet. But his body reacted before he did: shoulders tensed, spine straightened, jaw muscles tightened as if holding back something far heavier than an insult. Acorn kept talking, but Till wasn’t listening anymore.

That calm in Till’s eyes wasn’t serene. It was the kind of dangerous stillness that only shows up when someone’s this close to doing something stupid.

The air grew thicker, like something—rage, maybe—was pressing in on the atmosphere from all sides. Till’s eyes weren’t those of the usual humiliated kid, not the kind that flinched and waited for it to be over.

They were the eyes of someone who, honestly:

What did he have to lose?

Acorn noticed. And it made his mocking smile widen.

“Gonna break my nose again, Till? Is that all you know how to do? When words fail you, just punch?”

The gray-haired boy stepped toward Acorn—just one step, but enough for it to be heard.

“What, your emotions reset? Back in Threat Mode again? Go on, do it. Everyone’s watching. Put on your little show.”

Acorn kept provoking him, and the crowd held its breath. The whole hallway tilted toward them, waiting for the explosion.

And just as Till’s fist began to tense—

“TILL!”

Luka appeared, pushing through the crowd with agility. “No! Don’t even think about it! Not again, you hear me?”

Till was just about to take the next step, when in that instant, his friend broke into the scene.
He lunged toward him, grabbed his arm tightly, and yanked him away from the other boy.

“Let’s get out of here!” he pulled on his arm with such force that Till didn’t even realize when his feet started moving.

The blond was dragging him at full speed, not looking back. Till only felt his body obey, felt the air change as the crowd parted around them.

But Acorn didn’t shut up.

“Seriously?!” he shouted venomously, raising his voice above the noise. “What’s wrong, Till? The babysitter came to get you?”

The general laughter didn’t take long to follow.

“What’s next, Luka? Gonna program him a new personality? I mean, since you’re so good with tech trash.”

A few let out an exaggerated “Ooooh.”

Luka picked up the pace.

“Well, isn’t this adorable? Emo-boy and Techno-dork teaming up. What is this—Freaks United?”

Till was battling it inside—shame seared through him, rage burned in his fists, but his throat had no voice. The echo of their laughter shoved him deeper down, each step heavier, more humiliating than the last.

“Come on, Till! Give us a show! Break something, cry, do your thing!”

“See? You can’t even stand still right.”

In the end, he didn’t say a word. Not a single one. He let Luka keep dragging him along. When they finally made it to the bathroom, the blond shoved the door open hard, slammed it shut behind them, and locked it with a harsh click.

“Did you see that? Same asshole as always!” Luka snapped, not even looking at him, his voice still brimming with fury.

Till let himself drop against the nearest wall, sliding down into a hunched heap. His breathing was ragged, but he didn’t say anything. He was just there, holding himself together enough not to fall apart.

“And the worst part,” Luka continued, pushing up his glasses with one finger, “is that I still don’t get how you didn’t punch him.”

Till stayed silent. Eyes shut tight. 

The tears didn’t fall, but damn, they hurt .

Luka looked at him in silence. He didn’t need words to know Till was one breath away from sobbing.

“And of course they get you today,” the blond added, lower now—more hurt than angry. “Their timing is fucking perfect, huh.”

Then he moved around the bathroom without another word.

Pushed open one, two, three stall doors.

Empty.

He kicked the last one closed and exhaled sharply.

“Alright. Cry.” he said, like giving him permission to light a forbidden cigarette. “No one’s watching but me. And honestly, I don’t have the energy to play tough today.”

Till curled in tighter.

“Go on,” Luka insisted. “Just don’t cry so loud you mess with my aim,” he muttered, and though it sounded like a jab, the tone was so casual it was almost comforting.

And that— that was when he broke. No sound, no warning. Just one breath that cracked, and eyes that couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t have the energy to fight it back.

Everything burned: his eyes, his face, his chest, his already shattered dignity.

“Till, you and I both know…” Luka’s voice echoed from the stall, “…you’re giving him exactly what he wants by staying quiet. That’s his favorite thing. Fucking Acorn.”

Flush. Silence.

Luka came out, zipping up with disdain, walked to the sink, and turned the faucet on.

“And don’t look at me like that. You walked into school today with a funeral face. If I watched you mope for five more minutes, I was gonna throw you one.”

Till wiped at his face with the back of his hand—pointlessly.

“And Mizi…” Luka said, drying his hands with a paper towel, glancing at him sideways. “Sua’s gonna find out. You know that, right?”

Of course she was.

“I’ve seen enough of your fights,” the blond added, staring at him like he was sizing up whether he could bury a body. “Just letting you know, if this ends badly, I’m not hiding your corpse. My backyard isn't that big.”

“You won’t have to,” Till muttered, voice hoarse and halfway broken. “I’ll survive.”

Unfortunately.

The boy with glasses huffed like that was enough. He turned back to the sink and started scrubbing his hands again—harder than necessary.

Till dragged himself to the mirror, every step weighed down by defeat. He already knew he looked awful—just needed confirmation of how pathetic the wreck really was.

…Yep. There it was.

Swollen, red face. The eyeliner he’d applied that morning had smudged just enough to make him look like a depressed panda. A streak of black ran down the corner of his mouth—apparently his makeup wanted to leave this scene too.

His eyes… well.

That “I got rejected and then used as a discount middleman” look wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“Great,” he muttered.

“You don’t look that bad,” Luka said in his usual tone. “Well… yeah, you do. But, like, in an artistic context—uh… no, forget it. I’m not even gonna try to come up with a clever line for your drowned-cat face. And I don’t know shit about art anyway. That’s your territory. Maybe you’ll find some meaning in it… or a scholarship.”

“I’m not in the mood, Luka,” Till finally said, voice cracking. “So if you’re gonna keep joking, do it while I cry, because round two’s coming.”

And yep—he cried again.

He leaned on the sink’s edge and just let the tears fall.

This time, he didn’t bother wiping them away.

What for?

His heart was already shattered.

“My face is already ruined, who cares.”

Luka watched him silently, giving him space. He was used to Till’s emotional spills, but seeing them this raw still struck something awkward inside him.

And then...

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Three loud bangs on the bathroom door.

“Luka! Till! I know you’re in there!”

Both froze in place.

The voice came again, this time laced with unmistakable fury. 

“OPEN!”

One look between them said it all.

Sua

They were screwed.

“You wanna open it, or… should I die first?” Till whispered.

Luka sighed, already defeated. He walked to the door, unlocked it, and turned the knob.

There she was.

Standing with her arms crossed, eyes sharp as blades, and brows so tense Till wondered if they’d ever relax again.

“Would one of you care to explain,” she said—no greeting, just straight-up interrogation— “why the entire school is saying Till confessed to Mizi?”

Till swallowed hard. Luka shot him a “Come on, talk” look and stepped aside, casually leaning against the sink like this was a live stage play.

“I…” Till started, voice still shaky. “I just… wanted to try.”

Lips pressed tight, Sua stared him down.

No yelling. Just quiet fury.

And that was somehow even more terrifying.

“I knew she’d say no,” Till rushed on, the words tumbling out. “I did. Really. I just… needed to get it over with. Say it and be done.”

“Be done with what exactly?” she asked, using that sharp, serious tone she reserved for things that hurt more than she wanted to admit.

“With hope,” Till said, lowering his eyes. “Because, I don’t know… a part of me… kept thinking maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe she’d say yes,” he admitted, almost in a whisper. “Even if it was just a little.”

The bathroom went quiet. Only the soft drip of a faulty faucet broke the silence.

“Well, now you know she didn’t,” Sua said, arms still crossed, her voice firm enough to sting. “And now the whole school knows, too.”

Till lowered his head even more.

Luka, still leaning in the corner and soaking up the drama, chimed in:

“Honestly, with how rumors spread in this school, I’m surprised they didn’t say you whipped out a Death Note and threatened to kill Mizi if she didn’t go out with you.”

Till shot him a death glare, but Luka just shrugged with a grin.

“What? The social logic of this place is worse than untested code.”

She ignored him.

“That was it, right?” she asked Till.

He sighed. “No… not quite.”

“No?” Sua echoed, frowning deeper.

“It’s just… after rejecting me… Mizi asked for your number.”

Sua’s expression changed instantly.

Her eyebrows dropped, her mouth opened just a bit. And suddenly, her cheeks turned completely red.

“W-what?” she asked, all her previous anger dissolving like sugar in hot water.

“Yeah… she asked me. Like she hadn’t just broken my heart into pieces, basically.”

Sua froze.

For the first time in the whole conversation, she looked down. Her cheeks kept burning, and her hands—usually perfectly still—fidgeted with the edge of her jacket sleeve.

A fleeting second passed where she stopped being the girl who always knew what to say.

“I swear, Sua,” Till added, raising his hands. “I’m not messing with you.”

Luka, who had been watching them with increasing disbelief, clicked his tongue and said:

“Till, were you seriously the only one who didn’t see it? Mizi was obviously gay since, like, first year.”

“And besides,” he added dramatically, as if the truth pained him deeply, “there were rumors. Rumors, Till. But of course, you never hear anything ‘cause if you’re not in detention, you’ve got your headphones on, blasting that playlist I’m already sick of.”

Till shot him a look halfway between offended and defeated.

Sua didn’t seem to hear him, too focused on hiding the smile tugging at her lips.

The blond looked at both of them—the flushed faces, the puffy eyes, the silence thick with bottled-up emotion—and decided:

Enough drama for one day.

“Anyway…” he said, dusting off his hands like he’d just closed a business deal. “My parents are out tonight, they left me plenty of cash, so… I propose a sleepover. To cleanse all this public shame.”

Sua blinked. “Excuse me?”

Till stared at him like he’d just spoken another language. “You’re just throwing that out there?”

“What would you rather do?” Luka shrugged. “Keep crying in a public bathroom, or do it in my living room with ice cream?”

They both kept staring at him.

“Yes or no?” Luka pressed, already halfway to the door.

Sua sighed and raised an eyebrow.

“Fine… but if you put on Back to the Future again, I’m leaving.”

Luka raised his hands, scandalized. “It’s a classic!”

“You’ve played it the last three times we’ve been at your house, Luka!”

“Exactly, because it’s a classic… Ugh, fine.”

Till blinked, still a little lost, but clearly in better spirits.

“Let me text my mom…”

He pulled out his phone, unlocking it with still-trembling fingers, and as he typed, all he could think about was how terrible this must’ve looked from the outside.

Now… how the hell were they going to leave without the whole school assuming they’d just had an (emotional) orgy in the boys’ bathroom?

_________________________________________________________________________

At lunchtime, the rumors were as active as the cafeteria’s fryer: hot, greasy, and probably bad for your insides. Everything revolved around a single phrase: 

“Did you hear about Till and Mizi?”

Till knew. He felt it.

The sideways glances, the half-contained giggles, the occasional suspicious elbow nudge.

Still, he walked into the cafeteria with his head held high, makeup retouched as best as he could, though traces of the morning disaster remained: one line of eyeliner had insisted on staying like forensic evidence. Another, barely smudged, made him look more tired than tragic.

He slammed his tray onto the usual table—his throne of social isolation.

The air seemed to tense up. Not due to some mystical force, but simply because no one wanted to sit near someone who—according to hallway legend—had just starred in the biggest rejection of the month.

His mere presence gave off such a strong “Don’t even think about coming near me” vibe that two guys actually got up and left, scared, without finishing their food.

He didn’t even look at them.

Sua arrived shortly after: impeccable, elegant, cold like the air conditioning that never worked in that school. As always, her food came perfectly sealed in her lunchbox. Her presence alone was enough to make a couple of guys at the neighboring table sigh in near-perfect unison.

She sat in front of Till without greeting him, opened her bag, and began eating in silence.

“Of all the things you’ve been teased about... this one you kind of deserved,” she finally said with a tired sigh.

The gray-haired boy just kept poking at the shapeless mass they were serving that day.

“...Yeah, I know,” he said at last.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to say anything else.”

He nodded, certain Sua would keep her word.

She took out a napkin, wiped her lips with surgical precision, and after a brief pause, slid her lunchbox toward him.

“Want some of mine?”

Till looked at her, genuinely surprised.

Today’s lunch was garbage. But honestly, when wasn’t it? The only time it was half-decent was taco day—or when someone important showed up and the school played pretend like they gave a damn about nutrition.

He nodded, taking a bit of the fruit-topped pancakes from her container and chewing as if his dignity depended on that bite.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t get emotional,” Sua replied without looking up. “It’s just because you’re even more pathetic than usual today, and I don’t want you throwing up in front of me.”

Till couldn’t help a small laugh. He needed this more than he realized.

And just then, Luka appeared. Backpack slung over one shoulder, soda in hand.

“Well,” he announced, dropping his tray, “I bring you the latest news from our fan club.”

Sua looked up with that tense calm she only used when expecting nonsense. Till didn’t even turn around.

“And what are they saying now?” asked the dark-haired girl.

Luka sat down, adjusted his drink, and replied with perfectly fake seriousness:

“That we did a satanic ritual in the bathroom.”

“Seriously?” Till looked incredulous.

“Yeah. Some idiot from second year asked me if we were a cult.”

“And what did you say to him?” asked Sua, uninterested but genuinely curious.

“That it was true,” Luka replied, pulling a heavy book from his backpack, wrapped in a comic book cover—as if that would stop anyone from asking questions. “But that we were still in the recruitment process, and that to join, he’d have to do a blood pact with us.”

Till slowly closed his eyes.

“You can’t be okay.”

“I never said I was.”

“...Well, at least today I’m eating decently,” Till muttered as he served himself more fruit.

“Don’t push it,” said Sua, but she didn’t stop him.

“Do you think the tacos will come back soon?” asked Luka, already eyeing his tray with dismay.

“Only if someone important comes to inspect the school,” she said with a shrug.

“Perfect. I say we summon the Minister of Education with another bathroom ritual.”

“But you’re using your own blood,” Till replied.

And they kept eating.

The voices around them didn’t stop. They didn’t need to look to know they were still being watched. The stifled laughter, the conversations that lowered in volume just as they walked by, the poorly disguised comments.

Nothing about it was ever direct.

Only the kind of stale breeze you learn to notice after years of breathing it in.

The cheerleaders—the same three from that morning—passed by on their right, barely turning their heads to shoot Till a look full of automatic disdain. One of them glared at him with particular disgust, still fuming from the obscene gesture he’d thrown at them earlier.

Now they were glaring at Luka too, just as collateral damage. Sua, on the other hand, seemed either invisible or untouchable (hard to tell which).

Nothing new. Just their daily bread.

“Did you bring the lab stuff?” asked Sua, cutting a piece of her food.

“No,” said Till. “Was that today?”

“Yes,” she replied in her usual tone. “Hydrochloric acid, gloves, coat, and goggles. We’re working with reactive metals to observe gas formation. And for once, they want us to write the full reaction, not just the observation.”

“Great.” He pushed his tray like someone signing his own death sentence (or a failing grade). “I’m going to die blind and burned.”

“I brought mine,” said Luka. “Though if the experiment goes wrong, I want to be far from Till. The last thing I need is a gas leak caused by his clumsiness.”

“How kind. Thanks,” Till replied flatly.

“I don’t get why they put us together in that class,” said Sua. “We don’t share any other.”

“Maybe a punishment we don’t know about. Or a social experiment,” Luka theorized.

“Or so we eliminate each other once and for all,” Till added.

“I’m not dying until I finish testing the new extension I installed last night. It recognizes voice patterns. Useless for almost everything, but I’m still proud of it,” said Luka, smiling only with his eyes.

“That again?” asked Sua, tone unchanged.

“This time I want it to detect gestures. I’m thinking of hooking it up to sensors. Most likely something will blow a fuse, but I might learn something useful along the way.”

“You could test it on my mom,” said Till without thinking too much. 

“With Io? Seriously, can I?” Luka straightened, excited. “Can we go to your place? I miss your kitchen. That coffeemaker of hers sounds like it’s about to launch. I’d be happy living there.” 

“Not gonna happen,” said Till, half-smiling. “I’ve barely seen her this week. She’s caught up in a new project. Says it’s delicate, but never gives me any details.”

“Is she in the lab at your house?” Sua looked up. “Or the one at the center?”

“The center. She moved to an isolated room, and when I asked if she was coming home to sleep, she said yes… but didn’t specify when.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not as dramatic as it sounds,” Till clarified, resting his elbow on the table. “She’s just working a lot. And yeah, I miss her… but I think she misses me too. She leaves food ready for me, sticks notes on the fridge with little drawings, and texts me like five times a day. Sometimes she calls and doesn’t say anything, just stays on the line while I breathe and tell her I’m okay.”

Io was like that.

A brilliant scientist, obsessive with details, with strange hours and projects no one else understood… but a mother, above all.

Not the most conventional, nor the most present in the traditional sense, but she never forgot to ask Till if he had eaten, if he had slept, or if he needed more eyeliner. No judgment for his clothes. No criticism for the sarcasm. No attempts to change him into someone he wasn’t.

Support came in every form—even if it meant embracing an emo son who could be incredibly rude sometimes.

She just listened… and loved him, unconditionally.

“Can’t we go visit her? Not even a temporary pass?” Luka insisted, undeterred. “I promise I won’t touch anything, just look.”

“I already told you no,” Till replied, almost amused.

After a moment, the bell rang.

Sua put her cutlery away with efficient precision.

“Don’t forget the materials. If the teacher sees us without gear again, he’ll kick us out.”

“Wouldn’t that be a gift for you?” Till asked.

“Not if I get stuck with someone worse than you two,” she said, standing with all the dignity of someone who always knows the right answer.

“See you in the lab,” said the dark-haired girl before walking away.

“I’ve got the gloves,” Luka called, picking up his tray. “Hey, by the way, you’ve got history next, right?” he reminded Till, with a smile that knew exactly what it was doing.

The silver-haired boy let out a low growl, gritting his teeth with rage.

“What a fucking day,” he muttered before heading to the hallway.

Each of them took their path among the flood of students already pouring out into the corridor.

The rest of the day passed like torture.

A slow, dragging torture.

Till drifted from class to class on autopilot, nodding whenever the teacher looked at him, doodling in his notebook, listening to words that didn’t register. He barely noticed when the subjects changed.

Sometimes he stared ahead. Other times, he just looked at his reflection in the window, trying to guess if he still looked like a mess or if he’d simply gotten used to having his heart in pieces.

He didn’t think about Mizi—not directly…

Just about that feeling from before. That exact second when he believed—even if by accident—that things might turn out okay.

That someone, for once, might want him.

Because that was the real problem. The stupid, painful, but human need to have someone.

Just one person who would look at him and not run away.

And knowing he didn’t have that—that probably no one ever would—hurt more than the rejection itself.

In the middle of one of those endless classes, the usual thing happened. He didn’t remember what the teacher had said, but apparently, it was provocative enough for Till to mutter a “Genius. Wow,” with such pure irony that someone laughed.

That someone was sent to the principal’s office. And Till, of course, to detention.

For “provocative attitude,” according to the report. No one was surprised.

Till didn’t even argue.

For most, detention was a punishment. For him, it was peace.

They left him alone in the empty classroom, with an observation sheet he completely ignored. He pulled out his sketchbook—the hard-covered one with worn corners—and began to draw. First, a full-body silhouette, thin, almost androgynous. Then another, more robust, face hidden between lines of shadow. And another, wearing tight clothes, no details. None of them finished, none of them fully real.

They were attempts, sketches by someone who didn’t know how they wanted to exist.

And as he kept sketching, he thought.

Maybe he needed to change.

If people like him —quiet, weird, intense— simply didn’t belong in a world where someone picked you without hesitation. If he had to ditch the eyeliner, wear more “normal” clothes, pretend to like the things everyone else did. Become someone who wasn’t scary to love.

But the mere thought of it turned his stomach.

Because if he had to change just to be liked… who would they be loving, really?

He sighed, angrily slashed through half of the sketches, and dropped the pencil onto the desk. He rested his head on his arms, and without realizing it, fell asleep.

No dreams. Or if there were, none that stuck.

When he woke up, the light coming through the windows had changed—softer, lower, more golden. He sat up slowly, with fabric-pressed lines on his cheek and a trail of drool he wiped away roughly.

He stretched clumsily, and in doing so, he could’ve sworn he heard something.

But when he looked up, the room was empty. Maybe he’d imagined it.

Gathering his things with deliberate calm, he stepped out of the classroom.

Time for the lab.

Last class of the day, and even if he wasn’t in the mood, at least he wouldn’t be alone.

The hallway was half-empty, the last few groups slipping into classrooms or wasting time at the vending machines. Till walked in silence, ignoring everything. The echo of his shoes on the polished floor was the only thing accompanying him as he made his way to the lab.

When he opened the door, the smell of chemicals greeted him.

They were already there.

Sua sat at her usual spot in the center of their table, carefully scanning the instruction sheet. Luka, to her left, was gleefully playing with test tubes.

Till took his place on the right.

“You sniff that gas at your own risk,” Sua said to the blond without even lifting her voice, just as he was about to bring the test tube to his nose.

The teacher gave them a look that said it all.

He was done with them.

Not because they were chaotic, but because he could never tell if they were taking the class seriously… or planning to give him an ulcer before the semester ended.

In the end, they got through the experiment.

Till wrote the bare minimum, Luka made up for it with extra formulas no one asked for, and Sua turned in the cleanest report anyone would see all week.

When the final bell rang, they didn’t leave together.

Sua stayed behind, cornering the teacher with a short but relentless list of questions that weren’t in the guide. Luka vanished toward the computer lab. Till tagged along without much enthusiasm—he had nothing better to do.

After a while, the blond got caught up arguing with a tech guy about network permissions and configurations Till neither understood nor wanted to, so he went off to grab his things. The floor was nearly empty, except for a couple of half-closed lockers and the soft roll of the janitor’s cart echoing down the hall. He opened his, pulled out a few sheets, left some books, and slammed the door shut.

The three of them met on the front stairs and started walking toward the back parking lot, each dragging their end-of-day exhaustion in their own way.

Sua’s car was waiting at the corner: a dark gray 2006 Honda Accord, clean, lightly tinted windows, and a couple of almost invisible scratches. It didn’t draw attention, but you could tell it was well cared for.

They got in.

“What are we eating?” Luka asked as he buckled in.

“Pizza,” Till replied from the back seat without thinking.

“Works for me,” Sua said, starting the engine.

After picking up the food, they stopped by the supermarket for snacks.

Nothing fancy: chips, popcorn, two boxes of cookies, the tub of ice cream Luka had promised Till, and an unnecessary debate over what sodas to get. The one with glasses tossed way more stuff into the cart than necessary, like he was stocking a fallout shelter. Sua didn’t stop him, and the silver-haired boy didn’t bother arguing—Luka had already said he was paying for everything.

They arrived at Luka’s house in the late afternoon, sunlight still sharp and the heat pressed thin against the pavement. The scent of dry grass lingered in the air, and the quiet was deep enough to catch the crunch of gravel beneath the tires.

Luka entered first, tossing the keys into the familiar metal dish. Till and Sua followed, slipping off their shoes like always.

Before the sun went down, they were already settled in. Till was wearing that band shirt with a logo only he could recognize, paired with those oversized pants that always dragged a bit when he walked. Sua had thrown on whatever she found first, not caring if it matched. Luka, on the other hand, showed up in his infamous stay-at-home glasses and his usual pajamas.

Both Till and Sua already had stuff stashed away for nights like this.

It wasn’t just that Luka’s house was the biggest—by now, it practically functioned as a shared habitat.

They knew where everything was: which light switch needed extra pressure, which drawer hid the snacks, which stair creaked if you walked barefoot in the middle of the night. It wasn’t the coziest place in the world, but it didn’t need to be.

By the time night fell, they’d already done it all—stuffed themselves with food until they were idiots, watched a movie that wasn’t Back to the Future (thanks to Sua’s very real threats), and —begrudgingly— finished their homework, under her watchful, deadly glare.

And then Till asked for karaoke. He didn’t suggest it—he asked. Insisted.

Said he needed it.

“One song,” he said. “Just one.”

After convincing Luka to set it up and find a mic, he sang.

It wasn’t that he sang badly. Till could sing.

But that night… he wasn’t there to put on a show.

What came out were half-tuned screams, high notes flung with fury, and the occasional emotional growl. It wasn’t pretty, but it was raw.

Sua covered her ears halfway through, mumbling something like, “This is auditory assault,” under her breath. Even Luka, who had his phone ready to record and tease him later, slowly lowered it halfway through.

Because something felt… different.

Till didn’t laugh, didn’t joke. He just let the mic fall and collapsed on the couch. Grabbed a pillow, buried his face in it, and then stretched one hand up without looking at anyone.

“Ice cream,” he said, like it was his dying wish.

Sua passed it to him without a word.

He hugged the tub like he’d won a prize and stayed there, shoveling spoonfuls of dessert into his mouth like he was trying to freeze himself from the inside out.

The other two exchanged a quick glance.

“Are you doing that bad?” she asked, no sarcasm this time.

“Did you really like Mizi that much?” Luka added, lowering his voice.

Till just poked at the ice cream with the spoon, not wanting to answer.

“I liked her,” he said eventually. “Not anymore. I mean, I shouldn’t. I’ll get over it. Really. But…”

His voice cracked as he let out:

“...W-What if no one’s ever going to like me?”

Silence fell instantly.
Only the wall clock ticking and the fridge humming broke it.

And then it happened.

Till broke down.

He cried—hard.

Face buried in the pillow, shoulders shaking, eyes squeezed shut in a sob that didn’t hold anything back.

Sua got up and walked out of the room.

Luka stared, wide-eyed—pure panic. He was not ready for this.

“Hey, hey…” he said softly, like Till was a bomb about to go off. “Don’t cry like that. You’re scaring me, man.”

He approached carefully, like dealing with a wounded animal, and sat beside him. Tried to think of something— anything —useful to say.

“A-As bad as it sounds… you still have Sua and me,” he added, forcing a tight smile. “God, I’m still joking… I’ll shut up. Sorry.”

Till just kept trembling.

In a desperate move, Luka took a deep breath… and hugged him.

Just like that.

“...This is weird, isn’t it?” Luka whispered.

“Very.”

They gave each other a few awkward pats on the back, trying to make the moment less unbearable.

“But… thanks,” Till murmured, managing a small smile.

CLICK

They both turned toward the door just in time to see Sua holding up her phone.

“Seriously?!” they both shouted in unison.

Sua shrugged. “Sorry, sorry. But it was way too adorable not to capture, don’t you think?” She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, I’ll save it for emotional blackmail.”

“Where were you?” the silver-haired boy asked, his voice still shaky.

She walked over.

“I went to get this.” She held up a box of tissues and handed them to Till with an exaggerated grimace. “Here. The pillow didn’t deserve to be filled with your snot.”

Then Sua flopped down onto the couch next to them. She sighed and, unexpectedly, threw one arm around each of their shoulders.

“And Luka’s right. As shitty as it sounds, at least you’ve got the two of us.”

The three-person hug was even more awkward.

After that, everyone returned to their spots. The hug broke apart with the elegance of a vase falling off a table—bodies slowly backing away, stiff and clumsy.

They’d had enough physical contact to last a whole month.

Till finished wiping his face, still swallowing the remnants of his sobs.

“I’m fine now.”

“You lie like you breathe,” Sua muttered, sighing as she returned to her seat.

“And you cry like they canceled your world tour,” Luka added, plopping down with a bag of chips.

Till reached out to grab a few.

“Shhh. No more jokes. Let me exist.”

There was a brief pause.

“So… should we put on a movie or something?” Luka asked. “Matrix?”

“No,” Sua and Till said in unison.

“Then what? A romantic drama? One of those where everyone ends up happily in love and Till tries to kill himself on the couch?”

“Go to hell,” Till muttered, too tired to sound convincing.

He slumped back into the couch, hugging his pillow like it was the last thing he had left in the world. Sua scrolled through her phone without much interest, and Luka was flipping the remote between his fingers.

“So?” Till asked, turning his head toward Sua. “Nothing?”

“Nothing what?”

“Mizi. Did she call, text, send smoke signals?”

The black-haired girl stiffened for a split second.

“No,” she said, way too quickly.

“Come on, Sua. The least she could do is send a hello, right?”

“I said no,” she repeated, this time with the faintest blush on her cheeks. “And stop looking at me like that.”

“Relax, I’m just asking. Trying to figure out if my humiliation was worth it.”

“Not really, apparently,” she muttered back, this time without venom.

Till sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. Then he said:

“God, I’m so pathetic… I don’t even know what I’d do just to have a girlfriend.”

“Find another Mizi?” Sua asked dryly.

“No, please. I’ve learned my lesson.” The silver-haired boy gave her a crooked smile. “Pff… it’d probably be easier to ask my mom to build me one.”

Sua turned to look at him, incredulous.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

And then Luka, who had been silent until now, let go of the remote. His eyes locked on a random point in space, and for a moment, it looked like his brain had just connected fifteen wires all at once.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Luka interrupted.

The other two turned to him.

“What?” they said at the same time.

Luka didn’t say anything else.

He just stood up.

“One second,” he said, and hurried out of the room.

They heard a loud thud upstairs, followed by some cursing, and finally Luka came back downstairs with his laptop in his arms and that grin—the one that always meant things were about to go off the rails.

“Okay,” he began, powering it on as he sat down in front of them. “Listen to this.”

“Luka, what are you doing?” Till asked, already uneasy.

“Something useful, potentially revolutionary, and probably enough to get me a life sentence if anyone finds out. But… let me explain.”

Sua crossed her arms. Till was looking at him like he already anticipated something stupid—absurdly stupid.

“Remember when your mom invited us over last year for dinner?” Luka asked Till.

“Yeah?”

“Well... while you guys were making the salad, I connected to your house’s local network… and by that I mean the lab’s.”

“What?”

“I didn’t touch anything. I just… scanned. There was a connection between that system and a bigger, more complex one. It took me weeks to understand it, but I eventually found out that from your house, you can access the central lab’s network.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying your mom left a door open. It’s not her fault, it’s not a system failure… just an overlooked detail. I used a Raspberry Pi, a bit of luck, and a lot of insomnia. And over time, I managed to map part of the system she works on.”

Till stood up from the couch, pale as chalk.

“You hacked into the center?!”

“I didn’t hack. I peeked… and I saw things.”

Sua let her arms drop, horrified.

“Luka… that’s espionage!”

“Curiosity! I didn’t change anything. I only observed. I swear!”

Till was blinking like he needed to reboot his brain.

“Why would you do that? And why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because your mom’s one of the brightest minds in the country, and you live with her like she’s just some lady who bakes brownies. I had to know what she was hiding!”

“And I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react like this. Look at you.” Luka gestured at him from head to toe.

“You’re sick,” Sua said.

“And yet you still invite me into your homes. Anyway…” He turned his eyes back to the screen. “Out of all the projects I found, one stood out. It’s classified, but I managed to decode some of it. There’s no clear name, no specific purpose, it’s just labeled: ‘Experimental Humanoid Unit in Customization Mode.’”

They both stared at him, frozen.

“What the hell does that mean?” Till asked.

“That there’s a humanoid robot, fully customizable in appearance and waiting to be activated… and it’s in open programming mode.”

“No way that’s real,” Sua added.

“Oh, but it is,” Luka replied, with a barely-contained grin.

“And how do you know it’s not something important?” she pressed.

“Because it’s been sitting there for months, literally,” Luka said, typing rapidly. “I saw it the first time I got in. Since then, no activity. No file access, no edits, nothing. A project like that doesn’t stay frozen unless something’s wrong—or unless it’s been shelved. Or forgotten.”

“And you just assumed that meant you could use it?” Till said, practically shouting.

“I didn’t say use. I said borrow,” Luka corrected. “Just for a bit. For science… and for you.”

Till clenched his jaw.

“Are you saying we could…?”

“We could activate it. Well, not we, but… I can. If you give me the right info, I can program it to be your girlfriend.”

Sua looked deeply disturbed.

“This is a terrible idea.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Luka said, unfazed.

“No, I’m serious. Do you not realize how messed up this sounds? It’s a robot. There’s nothing romantic about it—it’s… forced. Creepy.”

The blond shrugged.

“I never said it was romantic. I said it was possible. And in the end, it’s not your decision.”

He turned to Till. “It’s his.”

Till had no words to describe what he was feeling. His eyes were locked on a fixed point, fingers crushing the empty ice cream tub in his hands until it caved in.

Sua softened her tone.

“Just think it through,” she said. “This isn’t right. Don’t make a desperate decision just because today sucked.”

Till thought.

Really thought.

But not about the rejection from earlier, or the humiliation still sitting like a knot in his throat.

He thought about everything before that—the last few months. He was tired of throwing himself into the void with his heart in his hands, only to crash every single time.

And now, in front of him, was something different .

A way to feel something without falling apart.

A chance that didn’t hurt from the start.

It sounded absurd, desperate. But honestly, he didn’t have much left to lose.

“Let’s do it,” he finally said.

Luka smiled like he’d known the answer all along.

“Excellent.”

Sua stayed frozen for another moment. Then she sighed, defeated, and collapsed back onto the couch.

“I’m not helping,” she warned.

“Perfect,” Luka replied, already opening new windows on the screen. “I only need one of you for this.”

He settled in like he was about to dive into a long gaming session: legs crossed, hunched over, laptop balanced in place, fingers poised over the keyboard.

“Alright, Till…” he said without looking away from the screen. “Time to tell me what your ideal partner looks like.”

Till blinked. “Uh… that easy?”

“Yeah. I need input.”

Sua snorted.

“Don’t rush him if you want optimal results,” she said, lying down with her arms crossed.

Till opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He looked away, ran a hand through his hair, messing it up awkwardly. The tension on his face wasn’t embarrassment—it was emptiness.

“Great,” he muttered. “Can’t even do that right.”

Luka adjusted his glasses calmly.

“Let’s start with the basics,” he said. “Gender. Do you want a girl or a boy?”

“Doesn’t really matter, honestly.”

“So?”

Till looked up, hesitating for a second.

“…A girl. I want a girl.”

“A girl it is,” Luka said, typing automatically. His fingers flew across the keys with near-mechanical precision. It wasn’t hard to imagine he’d done this before.

And that made it even more unsettling.

On the screen, the lines of code began to shift in color. Files opened under the names UNIT_CUSTOM_X and Appearance_Model_V1.3 . A pop-up window displayed a featureless human figure—female, neutral, spinning slowly over a blank white background like a 3D modeling base waiting to be shaped.

“Okay, this is the base skeleton,” Luka explained. “The system allows modular customization. We can tweak: proportions, height, dermal pigmentation, facial features—everything follows standardized biometric parameters.”

Till blinked. “Huh?”

“We’re going to design her. From hair to feet. And once we’re done, the whole package gets uploaded to the unit’s operating system.”

Till stared at him, clearly not understanding a single word.

“Okay, okay…” Luka rolled his eyes. “Let’s take it step by step. Hair color?”

“Pink,” Till blurted out instantly, with more enthusiasm than expected.

Sua turned her head toward him, slowly. “Seriously?”

“What? I like pink,” he defended, arms crossed.

“And that has nothing to do with Mizi also having pink hair?” she asked, raising an eyebrow with surgical precision.

Till shrugged. “I hadn’t even thought about that…”

“Uh-huh,” Sua sneered.

Luka scoffed. 

“Do you want to relive the trauma or get over it? Pink is a flat no . Black?”

Till hesitated for a second before nodding. 

“Black is fine.”

Luka typed the command hair_color: #000000 . The mannequin on screen updated instantly: a smooth animation let a dark, straight mane fall over the model’s shoulders.

“Good,” Luka said after saving the change. “Next: height.”

“Tall,” Till replied, without hesitation.

“How tall?” Luka asked, opening a panel with a height slider.

“I don’t know—tall enough so that when she hugs me, she covers me completely.”

Silence fell immediately.

Sua turned her head toward him slowly. Luka blinked twice.

They exchanged a look—and then burst out laughing.

“Excuse me?” Sua said, already smiling.

“That was unexpected,” Luka chuckled. “I swear you’d say ‘shorter than me,’ like Sua, who’s four-foot-ten in shoes.”

“Five-two,” Sua corrected, munching a cookie. “And with more wit than you in those fake glasses.”

“They’re not fake—prescription,” he shot back, lowering them slightly. “Helps me see you better, Little Red Riding Hood.”

“Enough!” Till raised his hands. “And yes, I want her taller than me! So what? I like it. It feels… safe.”

Sua laughed again.

“Unexpected… but cute.”

Till blushed and looked down.

“Noted,” Luka said, typing quickly.

“Now, build,” he continued. “Slim, average, athletic…?”

“Athletic,” Till answered. “Make it clear she works out. But not like a bodybuilder—just… strong.”

Sua raised an eyebrow. “Looking for what you don’t have?”

“Look who’s talking,” Till shot back.

“Confirming: athletic,” Luka said, still smiling as he made the adjustment. Unseen, he slipped in another line of code:

strength_level: ++  (hidden)

“Done.”

They moved on to skin tone. Luka opened the tab and displayed several swatches.

“Color?”

“A bit more tanned than me, but not too much. Like… fair skin with some warmth. Not too pale. Know what I mean?”

“Uh… I think so. Warm, but light,” Luka nodded, picking a tone.

“Yes, exactly that.”

“Eyes?”

“Black,” Sua answered immediately. “To match the hair. Too much color can make her look… fake.”

“I don’t mind that,” Till shrugged.

“Oh, how original,” Luka interrupted. “Black hair, black eyes. Don’t you want her to walk around in grayscale, too?”

“What do you suggest—blue?” Sua snapped, still staring at the screen.

“No, just something that catches the eye a little,” Luka replied, typing. “Something with personality.”

“How about if the iris has a touch of color?” Till suggested, leaning in. “A detail… but not over the top.”

They tried blue, yellow, green, even violet, but nothing felt quite right.

Until red appeared.

“There it is,” Till said without thinking.

“It doesn’t look bad,” Sua said, tilting her head.

“Now it looks better,” Luka added with a triumphant smile. “What’s next… eyelashes?”

“Long,” he replied, as if it were obvious.

“Eyebrows?”

“Thick. Shaped, but thick.”

“That’s very specific,” Sua remarked, raising an eyebrow.

“I like them that way,” Till defended himself.

“I’m not judging,” she said, and then, a bit softer, added, “She’s cute.”

Luka looked at her with a teasing smile.

“Oh, but weren’t you against it?”

“I still am,” Sua said with as much dignity as she could muster. “But I’m not going to deny this is entertaining.”

Luka spun the model with the cursor, switching between facial expressions. He cycled through a series of options: freckles, moles, dimples, even a small eyebrow piercing that appeared and disappeared with a click. He tried everything with curiosity, more for fun than precision.

“Do you want her to have a piercing?” he murmured, activating a septum on the model’s nose.

Nah,” Till replied. “I like them, but not for her.”

Luka nodded and kept exploring until he pressed a random button… and a subtle fang appeared in the model’s smile, just barely peeking out.

“What was that?” Till asked, leaning closer.

A fang,” Luka replied with a chuckle.

“Are you going to remove it?”

“Why? It suits her.”

Sua narrowed her eyes.

“It gives her a sort of… mischievous vibe.”

“Keep it,” Till ordered. “I like it.”

“Then it stays,” Luka typed. “We’re almost done.”

The three of them stared at the screen for a moment longer.

Once they had defined the last features, Luka turned the screen towards them and began rendering the rest of the body. They adjusted proportions, discussed minor details like posture, hands, torso shape, or whether she should have any visible marks. They quickly agreed: they wanted something natural, realistic, without exaggerations.

Someone who felt… possible.

When everything was ready, Luka entered the final command.

Once the model finished loading, the girl—fully rendered now—slowly opened her eyes and blinked. Then, the view shifted, adjusting to a higher-plane perspective.

Illuminated by the soft glow of the monitor, she now appeared from the shoulders up. Dark hair falling to either side, the subtle red glow of her irises shimmering softly every time she turned her head. The fang peeked out when she smiled.

“I can’t get used to how naturally she reacts,” Till murmured, a mix of fascination and slight unease in his voice.

“It’s just a simulation,” Luka clarified, moving the mouse to zoom in and adjust the focus. “Basic appearance. The real work starts now.”

He opened a new window.

Code. Empty fields. Drop-down parameters. Options with names like “affective conditioning,” “emotional response model,” “relational dialogue structure,” and “empathetic limit configuration.”

“What’s all that?” Till asked, frowning.

“Personality,” Luka said, almost serious for the first time that night. “This is where we really create her.”

Sua leaned toward the screen, this time with a bit more attention.

“Can you program that from scratch?”

“Sort of. The system has base modules, like behavior packages you can adjust. I edit them, combine them, and then integrate them. It’s not perfect, but it can adapt. The important thing is for you to tell me what kind of person… you want.”

Till fell silent.

“It doesn’t have to be very specific,” Luka added, his voice a little lower. “Just something that… makes you feel good.”

“What if I don’t know what I want?” Till asked.

“Then let’s figure it out,” Sua said, shrugging. “After all, we don’t have anything better to do.”

“But don’t even think I’m just going to throw in stuff like ‘Nice personality,’ ‘Likes ice cream,’ and call it a day,” Luka clarified, typing again. “We’re going to have to fine-tune this.”

Till took a deep breath.

He could already see her there, on the screen.

The model rotated smoothly every few seconds, as if patiently waiting for someone to give her life… or something close to it.

“Well,” Luka said, crossing his arms. “This is the moment, Till. How would you like her to be? How would she act?”

“Hmm, I don’t want her to be super outgoing, but I don’t want her to be all quiet and mysterious either.”

“A middle ground?” Sua suggested.

“Yeah. I mean, someone who can talk to people but also knows when to stay quiet. Someone who doesn’t feel awkward if we’re silent…”

“Sociable, but calm. That gives me a medium adaptability range. Sounds good?” Luka said, adjusting some lines of code. “What else?”

“Happy, but not fake. And… with character, someone who won’t stay silent if something bothers her. Someone who knows what she wants and has her own opinions.”

“You’re asking for emotional balance in an android, that’s tough,” Luka murmured, still typing. “And sweet? Yes, no, moderate?”

“Why not?” Till shrugged.

Sua arched an eyebrow. “And tastes? Art? Music? Anything?”

“Let her have her own interests. I don’t care what they are, as long as she enjoys them. And… I don’t know, that she likes to talk about them.”

“Passionate without being intense. Got it,” Luka said, sounding more focused. “Patience level?”

“Moderate. No one who puts up with everything, but not someone who blows up over every little thing either.”

“How emotional do you want her to be?”

Till hesitated.

“I want her to… feel,” he finally said. “To connect with things, with people.”

“Sensitive?” Sua asked.

“Yes,” Till nodded, looking down a little. “Sensitive and empathetic. Someone who can sense what’s going on around her, who notices when something’s not right without needing everything spelled out, someone attentive.”

Luka wrote something more, without saying it out loud. Then he tilted the screen slightly towards himself.

“You’re doing well, huh,” Sua said, crossing her arms, watching with a touch of curiosity. “Sounds like a real person.”

“That’s the idea,” Luka replied, still typing.

“But you’re not describing her as if she were for you,” she said, glancing sideways at Till.

“No, it’s… general,” he answered.

The blond just raised an eyebrow.

“And with you?” Luka asked, not missing the chance.

“What?” Till blinked.

“You’ve described the person. Now tell me how you want her to be with you. How should she treat you?”

Till fell silent. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. He scratched his neck, then the back of it. Finally, he leaned back a bit.

Luka already had his fingers poised over the keyboard.

“I don’t know…” Till began. “I guess… that she sees me, that she really listens to me.”

“Uh-huh,” Luka noted, without making a sound.

“Make me feel important. Not out of pity, not because I’m weird. Just because, just because… she wants to.”

Sua listened in silence, her face no longer showing even a trace of mockery.

“And don’t embarrass me. Or make me look ridiculous in front of everyone. Don’t reject me like that. Not… again,” Till said, lowering his voice until it was almost a whisper.

Luka was about to say something, but then…

BZZZ

All three of them jumped.

Sua’s phone vibrated on the table.

Screen lit up: Unknown number.

Till swallowed hard.

“It must be Mizi,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Sua looked at him, her eyes as wide as his.

“What do I do?” she asked.

“Answer it!” Till jumped. “Just pick up already!”

“What if it’s not her?”

“Then you’ll find out when you answer!”

Sua took a deep breath. She grabbed the phone and stood up immediately, walking out of the room with tense steps.

Till stared down the hallway for a moment, thoughtful, then lowered his gaze.

“I’m going to call my mom,” he said, taking his phone out of his pocket.

His friend tilted his head slightly toward him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just don’t want her to worry, I’ll be back in a bit.”

In response, Luka raised a hand, giving him the go-ahead.

Till left the room.

And Luka was left alone.

In front of the screen, the programming file remained open. Lines of code flickered, waiting. The options to customize the behavior were still unchecked.

“Well, Till…” the blond murmured, as if Till were still there. “I guess I’ll give you a hand with what you didn’t know how to ask for.”

He leaned over the keyboard.

He opened the emotional interface. He set ranges of empathy, fine-tuned responses to pain, joy, frustration. It wasn’t complicated. It just required time… and a bit of intention.

In another panel, he adjusted response times so she would never interrupt him and activated parameters for body language: gentle gestures, attentive gazes, genuine smiles. Not everything could be simulated, but it could be programmed to at least try.

The screen filled with floating windows, some options he selected without much thought; others he adjusted with more care. Not everything was in the personality file Till had dictated, but Luka knew enough to fill in the blanks.

At some point, his cursor drifted toward a section they hadn’t touched. Non-essential, really. He made one or two adjustments, nothing that would affect the general functionality. Just… extras. Details no one would notice, but that made sense to him.

He returned to the main panel. He reviewed parameters, fine-tuned gestures, adjusted reaction times.

When everything was in order, he compiled.

He passed through the emotional connection subfolder for one last check.

Without realizing it, everything was already checked.

The interface displayed: “Configuration complete. Protocol activation in progress.”

“Done,” Luka whispered.

Just then, he heard footsteps.

Sua and Till walked back into the room. The dark-haired girl wore an expression impossible to hide: flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes, and that poorly concealed smile she could barely contain.

“Well?” Luka asked, already suspecting.

“Mizi… invited me to the movies,” Sua blurted out, her voice tense, almost trembling with bottled-up excitement.

Till looked at her for a second before smiling, genuine. “Really? That’s great.”

“Congrats,” Luka added, turning the screen toward them. “And just in time. She’s ready.”

“Have you activated it yet?” Till asked, approaching cautiously.

“The system is already running,” Luka confirmed. “Everything’s in motion. Just one thing left.”

“What?”

Luka typed one last line. On the screen appeared the model, fully assembled. From the shoulders up, blinking slightly. Vibrant red eyes, calm face.

“We have to give her a name.”

Barely had he said it when the laptop emitted a strange beep. Then another.

The image on the screen froze, flickered… and then started moving on its own.

“What the hell…?” Luka murmured, watching the cursor move without anyone touching it.

“Is she… alive?” Till asked, stepping back.

Sua leaned forward, trying to focus better.

The girl on the screen looked at them. Blinked and tilted her head.

And she spoke:

“Hello?”

A sharp screech came from the system, the interface locked up, and the graphics began to glitch.

“Don’t touch anything!” Luka shouted. “DON’T TOUCH IT!”

The screen trembled, and a deep buzzing echoed through the room like a metallic reverberation. All three stepped back at once.

“What did you do, Luka?!” Sua cried, covering her face.

“Nothing! I didn’t even activate voice input!”

The image distorted. The background became a digital burst, like a crack opening in the interface.

And then, without warning...

The screen went completely black.

_________________________________________________________________________

The night at the research center was usually quiet.

Io had forced herself to take a break. Not on her own initiative, of course, but because her son had asked during a call: “Mom, take a breather, I’m fine.” And he was. It showed in his voice. He sounded relaxed, happy. That was enough for her to release some of the tension—at least a little.

With coffee in her hands, she sank into the chair in front of one of the monitors, where data kept updating unhurriedly. She had spent over twelve hours without moving from there, without taking her eyes off numbers, graphs, and code.

Her eyelids felt heavy. She thought she could allow herself ten minutes without looking at anything.

She didn’t last even five.

A tremor ran through the floor—mild, but enough for the coffee to spill on her pants. Io frowned, straightened up, and then the alarms began.

They weren’t fire alarms. Internal ones.

The ones that should never sound.

“What…?”

She jumped to her feet.

Red lights began flashing above the doors in the hallway. An automated voice came on through the speakers, monotonous and insistent:

“Unregistered unit in motion. Unknown code. Unknown code.”

“What’s happening?!” she exclaimed, already running on the wet slippery floor.

Technicians, security staff, scientists. People started leaving their offices, all equally confused, some already panicking.

“Did you see that?!” shouted one guard, pointing down the hall. “A flash! It ran through hallway three!”

“What flash?” Io asked, her voice trembling noticeably. “What exactly did you see?”

“I don’t know! It was so fast it didn’t even get recorded on the cameras!”

Without wasting more time, Io ran.

She ran as fast as she could, dodging shouts, hurried footsteps, chaos, until reaching the security gate that led to her main lab.

Without waiting for system validation, she forced manual access.

When she entered, the air seemed to leave her chest.

The containment capsule for Experimental Humanoid Unit Project 09 was empty.

It couldn’t be.

She approached with clumsy steps.

The gate had been forced open. The system was completely offline.

The monitor showed a final line of code that wasn’t hers:

“Remote activation accepted. Parameters loaded: Phase 1 completed.”

Io didn’t breathe.

“No… It can’t be…”

Too late. Her project was no longer there.

And now… it was loose.

Chapter Text

The conference room had no windows.

It was early morning, and although exhaustion showed on everyone’s faces, the voices remained firm, measured, and left no room for doubt.

On the main table—long and made of black steel—fragmented data was being projected: incomplete logs, truncated codes, routes leading nowhere. A dozen officers, technicians, and engineers occupied their seats with divided attention; some debated in low voices, others scanned screens with fixed gazes, as if hoping a coherent answer would finally emerge from the chaos.

Io sat at one end of the room, separated from the group.

She didn’t speak. Her eyes were locked onto the personal console in front of her, where an endless stream of data scrolled without pause. The bluish light from the monitor outlined her cheekbones and emphasized the exhaustion on her face, but her fingers continued to move with precise, urgent speed.

Nothing in her body language suggested panic, but the tension coursing through her was evident. There was something in that system she couldn’t quite grasp, and every second without answers made it harder to maintain focus.

“Replay the lab sequence,” ordered one of the officers.

The projected image displayed an overhead shot of the containment area. The laboratory was silent; two technicians were checking their stations.

Still connected to the central system, the unit remained neutral —no final structure assigned. It was in complete rest. An incomplete prototype, with no scheduled activity.

For a few seconds, nothing happened.

Then, the image shook. A white flash crossed the frame in a fraction of a second, so fast the camera barely captured a distortion before shutting down completely.

There had been no sign of movement, no transition. The figure simply… vanished.

“No camera captured it directly,” said one of the engineers, frowning. “All we have is that unrecognizable trace. Nothing complete.”

The next recording showed an interior hallway. The doors had been forced outward. The metal panels were dented with violent impact. The reinforced glass had shattered into glittering fragments across the floor.

A guard walked through the scene with a flashlight in hand, breathing heavily, his steps unsteady. Just as the light stabilized, a new white line crossed in front of the camera—formless, pure motion. Impossible to follow with the naked eye. The only certainty: something had been there.

And now it wasn’t.

“We also have external recordings,” another agent reported. “Security cameras, maintenance crew footage, and a few civilian witnesses.”

The projection switched to a series of clips recorded at various points around the city.

They were chaotic images: shaky mobile phone shots, poorly focused frames, angles distorted by panic. Yet all shared common details. Shattered streetlights, papers and leaves thrown into the air by sudden gusts of wind. Car alarms blaring without clear cause. And in each of them, the same fleeting presence: a white line streaking through the image at a speed no device had managed to capture clearly.

In one of the clearer recordings, a shout could be heard:

“IT'S HAPPENING! IT’S REALLY HAPPENING—ALIENS!!”

Chaos echoed in the background: rushed footsteps and people screaming. The camera trembled, trying to follow something moving far too fast. For a second, the lens managed to catch a figure. Tall. Human. But distorted by motion. Too precise to be entirely real.

The video cut off there.

In the room, the atmosphere grew even more tense.

Uneasy, the technician in charge of the footage spoke up:

“The situation was contained. Witnesses were told it was a power failure and a rogue experimental drone. No one has reported anything beyond that version.”

He paused briefly before continuing.

“As for the descriptions… They all said the same thing. A figure with no visible features. No clear gender. But… definitely human—at least in appearance.”

Some exchanged glances, others lowered their eyes to tablets and logs. No one said a word.

Neither did Io. She hadn’t moved all that time, but now her gaze was fixed on a specific point in the system.

She had found something.

Amid the execution logs, a file floated:

ideal_partner.temp

It wasn’t part of the main system, nor was it linked to any internal protocols—no access signature, no authorizations. It hadn’t come from any lab terminal.

Barely a draft: poorly organized fields, fragments of text with personal preferences, arbitrarily selected traits, and emotionally coded variables without structure. There was no way for it to activate anything on its own. No commands, no technical instructions.

And yet, it had been enough.

The unit had responded—not to direct orders, but to something far harder to trace.

Recognition.

She reviewed every line, tried to track its origin.

There was no user ID, no edit logs, no clear signal of who had placed it there. Just the file, untouched, as if it had always been there.

Or as if whoever uploaded it knew exactly how to cover their tracks.

She frowned.

The file wasn’t a direct threat, but it wasn’t innocent either.

“Doctor?” asked one of the officers. “Is there anything we should report?”

“This wasn’t an escape,” Io replied, without raising her voice. “It was an activation. It didn’t come from us.”

“So it was sabotage?”

“No, not sabotage. But whoever did it… knew exactly what they were activating.”

No one dared to comment.

“Should we notify Central Department?” asked another, more firmly this time.

“And send in the military already?” someone else interjected. “We still don’t know what it’s doing.”

“Enough to tear through steel layers and vanish without a trace,” someone added from the back.

The murmur grew for a few seconds. The tension thickened.

Io closed the file. She was no longer looking for explanations—only damage control.

“If we call them now,” she said, “they’ll eliminate it. They won’t understand.”

“And if it’s a threat?”

“Then we’re already too late.”

At that moment, a new projection appeared over the table. It was a city map, grid-based. A white silhouette moved along the streets of a residential area, not disturbing its surroundings, advancing at a steady pace.

Every now and then, another jump: the same flash. The same line.

“Is it running?” someone asked.

“No,” Io answered. “It’s searching for something. We just don’t know what yet.”

The commanding officer leaned slightly further over the table, watching the projection in silence before speaking with finality:

“We’ll track its movement. But for now, no contact with Central. Not yet.”

One by one, the others began to leave the room. Some exchanged quiet hypotheses. Others left reviewing tablets and portable screens, hunting for more data.

Io was the last to remain.

On her console, a single line remained active, blinking in blue with intermittent precision:

Contextual integration: 89%.

And rising.

_________________________________________________________________________

They climbed into the car like defeated soldiers—without medals, and no sad anthem playing in the background.

It was early. The sun was just beginning to cast silhouettes across the asphalt, and none of them had managed to sleep decently. Luka dropped into the back seat, clutching the laptop to his chest like it was a black box: irrefutable proof that the previous night hadn’t just been a shared crisis, but a documented tragedy. His face was puffy, eyes red, and hair a complete mess.

Till got in silently, put on his headphones with no music, and leaned his forehead against the window, resigned. Before starting the car, Sua rummaged through her backpack with the same energy as a single mom working three jobs.

“If you check that phone one more time, I swear I’ll pull over and you can walk,” she muttered without even looking at him.

The phone vanished instantly into the grey-haired boy’s pocket. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It wasn’t just exhaustion. The knot in his stomach, dragging along since the night before, had only grown—until it tore away his appetite and any sense of time.

It had all started with that damn black screen.

And then… chaos.

The blond had been the first to snap, and he did it with an intensity that made it very clear: his relationship with that machine was far more emotional than practical. He wrestled with the power button, unplugged cables, replugged them, and whispered pleas to the processor’s fan as if he could convince it to come back to life. A kind of desperate CPR.

“Come on, don’t do this to me, not today, please… you and I have been through things,” he whispered, trembling fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Till tried to help—handing him tools he didn’t understand, looking up random tutorials, and repeating, in a voice that convinced no one, that everything was going to be fine.

But when the laptop didn’t respond to anything, Luka actually started crying—for real, sweat mixing with tears as he kept repeating failed commands—...

That’s when Till disconnected.

He sat down on the floor, motionless, phone in hand and legs cold as if all the blood had been drained from them. He stared into space, but his thoughts were racing—disordered, anxious. He checked his phone.

Notifications: Zero.
Missed calls: None.
Email: Untouched.
His mother’s number: No activity.

That complete lack of signals didn’t calm him down. Quite the opposite.

His heart was beating with clumsy discomfort, like something had ignited inside him—something loud, something burning—and he had no idea how to shut it off. He imagined his mother finding out everything: a national scandal, traces, protocols, and government agents storming his house before dawn.

He imagined their names in headlines.

GROUP OF TEENS INVOLVED IN STATE TECHNOLOGY

“WE JUST WANTED TO MAKE A GIRLFRIEND,” THEY DECLARE THROUGH TEARS

But… nothing happened.

Nothing seemed to be happening.

Nothing.

NOTHING.

Only the anxious wait for a punishment that never came, and the unbearable echo of silence.

UNBEARABLE SILENCE.

“I’m dead,” Till whispered.

“My baby’s dead,” Luka sobbed at the same time, clutching the laptop with his soul.

Sua —unlike the other two— tried to stay strong.

At first, she said nothing, though she’d been just as awake. Since the screen changed, it was as if denial took hold—pretending it was nothing, just an overheating machine, some random bug.

But it wasn’t.

She’d seen it too… and not just as a witness.

Part of that madness had involved her.

Still, she forced herself to act normal: made coffee, opened a window, offered cookies no one touched. She stayed more serious than usual, her eyes locked on the monitor, waiting for something—anything—to light up again.

At three-thirty in the morning, while one of them was still crying and the other looked about to puke, she stood up with her patience officially gone, crossed the room, and slapped each of them across the face.

Quick. Dry. Perfectly measured.

Silence, at last.

An hour and a half later, the laptop came back to life. No one knew how. Not even Luka.

He’d left it unplugged, untouched, like giving it space was part of the process. And when he finally pressed the power button, the system answered with a low, almost reluctant beep.

Everything was intact.

The folders. The access points. The desktop just as he’d left it.

“It worked!” Luka shouted, arms raised, wearing a deranged smile. “SHE’S ALIVE! I DID IT!”

Till let out a sigh so deep he thought he might deflate entirely. He stopped hyperventilating and dropped onto the couch beside his friend.

Sua collapsed face-down onto the rug.

“I hate you both…” she mumbled, voice muffled into the carpet.

And she closed her eyes for thirty glorious minutes.

They never got an answer about what had happened with the supposed android.

No errors appeared, no warnings, not a single new log.

And though the Ideal Partner file was still visible in its place, it could no longer be opened.

Inaccessible.

They decided not to talk about it anymore. But the suspicion remained, floating between them like a fourth presence that refused to be ignored.

Whether it had worked, they couldn’t be sure.
Whether someone had tracked them—also uncertain.
Maybe they’d just broken a federal law without knowing.

All they really knew was that they were still alive.

And that, with luck, a “girl” wasn’t going to show up at the door asking for Till.

Exhausted, hollow-eyed, and mentally flatlined, they headed to school like the sleepover had never happened.

But it happened.

And they knew it all too well.

As soon as they parked, they got out of the car without saying a word. Their backpacks dragged behind them with the kind of resignation that doesn’t come from physical exhaustion, but from a collective scare and zero will to face the world.

Till already had his headphones on. He didn’t look for any specific song—just swiped until something started playing. He just needed noise, something to hold him together, to drown out the possibility of thinking. He wasn’t up for anything. No questions, no looks, no comments pushing him toward that edge he already knew by heart.

If he had to spend the entire day with his headphones on and earn another detention for it, so be it.

Frankly, he didn’t care.

Right in front of the main entrance, directly in their inevitable path: there was Acorn and his crew. Not many of them, but enough to block the way without doing it outright. They chatted among themselves, scattered, with the posture of people pretending to be busy while watching for their target to arrive.

They were waiting. And when they saw them, the intention became crystal clear.

Acorn was the first to react.

A faint smile crept onto Acorn’s face. That small, malicious smirk that—coming from him—meant exactly what you feared. Hands in his pockets, head tilted with fake innocence, and that annoying spark in his eyes that spelled trouble before he even spoke a word.

The trio, without needing to discuss it, tried to keep walking. Sua let out a tense exhale, the kind you take when bracing for the inevitable. Luka dropped his gaze.

And Till… Till didn’t even bother to hide his annoyance. And that was just minutes after arriving.

They tried to walk past like nothing was happening, ignoring all the eyes tracking them. As if they didn’t know exactly what was coming.

But of course, it was useless.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the guy of the hour,” Acorn said the moment Till was close enough to hear him. “Aren’t you embarrassed showing your face like this after what happened?”

No answer.

Till kept his eyes forward, headphones in, expression shut tight. Hoping the music could erase him from existence.

“Then again,” Acorn went on, louder now, “you must be used to it by now, huh? Getting humiliated. Rough.”

Some laughter began to surface. Not much. Quiet, almost uncertain. Like no one was really sure if it was funny, cruel… or both at once.

But one laugh was enough to multiply the rest. Till clenched his jaw. Something tightened under his sternum, hard and cold, like shame had wedged itself between his ribs. But he didn’t falter.

Acorn switched targets.

“And you?” he said, nodding toward Luka. “You gonna carry that thing around all day, or are you two officially dating now?”

Eyes shifted to the laptop, the blond was still clutching to his chest.

“I thought you were weird before, but this is a whole new level. Did you name it yet, or are you still working on that?”

Luka dropped his gaze further, brow furrowed, arms hugging the device even tighter. He didn’t need to defend himself—surviving the night had been punishment enough.

And then Acorn’s smile changed as he looked at Sua.

It wasn’t mockery now—at least not entirely. There was something softer about the way he looked at her, an intention dressed up as flattery, trying to mask the venom with a layer of cheap charm.

“And you, Sua…”

“Ah shit, here we go again,” Luka muttered through clenched teeth.

But Acorn didn’t hear him. Or chose not to.

“Someone as pretty as you… still wasting your time with these two? You must be racking up some serious karma points, huh?”

She looked at him for a second, barely. A short, neutral glance, like someone staring at a stain on the wall. Then she turned her head and kept walking. Neither faster nor slower. The same calm pace as always.

But Till and Luka knew her. They noticed the slight tension in her shoulders, the barely-there way she pressed her lips together. Tiny details anyone else might’ve missed—but for them, it was clear.

Sua didn’t react easily. But that didn’t mean she didn’t feel anything.

“Aw, come on, don’t do me like that,” Acorn faked, his voice lower now, almost melodramatic. “That hurts, Sua… you know? I’m not made of stone.”

A strange pause slipped into the noise, too heavy to be casual.

They tried to keep moving, but the crowd wouldn’t budge.

It wasn’t a direct block—but it was enough to be felt. Shoulders that didn’t shift, backs that didn’t step aside, backpacks swinging intentionally, footsteps that stopped right in front of them. All covered by the constant buzz of murmurs, small laughs that never quite burst, and phones raised shamelessly—recording it like a planned scene.

It felt like the path to the door had a toll.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” Acorn said, raising his voice with deliberate timing, aiming straight at Sua and cutting the other two out of frame. “Seriously, Sua. If you ever stop doing charity work, let me know. I won’t be single forever.”

The line dropped with such disgusting ease that it was more than enough to shatter Luka’s patience.

He lifted his head with a tense, barely-contained glare.

“Leave her alone.”

Acorn laughed, not even bothering to fully turn around. He just threw him a look over the shoulder—polished condescension and nothing else.

“Look who’s talking,” Acorn shot back with a half-smile. “Don’t you have a girlfriend to carry around or something?”

The effect was immediate—noise erupted like a wave. Laughter spread fast, people shoving each other, entertained, like they were watching a scene from a dark comedy written just for them. More students gathered, eyes piling up.

And in the middle of it all, Till’s whole body short-circuited.

The heat started at his neck, crawled up his ears, and settled behind his eyes. His hands were trembling, though he didn’t notice. It wasn’t just rage anymore. It was dragged-out exhaustion, layered tension, shame, frustration—and a sharp, suffocating helplessness that lodged itself in his gut like a stone.

Even the music wasn’t shielding him anymore. His dignity clung to the last scraps of composure with what little strength it had left.

Everything boiled up in his chest—

And burst.

“SHUT UP!”

The word sliced through the air. It wasn’t a wild scream, but a dry detonation—so sharp and sudden that the atmosphere itself seemed to contract. Even those who hadn’t been paying attention lifted their heads.

Acorn blinked. For a moment, the smile faltered. But he recovered almost instantly.

He opened his mouth wider and spat the next line with the confidence of someone who thinks they always get the last word.

“What now, Till? Gonna cry again? Or are you here to tell us someone finally loves you?”

No need to shout. He aimed straight for the weak spot.

And it hit.

Till stood frozen, chest heaving unevenly, air no longer enough to sustain him. Something inside cracked silently—something that had been held together for too long with tape and willpower.

And finally, it gave out.

He was done. Not just with this moment, not just with Acorn.

With everything.

Because the part of him that had been holding on for ages—the one picking up pieces and pretending things were fine—That part couldn’t take it anymore. 

It just gave up.

And just as Acorn inhaled to deliver the final blow—

Just when everyone was bracing for another jab—

A sound stole the spotlight.

An engine. Deep. Refined. A restrained roar that didn’t beg for attention— but claimed it anyway.

At first, it was a low vibration, almost underground, rolling beneath the pavement before it filled the air. Several heads turned instantly, pure reflex. Conversations flickered out like candles. Some blinked in confusion, sensing something out of place without yet knowing why.

And then everyone saw it.

A Porsche rolled in from the corner of the parking lot, gliding with a grace that bordered on arrogance. Its body gleamed with precision, every curve outlined perfectly, the surface reflecting its surroundings like liquid chrome. Every design line looked hand-drawn.

No acceleration. No haste. Only that quiet, unwavering motion.

Sporty, sleek, without overdoing it. The headlights off, the black paint polished so finely it mirrored the sky like freshly poured water.

It stopped in front of the main entrance.

Not in a designated spot. Not in the student parking. Dead center. As if no one else had a right to that space.

The phones that had been trained on Till and Acorn shifted all at once, drawn to something far more compelling.

One guy whistled under his breath. Another muttered a low “What the hell…?” almost too soft to hear. Noise dimmed by instinct.

The teasing died out without warning.

A group of girls fell completely silent. Those farther back nudged closer—just a few steps, enough to get a better view. A few guys craned their necks over their shoulders. Farther off, a couple of teachers stepped out of the building, brows furrowed with that mix of surprise and suspicion reserved for things truly out of the ordinary.

No one recognized the car.

Not a parent’s. Not registered to any staff.

And yet, parked there like it had every right to be.

The driver’s door opened with a calm so deliberate it didn’t feel rehearsed—more like it was simply how he existed .

Even the air seemed to move aside, careful not to interrupt.

There was only a soft click, subtle, almost polite.

The first thing visible was a hand—fair-skinned, long-fingered, clean. Every motion was precise, effortless. No rings. No watch. No decoration at all. Just a flawless ease, as if even opening a door couldn’t possibly go wrong for him.

A leg followed.

Dark gray slacks draped perfectly over polished black shoes—unscuffed, pristine. Not a single crease, no visible weight. The fabric looked tailored to fall in just that exact way, with the silent cruelty that only perfection can command.

He emerged fully a moment later.

A white T-shirt, fitted just enough to suggest shape without flaunting it. Over it, a black jacket, clean-cut and buttoned only at the top, letting the fabric skim along his frame without stiffness. Nothing loud. Nothing excessive. But every piece carried that unmistakable quality—too refined, too precise, too expensive for anyone else in the area to pull off without question.

He shut the door with a single motion, without looking.

Then straightened.

Straight black hair fell across his forehead in precise strands. Whether meticulously styled or the result of unfair genetics was hard to say. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes, wide enough to erase any hint of expression.

And there he stood. Still. Unmoving beyond what was necessary. One hand rested in his jacket pocket; the other held a leather backpack that seemed weightless.

He offered no wave.

Made no effort to return a glance.

If he noticed the attention wrapped around him, he gave no hint.

But eyes followed him all the same.

There was no need for action. What held everyone’s attention was simply how he existed—the rhythm of his breathing, the calculated stillness in his shoulders, the way he occupied space like it had always belonged to him.

He didn’t demand attention.

It was already his. All of it.

As if the ground under his feet had belonged to him long before he arrived.

A girl let out a stifled laugh. Another looked down and bit her lip, unable to process what she’d just witnessed. Somewhere in the back, someone whispered, “Who is that?” —not really expecting an answer.

And the boy himself?

Untouched by the weight of their stares. Unaware—or perhaps unconcerned—about the domino effect he’d just triggered.

The silence no longer felt awkward. It felt like suspense . The crowd that had been blocking the hallway minutes ago seemed to forget what it had been doing. Acorn was no exception. His mouth still hung slightly open, jaw tight, shoulders subtly stiff. He looked like he was torn between mocking, challenging, or simply backing off. And for the first time—he chose none.

He was speechless.

A few steps back, the trio didn’t move either. It was as if the newcomer had activated some invisible magnetic field, rooting them in place. Nobody knew him. No one had seen him before. But there was something—In the way he stood, like he knew exactly where he’d landed—Something disorienting enough to silence everyone.

Luka frowned, puzzled, like he was waiting for someone to explain what part of the script he’d missed. Sua watched him without breaking composure, but her eyes were wide—more alert than usual. And Till… Till simply stared.

His headphones were still on, though the music was long gone. He couldn’t remember when he’d paused it. Or when he’d gone so still. All he knew was that something had sparked. Something between surprise, a strange instinct—And a curiosity he couldn’t explain.

As if that stranger carried something on his skin—something unfamiliar, unsettling, magnetic . And for some absurd reason, Till couldn’t look away.

Luka was the first to speak.

“It’s now or never,” he muttered.

And he wasn’t wrong.

The tension had thinned—just enough. Every eye was now fixed on the Porsche and its driver, and for the first time since they’d arrived, the school entrance actually seemed within reach.

It wasn’t a perfect escape, but it was the best they were going to get.

They started moving, a wordless synchronization guiding their steps. Slipping through the distracted crowd, they moved like people crossing a minefield—carefully, deliberately, measuring each step, making sure not to draw any more attention than the heat still burning into their backs.

But then, stopped.

Not them .

Him.

The stranger.

That boy no one knew—the one who had just thrown half the school off-balance without saying a word—turned his head and looked at them.

His eyes swept over the group… then stopped.

On Till.

It lasted barely a second. A fraction of time where his dark lenses aligned perfectly in Till’s direction and, for some reason beyond logic, the rest of the world seemed to blur.

There was no clear emotion in it. Just focused attention. Direct.

And Till felt it before he understood it.

The guy began to walk.

His pace was steady—not rushed, not slow. But what unsettled people wasn’t that he was approaching.

It was how .

With each step, he greeted those around him—a nod here, a faint smile there, a quiet “Hey,” barely above a whisper. It all felt effortless, like he belonged, like he’d always been part of this place… even though no one had seen him before. And people responded. Automatically. Some greeted him back without thinking. A girl froze mid-step. Another smiled like they were old friends. Even a teacher returned the gesture with a vague nod, unsure why.

Then, right in the middle of the hallway—while the social current parted around him like the Red Sea—he raised a hand.

And tossed his keys.

Literally.

They flew through the air and landed in the hands of a first-year kid who hadn’t even finished opening his bag of chips.

Chips hit the ground.

The keys bounced once, and the kid just barely managed to catch them, eyes wide as if he’d been handed a prophecy instead of a car.

“…Huh?” he muttered, stunned, holding the keys with both hands like they might explode.
He didn’t move. He didn’t ask. He just stood there, frozen.

No one looked back at him.

Because the figure who had crossed half the courtyard without uttering a word or breaking a rule—Was already too close.

The tension didn’t disappear. It just shifted. A new epicenter had formed.

Till kept staring. Not frozen, exactly—just… unresponsive. Like his brain had run out of instructions and was now waiting for a reboot. A strange tingling crawled up his spine, the kind that shows up when someone forgets to write a manual for “What to do when a guy who looks like he’s here to destroy your life walks straight at you for absolutely no goddamn reason.”

He wasn’t blinking. He wasn’t thinking. Just… glitching. And with every step the other boy took, his brain seemed more ready to abandon ship. “You know what?” it seemed to mutter. “ This is no longer my problem. You deal with it.”

By the time the stranger was halfway across the courtyard, the atmosphere had shifted again—this time charged with a restless, awkward electricity.

The girls reacted first.

Side glances. Suppressed giggles. Playful nudges exchanged like they’d been rehearsed. One raised a hopeful hand in a wave. Another smoothed her hair with surgical precision, as if she'd trained for this moment her entire life.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t give them a single scrap of attention.

That absence of interest hit harder than any direct rejection. Their smiles faltered midair, whispers collapsing in their throats like deflated balloons.

All that remained was to watch—and sigh.

He wasn’t avoiding them. They simply didn’t exist to him.

He kept walking with that same quiet, measured calm. Until he stopped—

Right in front of them. In front of Till.

Only then did he pause.

No words. Just a look—sharp, unwavering. A silence that stretched not out of awkwardness, but intent. As if he were waiting for something.

As if he already knew.

With a smooth, almost distracted motion, he took off his sunglasses.

What lay beneath was anything but normal.

His eyes were black—deep, endless—and right at the center, a precise red glow pulsed softly, steady and unnatural.

Not a reflection.

Not a trick of the light.

It was real.

Then he smiled. Just a flicker at the corner of his mouth, subtle enough to seem casual—yet it revealed something unmistakable:

A fang. 

Till didn’t move. Couldn’t. His mind scrambled to decide whether this was a dream, a hallucination, or a full-blown psychotic break playing out between first and second period.

Too much. IT WAS TOO MUCH.

Fingers clutched the strap of his backpack, knuckles white, jaw trembling in an involuntary tic he couldn’t suppress. His heart wasn’t beating anymore—it was pounding. Overloaded. Overheated. And shit, he couldn’t look away.

His eyes dropped, scanning the boy from head to toe in a desperate attempt to find a crack, a flaw, something to break the spiral he was falling into.

But no. There were no cracks. Everything was there.

–Tall.
–Light skin.
–Black hair.
–Athletic build.
–Those eyes.
–And that damn fang.

EVERY. SINGLE. DETAIL.

It matched.

It was… him .

OH GOD

IT WAS HIM!

The grey haired felt something in his brain finally give out— One part still trying to rationalize, another already preparing to scream, run, SOMETHING . But before he could act, the boy raised a hand—And smiled. Warmer this time.

Then, he spoke:

“Hi, Till.”

Till staggered, feeling like his soul had just left his body.

HE KNOWS HIS NAME?!

“I’m Ivan,” the boy added, still smiling. “Nice to finally talk to you.”

Finally. Finally.

None of this made sense.

He wasn’t thinking. Functioning.

THE ROBOT. IT WAS REAL.

But… could it…?

Beside him, Luka—just as shaken—lifted a hand to his forehead, eyes wide with disbelief.

“I-I swear I coded for a girl… Till, you asked for a girl. Right?”

He didn’t say it like a question. It came out more like a fractured affirmation, a last-ditch effort to make the universe backtrack, as if saying it out loud could somehow undo whatever it was they were seeing.

It wasn’t a confession—it was guilt, panic made verbal. And no one heard him. 

No one except Till.

But Till didn’t answer. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He just stood there, motionless, like someone praying without realizing it. 

The... “boy”—Ivan—was still standing in front of him, with that same calm presence that didn’t feel forced, with that quiet smile that wasn’t seeking approval. And somehow, that worked. It didn’t exactly soothe him, but it grounded him just enough to stay upright. His heart was still pounding, but it no longer hurt. The fear hadn’t vanished; it had simply shifted into something else.

Ivan didn’t look like a system error. He didn’t look like a monster, either. And that made him easier to face. Not by much, but enough for Till to lower his guard—just barely, a few delicate centimeters.

Of course, it lasted no more than a breath. Because, inevitably, someone had to ruin it.

“Oh, please,” Acorn’s voice sliced through the air like a dirty rag thrown straight at someone’s face. “Really, Till? Did you hire a model to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

Heads turned instantly. Like someone had activated the automatic gossip switch, it only took one sentence.

“Well… it kind of makes sense.”

“No way someone like that would even look at Till.”

“It’s probably staged. Like those fake viral videos.”

Laughter burst out in waves. Some dry, some genuinely cruel. But all shared the same conclusion: It couldn’t be real.

It was… impossible.

Till’s fingers clenched around the strap of his backpack again. It wasn’t out of anger or self-defense.

It was a reflex.

Because what they were saying… made sense.

He thought so too. Someone like that, talking to someone like me?

Please.

It was absurd. A joke. The kind of thought you don’t say out loud because it already hurts enough to think it.

He lowered his head, waiting for the next comment to shove him completely off the edge. He didn’t even tense up. What was the point? For the first time, Till had no comeback. Because a part of him —a part he hated— agreed with Acorn.

Ivan spoke.

“No. I’m not his boyfriend,” he said.

And for a second, everything snapped back into place. A quiet exhale swept through the crowd; some even laughed in relief.

“See? Duh,” someone snorted.

“Obviously. They were just pretending.”

Acorn allowed himself to smile again, ready to land the final blow.

But Ivan didn’t move.

His voice came again, a bit softer. Almost like he was correcting a misunderstood fact.

“Not yet.”

The blow landed without warning.

Silence. Immediate.

Even Sua —who usually maintained the expression of a marble statue regardless of the situation— parted her lips slightly. Luka blinked so slowly it looked like his system had rebooted. Acorn froze mid-gesture, stuck in a glitchy frame of unrendered mockery.

Till couldn’t figure out what to do with his body.

The heat rose inside him like an internal hemorrhage. His ears burned. His chest ached from how tightly it had contracted.

Blush? Shame? Sudden self-implosion? Maybe all three.

He wasn’t sure.

All he knew was that that had just been said.

IN FRONT OF EVERYONE.

And the worst part —the truly devastating part— was that it didn’t sound like a joke.

It sounded like a promise.

Not yet.

A couple girls stood with their mouths slightly open. Someone let out a stunned “What?” that no one bothered to answer. Others just exchanged looks —confused, shocked, borderline hallucinating— trying to confirm they had actually heard what they thought they heard.

Ivan, meanwhile, calmly adjusted the strap of his bag. Like he hadn’t just destroyed half the school’s collective ego with a single word. Then, he spoke again, a bit louder this time:

“Also, I’m not a model.”

He paused. Just enough for someone to doubt if they’d heard correctly.

“I study here.”

And as if the universe had a screenwriter with perfect comedic timing, the bell rang.

A clean, precisely timed chime that sealed the moment like the end of an act.

“Shall we?” Ivan added, genuinely kind, making a casual gesture with his hand.

And that was all it took.

The crowd moved.

Not out of inertia. Not out of habit.

But because he said so.

Students began walking toward the building without really thinking about it. Even Acorn’s group —who usually needed a bell and a threat to detach themselves from drama— was forced to move along. He was being pushed from behind, elbowed and shoved by backpacks as he struggled like a kid whose remote had just been taken away.

“This isn’t over!!” he shouted, red to the tips of his ears. “Who the hell does he think he is?!”

But Ivan didn’t turn around, didn’t even bother to stop. He simply tilted his head slightly as he passed, and effortlessly offered a small smile.

“Have a nice day.”

And he kept walking… though not entirely. He stopped just one step ahead, as if something tugged him back.

He turned toward the trio.

First, to Luka.

“See you later, Luka,” he said with a familiarity Luka had no time to question.

Then to Sua, with a brief, elegant nod.

“Sua.”

And then his gaze landed on Till.

Something light, almost imperceptible, shifted in his expression. It wasn’t nervousness exactly, but something contained. It felt like —after everything he’d just said— what came next required a different kind of care. He held Till’s eyes for a few seconds more.

When he finally spoke, his tone was different: lower, more intimate. With that quiet sharpness that cuts without sound.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment… even if that sounds weird,” he murmured.

He said nothing more.

A few quiet steps took him toward the entrance, and just before crossing the threshold, he paused. He didn’t turn all the way—just tilted his head slightly, casting one final glance over his shoulder.

And then he raised his hand. The motion was discreet, almost shy. Just a simple wave of his fingers.

A small gesture. Just for him.

Then, without another word, he vanished into the crowd inside the building.

…

Till couldn’t move. He kept staring in that direction, as if the hallway could return some kind of answer.

The air didn’t feel normal anymore. It had changed. It was denser. More real.

Heavier with… suspense.

He turned his head slightly —just enough to look at his friends. He wasn’t the only one imploding.

Luka was still staring at the Porsche, frozen like a statue. As if waiting for Ivan to come back and tell them it was all a cruel prank. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t.

His mouth hung slightly open, brows raised, caught somewhere between horror and awe.

“It worked, Till. It fucking worked!” Luka’s voice cracked from disbelief. “How did he activate without finishing the protocol? The setup was brand new… Did he link on his own? But… why the hell is he a man? The base structure was female! We didn’t even give it a name!”

Sua, on the other hand, remained stiff. She stared straight ahead, arms crossed so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Her face —normally unreadable— was still struggling to process everything that had just happened.

Till swallowed hard, throat dry as paper. His heart wasn’t beating —it was blaring like an alarm in his chest.

“What do we do?” he managed to say. “What the hell do we do now?”

Luka barely tore his eyes from the car. Still in analysis mode, unblinking.

“How did he know you were here? Did he track you? And that car —did he steal it? How does an android legally get a Porsche? Is that part of the design? Did he generate his own identity?”

“Shut up,” Sua muttered, not even looking at him. “Just… shut up.”

They both fell silent immediately.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Inhaled. Exhaled.

When she spoke again, her voice no longer sounded shocked —just… frustrated.

“For now... we go to class.”

“Class?!” Till repeated, incredulous. “Are you fucking kidding me? Did you just see what I saw?!”

“Yes. And if anyone else saw it too, standing out here looking guilty isn’t going to help us,” Sua replied.

“She’s… got a point,” Luka muttered.

Till clenched his jaw.

“What if this is a test? What if they sent him to trap us? What if the Center or my mom already knows everything?”

“Then all the more reason to act normal,” Sua insisted, already starting to walk. “If we’re going to get arrested, I’d rather it be after class. Not for standing around like idiots in the middle of the courtyard.”

The silver-haired boy let out a dry sigh —a kind of laugh with no humor in it.

“We’re so screwed. HE SAID MY NAME! HE SAID OUR NAMES! AND HE FLIRTED WITH ME!”

Luka raised an eyebrow.

“…That’s kind of what we made him for, right?”

Silence crept in between them for a few more seconds. Sua turned her head slightly over her shoulder. No dramatic gesture. No theatrics. She just spoke with the kind of calm finality that felt like accepting a sentence.

“We’ll talk at lunch.”

And without waiting for a response, she walked off.

Till and Luka didn’t move right away. They just exchanged a silent look —one packed with panic, confusion, and a kind of shared resignation— and followed her.

Because… yeah.

There were a thousand questions. A hundred theories. And at least five solid reasons to scream and run for the border.

But first…

They had to survive one more period.

With a robot wandering around the school like it was nothing.

_________________________________________________________________________

When the lunch bell rang, it marked the beginning of the end: tranquility had fled without a glance back.

The cafeteria was unusable. Not just full— oversaturated. As if food were merely a prop and the real nourishment came from repeating alternate versions of what they’d just witnessed.

Yesterday’s drama —the thing with Mizi and Till— was already ancient history. The new headline, repeated like a mantra, was: “Did you see how hot the new guy is?”

Followed inevitably by the subtitle:

“They say he’s Till’s boyfriend.”

No. They weren’t dating.

But of course, who had time for details when the show was this juicy?

Every table was a different frequency of collective hysteria, each broadcasting its own loop of increasingly absurd versions of the morning episode: the car, the walk, the clothes, the greeting, the “Not yet,” and any other word twisted into premium gossip fuel.

In the pasta line, someone claimed the guy was a mafia heir. Another swore he was a celebrity in disguise filming an experimental reality show. One cheerleader swore, dead serious, that she’d seen him in a designer ad campaign.

Yeah. It was that stupid.

Conclusion: eating was impossible.

So they ran. As far as you can without requesting a school transfer.

They crossed the campus without looking back, trays in hand, and took refuge in the bleachers of the main sports field —like castaways washing ashore on an uninhabited island. At least there, the air wasn’t yet contaminated with theories, exaggerations, and sharp stares. For now.

None of the three had touched their food.

Sua kept pressing her lips together —now redder than before. Sometimes she sat eerily still; sometimes her legs shifted, as if the seat had suddenly turned uncomfortable.

Luka had been spinning his juice carton for minutes without even looking at it, hyper-focused on that one action like someone trying not to fall apart.

Till didn’t know when exactly he’d started staring at the ground, but there he was: chest tight, throat dry, mentally replaying every single thing Ivan had said.

More than thinking… he was reliving.

And every time he recalled that smile, something stirred painfully deep inside him.

The exhaustion they’d been dragging around since morning hadn’t faded —it had been replaced. Not by relief, but by saturation.

They were overstimulated. Overloaded. Running on instinct alone.

And facing one shared truth, unspoken but unmistakable:

They were way over their heads.

“So,” Till said at last, breaking the silence with a voice drier than his rice. “What the hell do we do now?”

“I tried accessing the file between classes,” Luka replied. “Every spare minute I had, I used to dig in. Tried all possible connections. And nothing. The system’s not just blocked. It’s wiped. Like it never existed.”

“Wiped how?” Sua asked, barely turning her head.

“Literally. No trace of the code, no design. Nothing. Not on the drive, not in the cloud, not even in the backups. It’s like the file ran… and then disintegrated. Like a suicide command.”

“Can it even do that?”

Luka glanced at her, looking for validation. The black-haired girl sighed, resting her elbows on her knees.

“If it had an auto-shutdown script… then yes. It could’ve destroyed itself to avoid leaving traces. It’s an advanced security protocol.”

“So we can’t modify it… or shut it down.”

“We can’t even figure out how it activated,” added Luka, and that, more than anything, seemed to hurt.

Silence settled over them again.

Voices drifted in from the courts, carried by the wind—distant, irrelevant, like the world hadn’t noticed something had just fractured nearby.

It was the kind of awkward calm that only shows up after everything important has already exploded, when no one knows how to start gathering the pieces.

“And there’s more,” Luka said, turning toward them with wide eyes. “I think I know why he’s a guy.”

They both looked at him.

“The interface had adaptive parameters. Maybe the system cross-referenced our suggestions with metadata from the laptop… or maybe it just autofilled the empty fields based on local patterns, trends, browsing history…”

“Are you telling me,” Till interrupted, “that we woke up a robot, left his signup form half-empty, and he still auto-assigned himself a gender, identity, and school enrollment?”

“I’d call it contextual intelligence. He adapted without direct guidance. It’s not a bug… it’s evolution.”

He adjusted his glasses like he needed help containing his enthusiasm.

“I admit it… it’s terrifying. But also fascinating. It’s beyond anything I imagined! He moved naturally. He spoke. Interacted. Recognized us. Understood social context. He’s fully integrated.”

Sua said nothing. Still lost in thought, her brow faintly furrowed. She was processing every word, every implication… but something didn’t quite click. Like there was a piece missing from the puzzle.

Till, on the other hand, crossed his arms.

“Perfect. So not only did we activate a super advanced robot and release him into the wild… he’s also hot.”

Sua raised an eyebrow.

“Obviously. It would’ve been too much to ask for him to be ugly, right?”

He looked at her, deeply betrayed.

Luka didn’t flinch. He just let out a long sigh and looked up at the sky, as if seeking divine guidance.

“So,” he murmured, “we all agree, right?”

No one had to answer.

They all knew.

It was him.

For a moment, silence returned.

This time, it was Sua who broke it, eyes still fixed on her untouched lunch tray.

“Have you heard from your mom?”

The silver-haired boy raised an eyebrow, feigning disbelief.

“Oh, so now I’m allowed to use my phone? How generous. This morning you nearly killed me with a look when I tried to check it.”

She shrugged, unapologetic.

“It was early.”

“Yeah, well, she asked if I had breakfast,” Till said, curling into himself a bit as he stared at his untouched food like it was evidence at a crime scene.

“Did you?”

“Mentally. I mean… that counts, right?”

Before any of them could continue their half-dead comedy routine, a shadow passed through their field of vision. Steady footsteps approached from behind. Till was the first to look up.

“You three hiding or just escaping the chaos?” asked a familiar voice, relaxed.

Hyuna.

She was wearing the girls’ soccer team uniform, the jacket half unzipped and a ball tucked under one arm like she’d just walked off the field. Her hair was tied up in a high ponytail, her face calm and casually amused in that effortless way of hers. She climbed a couple steps until she was level with them and gave them a serene, almost confident smile.

“Hey, Till,” she greeted with a chin nod and a half-smile. “So now you’re dating a K-drama lead? Didn’t know you had that kind of pull. Honestly… respect.”

Till just rolled his eyes with the kind of resignation that bordered on spiritual awakening, gripping his fork like he was considering using it as a weapon.

“You too, Hyuna?”

“What? I’m just repeating what’s going around.” She sat one row above them, a water bottle dangling from her fingers. “Though I have to admit, his entrance wasn’t something you see every day. All he needed was slow motion.”

“Wouldn’t be shocked if tomorrow he parachutes in with a marching band behind him,” Till muttered without looking up.

Hyuna laughed, light and clear, then turned to Sua.

“Hey, Sua. Did you turn in the calculus assignment? ’Cause the prof said no one passed the last exam, and if you missed this one… the rest of us are doomed.”

“I submitted it. Wasn’t that hard,” Sua replied without changing expression. “You just had to read the limits carefully.”

“Great,” Hyuna groaned, exhaling like that was the death knell. “I missed half the topic because of the match and tried to catch up later… with some guy on YouTube explaining it using Legos. Didn’t help.”

The blonde let out a small, awkward laugh, followed by a desperate attempt to look casual as he spun his juice straw.

He hadn’t said a single word since Hyuna showed up, but he couldn’t stop staring at her. Pretending to look elsewhere, but his pupils weren’t cooperating.

Hyuna rested her elbows on her knees and sighed.

“Anyway, I’m glad to see you all in one piece.” She paused, amused. “Well… more or less. Things are pretty wild today. I had to comfort Dewey in the locker room. He swore the new guy is gonna steal ‘his girls.’”

“Didn’t know Dewey was the competitive type,” Till said, raising a single eyebrow.

“He says it’s not jealousy… but you know how he is.” She smiled with a sigh. “Anyway.”

She paused.

“Speaking of your not-boyfriend… Do any of you know if he plays football?” she asked casually. “’Cause the team needs fresh muscle, and if that guy moves on the field like he does in the hallways, he could carry us through half the season.”

 Till blinked. Sua tilted her head, just a little. Luka sat up like a spring had gone off in his spine.

“You want to recruit him?” Till asked, unsure if his tone was worried, sarcastic, or just pure panic.

“I want to win,” Hyuna replied, as calm as ever. “I already have to train the knuckleheads on the team. I’m not gonna wait around for someone like him to join the chess club.”

Till was about to say something —probably something sarcastic and pointless— when Luka cut in.

“Yeah… he should join the team.”

Hyuna raised her eyebrows and turned to him with genuine curiosity for the first time.

“Really?”

Luka nodded way too fast, then corrected himself with a slower, more deliberate nod.

“I mean, he’s got the build, right? Good posture, balance, coordination. Clearly must have well-calibrated reflexes.”

“Well-calibrated reflexes?” Hyuna repeated with a half-smile.

Sua, who’d been quietly observing up to that point, let out a short exhale and stepped in:

“What Luka means,” she said casually, eyes forward, “is that it’s obvious he works out. Probably plays something. Basketball, maybe?”

She tried to sound indifferent, but Luka was already too far gone.

“We could… evaluate his skills. On the field, I mean. With some kind of integration exercise. Basic. Nothing invasive,” he added too quickly. “Just a field test.”

“You want to test him with a football ball?” Till asked, arms crossed.

“I want to test his system with advanced physical capabilities in a controlled, competitive environment,” Luka corrected, as if that somehow made it sound less insane.

Hyuna blinked, curious.

“Was that just a fancy way of saying you want to see him play?”

Luka shrugged, expression steady. His ears, however, were already bright red.

“U-Uh… yeah.”

Hyuna studied him a second longer, clearly amused. Then she turned back to Till.

“Think I can ask him? Or will it freak him out?”

“Freak him out?” Till repeated, as if that was the most ridiculous part of the whole conversation.

“I’m just saying, not everyone’s ready for the level of intensity we operate with,” Hyuna said with a broad shrug and smile.

Till sighed, looking down at his still-untouched food like it had already defeated him.

“Go ahead and ask,” he said at last. “Maybe he’ll be up for it.”

“Perfect.”

Hyuna stood with an agile motion. “Let’s see if he’s capable of more than strutting through the halls like a runway model.”

She gave them one last glance.

“Catch you later.”

She headed down the bleachers, gently tapping the ball with her foot as if the rhythm was in her veins.

The silence she left behind was different. Heavier. Like everyone had been holding their breath without realizing it.

Sua slowly turned to Luka, not saying anything at first. She just gave him that raised-eyebrow look that always doubled as a guilty verdict.

“You almost gave us away.”

“What? I only said general stuff,” the blond tried to defend himself. “Posture, coordination… stuff anyone could notice.”

“Well-calibrated reflexes,” Sua repeated, like she was reading a line from a tech manual in front of a jury.

“It wasn’t that bad!” Luka defended himself, twisting the straw in his juice with extra force. “Besides, she didn’t suspect a thing. Did she?”

“And the ‘field test’? That wasn’t that bad either?” Till snorted.

“Exactly!” Luka sat up straight. “Look, we already know he was designed with Till as the central point, right? The focus. His primary target. But if that’s already working… then I want to know what else he can do.”

Sua narrowed her eyes, still watching him.

“He’s not a game console. You don’t unlock new skills by leveling up.”

“No, but…” the glasses-wearing boy leaned forward slightly, more serious now. “We don’t have access to the file anymore. We can’t monitor him or shut him down. All we have is him —his body, his behavior.”

He lowered his voice.

“What if he’s not just an ‘ideal companion’? What if he can adapt, learn, go beyond the original design?”

Till looked at him like he’d just suggested cloning dinosaurs in the cafeteria.

“Oh sure, let’s go push the limits of an unverified android. What could possibly go wrong?”

“All I’m saying,” Luka repeated, slower this time, “is that if he’s already out… we should know what he’s capable of.”

Pause.

“And if we can use that to our advantage, why shouldn’t we?”

Sua simply let out a long sigh, the kind that sounded like it dragged her lungs with it. She sat up a little and ran a hand across her forehead, like she was trying to wipe the weight of the day away.

“Do whatever you want,” she muttered finally, her voice dull and blunt. “If you want to test him or play along, go for it. But this isn’t going to last. We’re going to find a way to send him back, or shut him down…”

She turned her gaze toward the horizon, lips pressed together again. The wind gently moved a few loose strands of her bangs, but she didn’t even blink. Deep in thought.

Till didn’t know what to say. So he did what he always did when he felt like he had no control over anything: change the subject.

“So… Luka,” he began, with that little smile that always spelled trouble. “Hyuna, huh?”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just noticed that when she spoke to you, you sat up so straight it looked like you had a brand new spine. Weird, right?”

Without even looking up, Sua chimed in calmly:

“And the red ears. Very subtle.”

“What?! My ears weren’t red! Why—?! Have you two even talked to her before?”

“Luka… the entire school has talked to Hyuna,” said Sua, finally turning her head to look at him with complete superiority.

“Not like you guys! I’ve never even managed to say more than three words to her, okay?”

“Aww, how cute,” Sua said mercilessly. “Trying to impress her with biomechanical analysis. Does that work?”

“If you actually win her over with that,” added Till, no longer hiding his amusement, “I’ll eat this fork.”

“Enough!” Luka covered his face with both hands. “See? This is why I hate it when you two gang up on me.”

“You started it,” Till shrugged. “Last year, we couldn’t even say ‘Mizi’ without you making some passive-aggressive comment.”

“Also,” Sua added, like she’d just had a realization, “you don’t really want to get the robot on the team just to test him, do you?”

Luka froze.

“What are you talking about?”

“Mhm,” Sua replied flatly, staring at him like she’d just solved an annoying equation. “Suddenly you’re super into soccer. What a coincidence.”

“It has nothing to do with that! It’s for science!”

“Sure,” Till said, already laughing. “Science… and Hyuna.”

Luka let out a long groan and dropped his head back.

“Oh my god… can you both shut up? I don’t even want to eat anymore, but now I also don’t want to exist.”

“Great, ’cause no one’s eating,” Sua muttered, staring at her tray like it was radioactive. “And I doubt we will.”

“That’s it, I’m done,” Luka huffed, standing up dramatically. “I’m taking all the trays back. All of them. Maybe then you’ll leave me alone.”

He stacked the three trays with clumsy hands… and tripped on the first step.

“And not one more word!” he shouted without looking back, as he walked away carrying the physical evidence of his defeat.

And just like that, Luka disappeared from view. Till stretched a little, letting his back fall against the metal bleacher, releasing a long sigh.

“I don’t think anything bad will happen,” Till said, not looking at her, fiddling with the edge of his tray. “Seriously. I mean… yeah, it was crazy. But Ivan doesn’t feel like a threat. And if something does go wrong… I’ll talk to my mom. I’ll take the blame. Just me.”

Sua didn’t respond right away. Her arms were crossed, her gaze fixed on the horizon —though not on anything in particular. The posture seemed calm, but something about it suggested otherwise.

“We’re all guilty,” she murmured at last. No drama, no emphasis. Just a fact. “And you know it.”

Till lowered his gaze. He didn’t argue.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I’ll say it anyway.”

Sua glanced sideways at him. Studied him a moment longer, then let out a faint sigh and stood in a single, fluid motion. She slung her backpack over one shoulder with the air of someone who’d already decided to move on —even if she hadn’t fully let go of the subject.

“You coming?”

“Yeah,” Till answered, grabbing his backpack without hurry. “I’ve got a free period next. I’ll walk you… then I’m crashing in the library.”

“How productive,” Sua said —and for the first time during lunch, her tone wasn’t so dry.

“Obviously.”

The boy smiled, calmer now than he’d been all lunch.

They left the bleachers without hurry, walking side by side. The wind had eased a little, but still carried that restless whisper that had followed them since morning. Neither of them spoke as they crossed the courtyard. Students moved in small groups: whispers under breath, muffled laughter, the occasional glance toward the duo walking as if carrying a whole conspiracy on their shoulders.

Till didn’t say anything, but he noticed: the murmurs were still there. Not as loud as at the start of the day, but still present.

The climb up the stairs was quiet. Two floors. Then three. Their pace never changed. When they reached Sua’s classroom, she stopped at the door and looked at him.

“Sleep well,” she said, without irony.

He just nodded. They said goodbye with a slight tilt of the head, and when she entered the classroom, he turned on his heel and took a different hallway.

For a few seconds, he stood there, staring at the floor. The air had lost that lingering scent of conversation. With no one at his side, every step felt heavier. The tension at lunch, the jokes, even the mild irritation toward Luka—nothing more than brief distractions.

But now… now the silence has caught up. And with it, the questions.

Ivan.

Not a single glimpse since that dramatic entrance that threw the school off balance. No sign of him in the halls. Not in class. Not even passing by. It was as if, after crossing the courtyard and saying his name, the guy had simply… vanished.

Till pushed the library door open with a shoulder, expecting the usual: sterile quiet, cold lighting, that impersonal stillness that made it a safe place to fall apart.

He wasn’t expecting anyone.

Much less Ivan.

Facing away from the rest of the room, a book opens in his hands. Motionless. Serene. His head tilted ever so slightly. His legs spread apart with effortless precision. But what stood out most… were his hands.

Till stopped mid-step. Narrowed his eyes.

Ivan’s fingers turned page after page with impossible regularity. Mechanical. Every two seconds, a sheet. The movement was smooth, precise. No pause. No hesitation. No human rhythm.

It looked like… scanning.

As if the book’s contents flowed straight from the ink into some sort of internal system. No interpretation. Just data intake.

Till didn’t move. Barely breathing. The scene wasn’t violent —not even unnatural. But there was a calculated calm in everything Ivan did that made his stomach twist. It wasn’t just that he did things well: it was that he did them with no margin for error. And nothing human operates without error.

A robot. Reading at operating-system speed.

Ivan turned one last page.

And just when Till was about to turn around and pretend he hadn’t seen anything, the other boy stopped his fingers. Then, with perfectly timed slowness, he closed the book and returned it to the shelf with effortless grace. He placed it back in its exact spot, aligning the cover with the rest of the spines as if any deviation would be unacceptable.

He paused.

And then… turned his head.

His eyes found Till’s, as if he’d known he was there from the very beginning.

“Hi, Till.”

Till took half a step back. Just one. Not out of fear. Out of caution.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, his voice drier than he intended.

Ivan shook his head, calm as ever.

“No. I was just reading.”

“Reading or absorbing data like in The Matrix?”

Ivan looked at him and blinked slowly.

“Was that a metaphor?”

“No,” Till replied. “It was an honest question. You know—flipping pages like you had Bluetooth with the paper.”

Ivan tilted his head, his face showing a trace of amusement.

“I suppose I read fast.”

“I suppose you do,” Till murmured. “Though not many humans memorize a book in thirty seconds.”

“Would you like me to read one to you?” Ivan asked, with not a hint of irony.

Till squinted at him.

“Are you always like this? Or is this your energy-saving mode?”

Ivan smiled, barely. Contained.

“Was that an attempt at an insult?”

“Depends,” Till shrugged. “Do you have programmed emotions?”

Ivan tucked his hands into his pockets with unnerving calm. He walked a few steps toward the nearest aisle, never taking his eyes off Till.

“I’m not sure. But I have reactions. And I like you.”

Till blinked. Once. Twice.

Was that…

Was that flirting? Or just a pre-coded response?

His ears burned. Damn it. He wasn’t the kind to blush or get casual compliments —especially not from impossible boys with impossible bodies who read books like human scanners.

He turned his gaze to the shelf. Anywhere but those eyes.

“Was that serious?” he asked, like someone poking a live wire with a stick.

“Which part?” Ivan tilted his head again.

“The… that you like me.”

“Of course,” Ivan said. “Why would I lie about that?”

Till let out an exhale that he didn’t know if it was a nervous laugh or sheer panic.

“You… seriously aren’t from around here, huh?”

Ivan paused, as if analyzing the phrase from every possible angle.

“I’m enrolled. Technically, I am from here.”

“I didn’t mean school,” Till muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I know.”

Till pressed his lips together —not out of annoyance. It was just… weird. Talking to him was weird. Not in a mysterious, forced way. Ivan didn’t try to be enigmatic. He just talked with that kind of serenity that never asked permission.

“What do you like to read?” Till asked, trying to sound casual.

Ivan didn’t answer right away. He turned to the shelf, slid his fingers along the spines until pulling out a book. He opened it right in the middle, as if he already knew the exact page.

Then he began to flip through.

One. Two. Three.

The same mechanical rhythm as before. Precise. Steady. As if his eyes didn’t even need to stop. Till watched him, not daring to interrupt. Until Ivan, without looking up, began to recite:

“It must be difficult for those who have resigned themselves... to understand those who still hope for something.”

His voice was soft, almost meditative.

“Persuasion. Austen. I’ve always liked that one.”

He turned another page with the same hypnotic precision, and added:

“Not for the story itself —though it’s good. But for the rhythm. Everything feels restrained. Like no one’s allowed to say what they truly mean. And yet… every gesture matters.”

Till tilted his head slightly. He hadn’t expected that. Not that book. Not that comment.

“You like romance?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ivan closed the book and rested it against his chest with one hand.

“Among other things. I also like historical fiction, essays on human perception, and stories where the ending isn’t happy… but still worth reaching.”

He shifted slightly to get a better look at him, leaning casually against the shelf.

“And yes, I read science fiction too. I like improbable things.”

“Improbable things?” Till repeated, frowning.

Ivan looked at him sideways, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

“Like human-looking robots going to high school.”

Till nearly choked on air.

“Kidding,” Ivan added, with shameless calm. “Though… sounds like a good plot, doesn’t it?”

“God…” Till dropped his gaze, covering his face with a hand. “You really need to stop saying stuff like that with such a straight face.”

Ivan slid the book back into place on the shelf, slowly, as if the gesture mattered more than it seemed. Then, with the same serenity, he turned to face him again.

“You say that like it’s the worst thing I’ve said today.”

Till clicked his tongue.

“You haven’t said much. But yeah. That’s easily top three.”

“What would be number one?”

Till didn’t hesitate for even half a second.

“That ‘Not Yet.’ In front of the entire school.”

Ivan blinked and looked away slightly, as if replaying the scene in his head. For a second, his expression shifted. Not blushing. Not embarrassed. But… something. A small, tense flicker that escaped from the corner of his mouth. As if, for the first time, he didn’t know what to say.

Till noticed.

And that was the worst part.

Because he thought it was cute.

CUTE?

Could an android be cute? Could he look… vulnerable?

He was about to mentally smack himself when Ivan broke the silence:

“And you? What do you like to read?”

The question came casually, softly. But Till was still disarmed. It took him a second to respond.

“Guess,” he said, crossing his arms.

Ivan shifted his body slightly, like he was going to study him better. He did so in silence. Scanning him, Till thought… and wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or hit himself for real.

“Not classics. You hate endless descriptions,” Ivan began. “But not super modern stuff either. You prefer stories where something actually happens. With characters that make questionable but real choices. A bit of drama, some irony. Bittersweet endings. And if you can help it, you avoid anyone dying… though it’s not a dealbreaker.”

Till stared at him. Lips parted. Eyes slightly wider than normal.

“How do you know that?”

Ivan shrugged, with brutal calm.

“I’m paying attention.”

And Till’s brain, in response, rebooted in fragments. He tried to say something. Failed. Tried again.

“Well… you’re not that far off. I like They Both Die at the End. Even though the title’s a spoiler.”

“But the journey’s worth it,” Ivan said without hesitation.

“Exactly,” Till replied almost automatically, smiling.

And there it was again. That damn thing.

The tension.

Ivan returned the smile. Smaller. But more sincere.

“You know what other book I like?” he asked, walking toward the nearest table without taking his eyes off him. “Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda.”

Till frowned.

“Seriously? I can’t picture you reading that.”

“That’s the interesting part,” Ivan said, resting his hand on a chair. “There’s always something you don’t see coming.”

Till raised an eyebrow.

“Was that a hint?”

“No. Just an observation,” Ivan replied. Then, gently, he slid the chair slightly back. “Want to sit?”

Till shook his head, firmly.

“No thanks. I actually came here to nap.”

“Nap?”

“Yeah. What, you thought I came to study?”

“A little faith,” Ivan murmured, with a near-smile.

Till shrugged and was already turning to leave when, suddenly, he stopped.

“Hey… wait. Don’t you have class right now?”

“I do. Well, did,” Ivan replied. “It got canceled.”

Till blinked.

“Which class?”

Ivan mentioned the professor’s name.

“That’s my class.” Till responded.

“I know.”

There was a pause. Till blinked again, like he was only just processing the coincidence. Ivan lowered his gaze briefly, then looked back up with a small smile full of something hard to define. Curiosity? Hope?

“If it’s not canceled tomorrow, I guess I’ll see you there.”

The silver-haired boy nodded, almost on autopilot. He took a step back, as if he was finally going to leave.

 But Ivan’s voice stopped him.

“Although… if you’re free afterward,” he began, casually, almost distracted, “we could still hang out.”

Till stopped. Not because he fully understood. But because he was too busy renegotiating with his own limbs not to collapse on the floor.

Ivan stepped forward. Just one step.

But it was enough.

He didn’t touch him. Didn’t obviously invade his space. He just leaned in slightly —just enough to make Till lift his eyes. The difference in height suddenly felt like a quiet fence. Not threatening. But impossible to ignore.

“What I’m saying,” Ivan murmured, lower, closer, “is that if you don’t have plans… I want to see you.”

And then came the smile. That smile.

Till felt something loosen in his chest and rise straight to his face. He covered it with a hand before he could stop himself, as if that could hide the inevitable.

“Was that…?” he started to say, barely audible.

“An invitation,” Ivan said, eyes steady. “For a date.”

Till blinked. Twice. Then looked down, as if that could hide the wildfire on his face.

A date?

Did that just happen?

Yeah. This guy was definitely a robot.

Chapter Text

The sound of the alarm wasn’t even necessary.

Till was already awake when his phone vibrated for the first time, though he didn’t move. He just took a deep breath, eyes open, mouth dry, his body stuck in one of those awkward positions that only happen after several hours of dreaming, confusing things—motionless in the dim light of his room.

It was Friday. In theory, that was supposed to mean something good.

But in practice, it just sounded like a cruel joke: a consolation prize for those who had made it through the week without jumping from the top floor.

The exhaustion still clung to his body like a second skin—dense, warm, and stubborn. For a moment, he seriously considered just rolling over, burying himself in the covers, and letting the day unfold without him.

He thought about it. He really did.

On one side of the ring, his bed: warm and silent, promising comfort and zero social interaction.

On the other side, school: noise, people, and Ivan—loyal to his apparent routine of asking Till out like it was part of the class schedule.

He sighed.

A technical tie.

He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes clumsily, and stared at the wall like he was waiting for something there—a cosmic flash, a secret message, a crack with a voice of its own—to give him a sign.

It didn’t.

His gaze dropped, resigned, to the floor. And then he saw it:

A cockroach.

A giant one.

He froze for half a second—maybe two. And screamed… in a way that could hardly be considered masculine. Way too high-pitched for his ego.

“OK, message received! I’m going!!”

He jumped out of bed, grabbed a flip-flop from the floor, and launched into attack.

The cockroach didn’t go down easily. It moved fast, smart—like it also had things to do that day.

It took three tries, one undignified scream, and a move he’d rather not remember.

But he won.

The corpse lay in the middle of the room, legs up.

Till stared at it with disgust.

What a lovely way to start the day. Right?

He crossed the hallway with heavy steps, shut the bathroom door behind him, and smacked the light switch on. The shower was turned on full blast, the hot water left to do its thing. While it heated up, his phone was already in hand—playlist open in a series of automatic gestures. No real thought behind it. Just scrolling until the right track appeared: something loud enough to wake his bones.

♪ The Hand That Feeds by Nine Inch Nails exploded from the speaker—sharp and dirty. The rhythm tore through him like voltage, raw and unstoppable.

He stepped under the stream and let it hammer his head, washing away the last of the sleep. By the time the first guitar riff kicked in, his head was already moving. Not much—just a few rhythmic nods—but enough to remind his body it was still alive.

The drums came in strong.

Till felt them in his chest.

Fingers tapped the beat against his thigh. Both hands ran through his hair. Before he knew it, one of them had formed an imaginary guitar. Not for anyone. No audience. Just him and the noise he needed at that hour.

Steam blurred everything around him, but the song kept going—loud, harsh, perfect. He let it carry him. The routine followed: soap, rinse, same as always—but this time with shoulders rolling to the beat, feet lightly tapping the rhythm against the wet tiles.

When the song ended, he didn’t bother stopping it.

The next track started on its own, and he stayed there a little longer—body more awake, thoughts just beginning to spark.

That was enough.

He stepped out with hair dripping and the towel hanging loose around his waist.

Back to his room he went.

The steam still clung to his skin when he opened the closet. The faint morning light barely managed to slip in through the window—just enough to reveal the shadows of the hanging clothes. There were options. Plenty. Different colors, bold cuts, even a couple of shiny pieces Sua had picked out “just to mess with him.” Some still had the tags on. He rarely went near them.

Fingers hovered above the hangers, grazing the fabric without really touching it.

He knew exactly what he wanted to wear. And he also knew he wasn’t going to. Not now.

Not while standing out still meant putting himself up for ridicule.

From the usual lineup, he grabbed something safe.

A plain black t-shirt, light fabric. The wide jorts, dark canvas, with old patches hand-sewn on: a bone, a skull, a crooked safety pin. Thick socks, folded carelessly. Black boots with hard soles that hit the ground with almost deliberate weight.

It wasn’t discreet. But he’d gotten good at picking the right kind of invisibility.

As he got dressed, the next song started playing from the bathroom. He didn’t pay attention and went to his desk, opened the metal case, and pulled out the usual: liquid eyeliner, dark eyeshadow. He applied each stroke with precision, without needing to get too close to the mirror.

Then came the accessories. Just enough to feel complete.

Once he clipped the keys back to the loop on his pants, he glanced at his phone. Picked it up.

Before leaving, he stopped in front of the bathroom mirror.

The reflection showed exactly what he expected: black clothes, clean eyeliner, piercings in place, the neutral expression he wore to survive normal days. Everything was where it should be. Just right.

He didn’t linger—just stayed long enough to confirm he was still functioning. For a second—a fleeting one—he wondered if that was enough.

No answer came. He didn’t wait for one.

With the phone in hand and the music still echoing faintly in his head, he stepped out of the bathroom and headed downstairs. The house, as always, was silent.

When he got to the kitchen, the first thing he saw was the fridge.

More specifically, what was stuck to it.

A white sheet of paper, held up by a magnet. The handwriting—unmistakable.

He froze mid-step.

Read it without touching it, from a distance, as if getting too close might set something off:

Till:

I got called into work for an emergency and had to leave the city. Everything’s fine, no need to worry.

Left enough food for the week (labeled, just in case), and some cash in the usual drawer. If that runs out, give me a call.

If you feel lonely, you can invite Luka and Sua over whenever you want.

Please, don’t do anything stupid.

Love you so much.

—Mom :)

His heart climbed into his throat.

Not because of what it said. But because of what it didn’t.

He hadn’t heard from his mom in days.

The silence had turned into an uncomfortable constant he kept filling with paranoia: the sleepover, the file, the lab access, Ivan… It had all tangled in his head, and deep down, he’d already convinced himself they were going to find out. It was just a matter of time.

And now this. A note.

He read it again, this time slower, looking between the lines for a hint, a word out of place.

Nothing.

Just that: a mom who’d slipped in during the night, left instructions, and vanished again before he even made it out of REM sleep.

No scolding.

No sign she knew anything.

Another long sigh escaped, shoulders finally relaxing under the weight of relief.

He stepped closer to the fridge and touched the edge of the paper with two fingers, just to confirm it was real. With his head slightly bowed, he murmured:

“Okay… For now, we’re still alive.”

A few bills went from the drawer to his back pocket. He slung the backpack off the hook by the door. Right before stepping out, he gave the kitchen one last glance. Everything in its place. Perfectly still.

Then he was gone.

Locked the door behind him, and as he turned the key, his phone buzzed.

A notification:

Failed satanic ritual

Luka: We’re staying today, yeah. Don’t be late.

Sua: This already feels like punishment.

The sun was already high, beating down hard. The air had that thick kind of heat that clung to your back and wouldn’t let go.

“Good thing I dressed light,” he muttered.

And started walking.

_________________________________________________________________________

“An invitation,” Ivan said, eyes fixed on him. “For a date.”

The word “date” hovered in the air.

Till forgot to breathe. 

They were standing too close—close enough that the slight slouch in his posture made the height difference feel sharper, like gravity pulling him inward. To meet Ivan’s gaze, he’d have to look up. But he didn’t. He kept his eyes low, pinned to the edge of the table, to the floor—anywhere but those unnervingly still eyes.

Was this how it was supposed to go?

Of course it was.

He’d been modified for this exact thing. Designed to hear the words he’d always longed for. And now those words were here, wrapped in the perfect voice, spoken by something built to understand him.

Still…

“I-I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he muttered, covering his face a bit more. The words felt clumsy, like they didn’t belong in his mouth at all.

Ivan didn’t flinch. Didn’t back off. Didn’t seem offended.

Just stayed there, slightly tilted, patient in a way that felt practiced. Like he already knew how the conversation would unfold.

“Why?” he asked, calm—maybe too calm. Amusement lingered at the edge of his tone, like this was all part of some ongoing script.

“Because… no,” Till replied, sharper than he meant to.

A flicker passed across Ivan’s expression. Not quite a smile—more like a mental bookmark. As if noting something interesting rather than reacting emotionally.

“Is it because of me?”  

The question was gentle, almost detached, like the answer wouldn’t change much.

“No,” Till blurted, too quickly. Too defensively. 

That brought a subtle response: a raised eyebrow. A soft recalibration. Almost like a glitch.

“Then is it because of you?”  

His fingers found the zipper of his backpack, tugging at it just to give his hands something to do. He looked down, anchored by the movement.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. Then corrected himself. “I mean—no. It’s just… this is… weird. I barely know you.”

“Are you sure?”

The question dropped lower, voice quieter now. Closer.

“Till,” Ivan said, and this time it felt different. Less like language and more like knowledge. “We know each other better than you think.”

A chill moved through his spine. Instinct kicked in. One foot slid back—not consciously. Not deliberately. He only realized he’d done it once the distance was there.

“That’s exactly what worries me,” Till whispered.

Across from him, Ivan’s expression softened. Not in pity. Not in victory. But with something unsettlingly calm. Like he understood something Till hadn’t yet pieced together.

“So…” Ivan said, tilting his head slightly. “You don’t want to go out with me?”

Their eyes met at last. 

One steady.

The other splintering at the edges. 

Air caught in Till’s throat. Something tightened. And then, as if the words came from someone else entirely, barely audible:

“...n-no.”

Ivan held the silence for a beat. Observing. Measuring the shape of the answer. Then, with a slow, fluid motion, he stepped back. No tension in the gesture—just release.

“All right,” he said simply. And moved aside. Giving space. Not out of rejection, but understanding.

Till didn’t wait. 

He didn’t walk—he fled. No glance back, no waiting for a response. He just needed to get out before it all caught up to him again. The light outside hit harder than expected. Too bright. He blinked, squinting. The world felt misaligned. He’d come to the library to nap. To turn his brain off. And now… well.

That was before someone rewritten the program. 

He stopped in the shade, forehead pressed against the cool stone of a column. He wasn’t sure if he had just turned down a boy, an experiment… or something he still didn’t know how to name. The scene had just ended, but it still clung to him—stuck to his skin.

What he did know was the way Ivan had looked at him.

Like it wasn’t over.

Like the "no" had landed, but hadn’t sunk in. Like Ivan had already accounted for it. Already planned around it.

Something squirmed at the base of his spine.  A silent warning that passed through his body before it reached his thoughts. He pulled away from the column. Kept walking. Faster than before. Not running—but not far from it either.

The rest of the day went by on autopilot. He had no idea what classes he’d been in, what he’d scribbled down, or how he managed not to collapse in the middle of the hallway. Only then, at some point, the sun began to set and the halls emptied out just enough to breathe again without feeling like he was drowning.

As he stepped out of the building, he saw Sua leaning against the car door, spinning the keys around her finger. Luka was a few steps away, wrestling with a trash can like it was his arch-nemesis. Apparently, his water bottle didn’t fit through the slot. A full-blown eco-drama.

“We saw you from a distance,” she said as soon as he got close. “You okay?”

Till gave a shrug—barely a motion at all.

“I don’t know…”

“Did you run into him?” Luka asked, giving up his losing battle with the trash to rejoin the group. “It was Ivan, right?”

Till nodded slowly. His eyes were fixed on the ground, like he was looking for an excuse to disappear into it.

Luka watched him in silence, waiting for more. When nothing came, he frowned slightly but didn’t push.

Sua opened the car and got in without a word.

“Well… let’s go, then,” the blond mumbled, shrugging.

The engine started. The soft hum of the AC filled the space.

Till sat in the backseat, his forehead resting against the window. He wasn’t asleep, but he let the car’s movement lull him. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his backpack while his mind stayed trapped in the library. In Ivan’s eyes. In the way he had looked at him. In the things he had said.

The words still burned in his throat. But they weren’t the ones about the date.

“He scans books,” he blurted suddenly. “He doesn’t read them. He scans them. Like a printer, but silent. He just runs a finger across and… that’s it.”

“What?” Luka jumped from the front seat, half turning around. “Seriously? How? What kind of interface could even do that?”

“I don’t know,” Till muttered, not lifting his head from the glass. “He just… does it.”

“That’s… awesome,” Luka said, more to himself than to anyone else. “I mean, if he has real-time tactile scanning, he must have an internal data analysis system. Some kind of high-fidelity sensor... Maybe contextual intelligence?”

“Luka,” Sua cut in—this time without raising her voice, but with an invisible edge that sliced clean through.

He turned forward again, lifting his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay. I’m just thinking out loud… But come on, Sua, this is incredible. You don’t hear that every day.”

Till didn’t say anything.

Luka, restless, didn’t stay quiet for long.

“What if we see him play?” he said suddenly, lighting up. “That’s why he has to join the team! If he can scan books like that, who knows what else he can do. Maybe he analyzes movement in real time or reacts faster than anyone. It’d be like having a predictive player on the field.”

“Luka,” Sua repeated, firmer now.

He slouched a little, lowering his head.

“Sorry. I just… I’m curious.”

Sua spoke again after a few seconds, this time with a gentler tone.

“Till, are you sure you want to go home? You can stay at my place if you want. Or Luka´s.”

He lifted his head slightly, like the question had pulled him back.

“No… I want to go home.”

He pulled out his phone and checked the screen.

Still nothing from his mom.

His thumb trembled just a little as he locked it again.

Till closed the door gently—far too gently for the knot lodged in his chest—and walked in without looking. The living room felt like a trap laid in plain sight, so he avoided it. Dragged his feet up the stairs like some ghost too tired to haunt, and shut himself in his room. He collapsed onto the bed without bothering to remove his shoes. Closed his eyes. And shut down.

Or tried to.

The silence that once soothed him now felt amplified. A megaphone pointed inward. Sleep was like trying to sink into a pool full of gravel: body too heavy, thoughts too loud, heart knocking out of sync.

He turned to one side. Then the other. Buried his face in the pillow and yanked it away again with a frustrated grunt. 

His mind wouldn’t stop playing it. Replaying it. Obsessing over it.

Ivan.

Ivan and his damn face. Designed with factory precision to ruin him. That calm, flawless expression, every feature exactly where it should be, like a visual insult. And that low, gentle voice, like he was stroking him with words just to watch him melt. But worse than any of that was the way his presence lingered . Not just in the room they’d shared, but in him . Like static clinging to his skin. Like a signal refusing to drop.

It felt like falling into a trap built just for him.

And that’s exactly what made him feel a little sick.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It shouldn’t be like this.

No one ever talked to him like that—like they actually meant it. Like their words had weight. Like he had weight. He —Till, with his dark circles, his clumsiness, and his growing list of emotional malfunctions— was not built for that kind of attention.

He rolled over with a groan that sounded more like surrender than anything else. Covered his eyes with his forearm, as if that could block out everything flickering behind them.

Because it wasn’t just that Ivan had asked him out.

The library. The waiting. The unbearable patience.

And him, standing there, caught between fleeing and freezing.

Because he’d felt it… whatever it was.

Something sharp. Dangerous. That internal shiver when someone gets too close and rearranges your wiring. The air in your lungs hurts, your limbs feel like lead, and the heat on the back of your neck burns like a sunburn you can’t ignore. It’s like the skin you’re wearing stops being yours, a costume you don’t even remember putting on.

That something you feel when you like someone.

Under normal circumstances, it would’ve been exciting.

But these weren’t normal circumstances.

Ivan was an android. A fucking android. Programmed. Designed. Tailored. Who seemed to know things about him. Who reacted like he’d always known him. Who had scanned him with his eyes—or whatever he had for eyes—and found the cheat codes to whatever mess Till was made of.

He couldn’t like him. He shouldn’t . It didn’t make sense.

But he was.

Till squeezed his eyes shut like he could reset himself, like that would be enough to erase every micro-expression Ivan had made.

It didn’t work.

The scenes kept coming back, stubborn, clearer each time. And the worst part was that thought that had slipped in—just for a second:

I hope he does it again.

No. Not now. Not with him.

He didn’t know what to do. 

Or if he wanted to do anything at all. 

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, unmoving. The room was silent, but he could feel a faint buzz in his temples. 

Because the worst part wasn’t seeing him. The worst part was remembering him. And knowing—deep down—that he would probably show up again tomorrow.

His eyes stung. His limbs ached. Exhaustion dripped from every nerve—outside and in. Even the air felt heavy, thick with questions that refused to settle.

He curled up on his side, stomach tight, and slid his hands under the pillow, searching for something to anchor himself to that space.

There were no answers. No certainty. Only the sharp fatigue of a night stretched too thin.

And somewhere between the noise and the weight of it all, he finally fell asleep.

The next day, the entire school felt like it had mainlined caffeine.

Till hadn’t even made it to his locker when he started to notice it. Agitated voices, laughter, quick footsteps. A collective energy spreading like an infection, eager to wrap him up in it too.

The news had spread like wildfire over dry grass: The new student who looked like he’d walked out of a wet dream factory was now officially part of the football team.

The first game would be next week, and the whole place already buzzed with anticipation. Girls squealed in the hallways, some people were already designing posters with still-wet markers. Hyuna, eyes gleaming and a sweater with the team logo badly hand-stitched, walked like she was leading a revolution.

Till wanted to puke. 

A group of people passed by him.

“Did you see him? He’s on the team! OFFICIALLY!”
“Do you think he’s actually good or did they just put him on because he’s… well?”
“Doesn’t matter why they put him on. I still want to watch him play.”

The gray-haired boy lowered his head. Someone bumped into him by accident, though this time they actually apologized.

Hyuna intercepted him before he could escape down the back staircase.

She wore a massive smile and walked like someone juggling multiple disasters at once. She crossed her arms in front of him, like she’d rehearsed this moment.

“Ivan said yes,” she announced, almost proudly.

Till looked at her, then gestured to their surroundings: poorly made posters, nervous laughter, and dozens of people running around for no reason.

“Oh yeah? Didn’t notice,” he said dryly.

She didn’t even flinch.

“And I made it very clear that no one’s allowed to watch practice. No one,” she repeated, locking eyes with him. “But you can, if you’re interested.”

She winked and vanished down the hall, merging back into the chaos.

He grimaced.

“Great,” he muttered. “Now I’m part of the circus.”

For the rest of the day, something in the air felt... off.

Till hadn’t been shoved, insulted, or swallowed whole by the floor like every other Wednesday before. It wasn’t exactly kindness, but the way people treated him had shifted into something more neutral.

More… tolerable.

A couple of people talked to him. He pretended not to hear them.

Not in an attempt to keep some mysterious aura— because obviously he didn’t have one— but because he didn’t trust anything that didn’t come with an insult attached. Sudden kindness could only mean two things: manipulation or human error.

Someone held the door for him as he entered a classroom. He stopped cold like it was a trap, and when it wasn’t, he walked in without saying thank you. Halfway to his seat, he turned out of habit, suspicious expression on his face. The person wasn’t even looking at him anymore.

Didn’t seem like he was on anyone’s blacklist that day.

He guessed that counted as a rare kind of progress. Nobody really knew how to deal with him now. And, to be fair, neither did he. The only certain thing was that, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he had to walk around with his shoulders hunched.

And that, in this school, was saying a lot.

It didn’t take long for him to figure out why things had changed.

When his class ended and he stepped into the hallway, he found it half-empty. A few students rushed to get to class, others leaned against the walls like the A/C could save them. Till walked quickly, backpack half-zipped and eyes fixed on the floor.

It was just as he turned the corner that he saw him.

Standing by the drinking fountain, arms crossed, back straight. Like he’d been there for a while.

Waiting.

Till froze mid-step, pretending to check his schedule on his phone with a level of enthusiasm that fooled no one—not even himself. He tried to walk past, but of course, Ivan wasn’t there sightseeing.

“Hi, Till,” Ivan said, just as he passed by.

It wasn’t a conscious decision; more like a nervous system glitch. A subtle, uncomfortable jolt that stopped him dead in the middle of the hallway.

“Oh great. Are you following me now, or is this just a tragic coincidence?” he asked, not looking at him, doing his best impression of indifference.

Ivan tilted his head, not losing an ounce of composure—or that innocent confidence.

“I wasn’t going to let you slip away that easily. I wanted to talk to you.”

“How convenient.” Till turned his head just enough to glance at him sideways. “You know there’s a word for this? Starts with ‘s’ and rhymes with ‘stalking.’”

“I just wanted to ask you out,” Ivan said, and there was a second where he seemed to check if he’d said it right.

There it was... So direct it didn’t even seem to weigh on his tongue.

“…Again?”

“Yes,” Ivan replied without hesitation.

“Uh… but I said no yesterday,” Till let out a dry laugh.

“And today is a new day…”

There was no smugness in his voice. Just calm logic—like asking again was the next reasonable step. Till looked down for a second. There it was again—that weird, fluttery thing in his chest that he refused to dignify. He locked his arms tighter across his chest and kept the frown steady.

“Insisting won't always play in your favor, you know?”

Ivan shook his head slowly.

“I’m not insisting. I’m politely reiterating,” he said, almost like reciting a memorized line. Then he paused. Just for a second—a tiny moment of doubt, like he was checking whether he’d said the right thing. “But if going out still doesn’t interest you… I thought I could join you for lunch.”

…Huh?

“You… eat?” Till blurted out before he could stop himself.

…Wait. That was supposed to stay in his head.

He winced internally. He’d meant to think one and say the other—but now they were out in the wrong order, and the damage was done.

Ivan blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face—not quite confusion, not annoyance either. Just a pause, like his system had to briefly reroute.

“I-I mean,” he said, stumbling over the words, gaze fixed on the floor, “I already have people to eat with.”

Ivan nodded, voice smooth. “With Luka and Sua. I know.” He shifted his weight, aiming for casual, but this time it didn’t quite land. “I heard you talking to them yesterday,” he added. “When you left the cafeteria to sit in the stands. Also… you’re almost always with them.”

And there it was.

Till didn’t catch a fact—he caught a feeling. The rhythm was off. A pause that didn’t belong. A small, deliberate switch in phrasing, like he was smoothing over something rough.

It wasn’t what Ivan said that made him tense. It was the instinct that Ivan had edited himself.

“Okay, seriously,” Till said, arms crossed again—more instinct than defiance. “I don’t know what your deal is, but this? It’s not exactly normal.”

Ivan looked down for the first time. His brows pulled together slightly, like something inside him tensed. His brow knit, lips drawn in a line—like he was pushing something down, compressing it into silence.

“Look…” Till tried again, not really sure what was about to come out. “It’s not that I hate it. It’s just that… I don’t know. This is weird. Really weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Weird as in—what am I supposed to do with this? You show up, flirt in the hallway like this is some kind of teen drama, and say things no one’s ever said to me.”

The taller boy considered that. Not defensively. Just… thoughtfully. And then spit out:

“I’m doing it… because I want to get to know you.”

Till laughed—sharp, awkward, too loud. His face burned. “Why?”

It came out faster than he meant. His heart skipped. And before he could stop himself, he added:

“I mean… isn’t that kind of what you’re made for? You should save yourself all this”

…

Shit

That sounded REALLY BAD out loud.

Ivan just looked at him in silence, like he was processing something he didn’t dare argue with.

"I-It’s just... there’s like a hundred people here who’d say yes right away, you know? Like… no hesitation." Till added, voice a little lower now. Almost like that explained something.

“I don’t want a hundred people. I want you.”

That one hit straight in the chest. A phrase so bare it left him with no more excuses.

“I don’t…” Till began, choking a little on the air. “What if I don’t want to?”

Even to him, it didn’t sound convincing.

Ivan raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly.

“Then that’s fine. But tell me why not,” he said, with a half-smile that wasn’t quite mocking—but it did have an edge.

Till straightened instantly.

“And what if I don’t want to give you an explanation?”

He threw the words like he still had a chance to win something.

Ivan didn’t flinch. He looked at him with restrained calm, like someone who saw past every word but chose not to push.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” he said softly. “But in that case, I’m not giving up either.”

And there it was again. That damn constant.

It wasn’t that Ivan was perfect.

It was that—even when he insisted—he knew exactly where to hit without causing pain.

Right in that warm space between the wall and the crack.

The grey-haired boy just stood there, swallowing like it was ground glass. He looked at him directly—and instantly regretted it. Because Ivan… He looked motivated . His face wasn’t wearing that polished, mechanical smile from the first day. It was a softer one, with eyes more alive than they should’ve been. Like he’d just seen something unexpected—and liked it more than he should’ve.

“What?” Till snapped, defensively, frowning. “What are you looking at like that?”

Ivan blinked. Slowly.

“Nothing,” he replied. And then the words slipped out on their own. “It’s just… you make that angry face a lot. I like it.”

Till clicked his tongue. Took a step back. But it was too late. The heat was already creeping up his neck, slowly, like an internal betrayal.

“Oh, that’s your plan? Winning me over with random flirty lines?”

“But it seems to be working,” Ivan said, not with the intention of teasing—but with that absurd calm he had when saying exactly what he thought without dressing it up.

Which only made it harder to dodge.

The phrase landed right where it shouldn’t. Right where Till didn’t want to look at himself. He scoffed. Crossed his arms tighter, as if that could hold back whatever mess was starting to stir inside.

“Who do you think you are…?”

“And you?” Ivan interrupted, his voice dropping just a bit. “Do you know who you are, when you’re not on the defensive?”

Till looked at him. Looked at Ivan with fear.

Fear that someone— something —was seeing him from the inside.

Ivan seemed to notice. His expression changed. He took a step back, lowered his gaze a little.

That programmed confidence… wavered.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” he said, softer this time. “I wasn’t sure what to say. I just wanted to see you.”

That was it. 

Till didn’t respond. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He could’ve said something sarcastic. Something fast. A dumb excuse. But no. He stayed there, biting the inside of his cheek like that might quiet the chaos under his skin.

Ivan looked at him once more, eyes gentle. And then, just like that, he left. Turned and headed up the stairs. Like he’d already said everything that mattered.

Till stood there. The empty hallway suddenly felt bigger. Colder. He looked toward where Ivan had gone, and, in reflex, clenched his fists.

Even he didn’t know why.

And still, less than an hour later, when Ivan walked into the cafeteria… Till was already dragging his blond friend by the arm, with an urgency he couldn’t even explain to himself.

“What are you doing? Our table’s always free!” Luka protested, nearly dropping his tray.

“We’re sitting somewhere else,” Till said, without looking back or slowing down. “Too much noise here. Too many… people.”

“And Sua?”

“She’s with Mizi. Let them fall in love without me.”

Luka, still being dragged along, turned his head slightly to scan the place. There, at the back rows, he spotted the cheerleaders’ table. And, like some improbable miracle, Sua was sitting right next to Mizi. Very close. Too close. They were sharing a water bottle and a laugh that didn’t quite fit with the cafeteria’s usual noise.

“About time,” he murmured with a half-smile.

But his gaze kept sweeping the place—almost on instinct—just in time to catch Ivan scanning the room like he was looking for someone, though the student sea made it hard to move forward. His eyes passed briefly in their direction. Passed briefly, without stopping. And Luka almost heard the invisible click of recognition.

And that’s when he understood.

“You’re avoiding your boyfriend?” he whispered, with a half-laugh that was more teasing than anything.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Till exploded, tray rattling as he snapped his head around.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Luka tried not to laugh. “But then why are you blushing?”

“Because it’s hot.”

“We’re in the cafeteria. With air conditioning.”

“Shut up and walk!”

They exited through one of the side doors and ended up eating on a bench in the hallway, next to a snack machine that buzzed like it was one jolt away from exploding.

Till said nothing. Just chewed like he could grind his thoughts down into something manageable.

Luka watched him, fork still suspended midair.

“You’re really gonna keep denying you like him?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Till… the guy shows up and you look ready to evaporate. If that’s not attraction, it’s some kind of allergy.”

Till swallowed. Shrugged.

“I don’t know what it is,” he muttered . “But it’s weird.”

“Weird like scary or weird like I like it and don’t know how to handle it?”

He just kept chewing, desperately. But he didn’t say no , either.

Luka, in a moment of strategic wisdom, changed the subject: a video of turtles mating he’d seen in biology.

It worked. More or less.

Later, when the final bell rang, Till left the classroom so fast even his shadow couldn’t keep up. No one looked at him weird. Not even Acorn, who at that hour was usually hunting him down for his daily dose of chaos. That was the real miracle of the day.

That night, he had cereal straight from the box. In the dark kitchen. And didn’t do his homework.

Thursday arrived and went along normally. Until the last period.

They had chem lab again, but the class came with a small blessing disguised as a setback. The teacher had called in sick and left a note pinned to the classroom corkboard that read, with unnecessary caps and zero tact:

“TURN IN REPORT ON CHAPTER 13 BY NEXT WEEK. CLASS NOT CANCELED. USE TIME TO GET AHEAD.”

No one was going to get ahead.

As soon as someone—an angel of a classmate with a radio announcer voice—finished reading it out loud, chaos broke loose. Some students got up so fast they forgot their backpacks. Others immediately started planning last-minute mall outings like the extra minutes were a divine gift.

But not Sua.

She read. Analyzed. Mentally highlighted. And dragged Till and Luka outside.

“Is this really necessary?” Luka asked.

“Of course it is,” Sua said, flipping open her folder. “Because if I’m going to get a ten, you’ll barely get an eight, and Till… well, if he’s lucky, he’ll pass.”

They set up under the shade of a half-dead tree, near the planter people used as a secret smoking spot. Luka dropped to the grass like he’d just been shot and, wasting no time, pulled a thick black console from his backpack—one that probably ran games banned in more than one country’s constitution.

“Seriously? You’re going to play that here?” Sua asked, arms crossed.

“I’m releasing stress with Shin Megami Tensei: Persona 3 Portable. Is that not valid?”

“We’re not here to release stress. We’re here because we have work to do.”

“I didn’t ask for this. Democracy is dead,” he muttered without taking his eyes off the screen.

She tried to snatch it away. Luka dodged with a poorly executed ninja spin and ended up with dirt all over him.

Till sat beside her, chuckling quietly, as Luka tried to shake dirt from his hair.

“Can I help?” he asked, with more hope than actual skill.

“Do the experiment setup drawings. Use colors, if you can. But don’t invent flasks that don’t exist, okay?”

The silence between them stretched out as pencils scratched against paper. Luka mumbled unintelligible things while he played, and the other two tried to make enough progress to avoid having to continue the assignment later.

“Have you guys noticed…?” the one with glasses said suddenly, not looking up from the console. “Since yesterday, no one’s looked at us like we’re the plague.”

The gray-haired one looked up, confused.

“Huh?”

“Something’s off,” Luka insisted, finally setting the console aside. “Normally, by now someone would’ve thrown a trash can at us or made a passive-aggressive joke disguised as ‘banter.’”

“Maybe they’re distracted with Ivan,” Sua murmured, still focused on her work. “The novelty hasn’t worn off yet.”

“Distracted doesn’t mean nice. This smells like an ambush,” Luka replied, crossing his arms. “Last time they ignored us, I ended up duct-taped inside a locker.”

Till dropped his pencil.

“You guys noticed it too?”

Luka let out a short, dry laugh.

‘“Too”? Come on, Till. We’re not that oblivious.”

“Uh-huh,” Sua said without looking up. “The weird part would be not noticing.”

“I mean,” Luka went on, counting on his fingers, “no one’s insulted us, no one’s called me a freak all day, and you” —he pointed at Till— “no one’s looked at you like you’re the curse of this place.”

Sua let out a nasal laugh, still writing.

“Several idiots came up to me asking for tutoring.”

Luka turned to her, eyebrows raised. “And you said yes?”

“What do you think? I’m busy.”

“Yeah, sure… busy with Mizi,” Luka said, drawing out the name in a teasing tone. “I’ve seen you two, you know? When’s movie night?”

She simply gave him a look, eyebrows barely furrowed, like she was deciding whether or not he deserved a reply.

“Saturday.”

“I knew it!” the blond declared triumphantly before going back to his console. The buttons resumed clicking with enthusiasm.

Sua and Till continued working in silence. The sunlight at that hour filtered strangely through the dried-out leaves of the half-dead tree, and the hum of the snack machine was the only sound filling the air.

Eventually, they finished the damn report. Sua skimmed through it quickly, folded it in half, and stuffed it into her folder without much enthusiasm. Till leaned back a bit on the grass, letting the shade cover his eyes.

Everything seemed calm… until a subtle shift in the atmosphere—a louder laugh, hurried footsteps, that collective murmur of “something’s going on” —made them look up.

Till was the first to turn toward the source of the noise, purely on instinct. Luka didn’t budge. Sua did a second later, more out of reflex than curiosity.

“What’s all the fuss? Free food?” the blond asked.

“Nothing,” the girl replied. “Just a bunch of people.”

It wasn’t a huge crowd, but it was the kind that drew eyes. Several students were gathered at the steps of the building, where two figures clearly stood out.

One was Isaac. Serious as always, with that Greek-statue posture and an unreadable face.

And next to him, Ivan.

He was talking to Isaac—which was strange enough on its own—and replying with calm gestures, like they’d known each other for a while.

Ivan nodded at something another boy said, hands in his pockets, and let out a small laugh that couldn’t be heard but was definitely seen. The group around him didn’t scatter. They weren’t being loud. They were just talking calmly, with a subtle smile that seemed engineered to be likable without drawing too much attention. And still, the whole crowd was hanging on to every word he said.

“Ivan with Isaac?” Luka asked. “Where’s Dewey? Did they kidnap him?”

Sua shrugged.

“Mizi told me the team’s welcomed Ivan pretty quickly.”

“Already?” Till asked, surprised.

“Yeah. They even gave him the uniform. That jacket? School-issued. He’s officially school property now.”

And yeah.

There he was.

Bright red, clean white sleeves, and the number 45. Ivan wore it like it had always been his. The way it fit his body, the precise cut, the perfect fall. As if it had been made just for him and no one else.

Till didn’t say anything. But a very hidden, very defeated part of him admitted it.

It looked damn good on him.

Sua kept talking.

“…and apparently Isaac was the one who introduced him to the rest. Mizi says that never happens, so—”

But Till didn’t hear the end of it.

He was too busy watching a girl in the group lean into Ivan a little too confidently, whisper something in his ear… and then grab his arm, half-laughing, half-making an excuse.

The dark-haired boy didn’t pull away. He didn’t tense up. He just looked at her and replied calmly. And that was enough to make the girl laugh louder, like she’d won something.

Till frowned without realizing it.

“Is steam gonna come out your ears, or just your nose?” Luka asked, not even raising his voice much.

“What?” Till blinked, like snapping out of a loop.

Luka glanced at him sideways, then looked down at his console.

“Nothing. Just figured if you’re going to monitor him that closely, might as well take notes.”

“I’m not monitoring him,” Till muttered, crossing his arms. “I’m just saying… he’s not fulfilling his purpose if he’s off getting distracted by whoever.”

“‘Purpose’?” Luka repeated, half amused. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”

Sua closed her folder with a soft snap.

“He’s so natural it doesn’t even feel like we… just woke him up.”

“Which makes sense,” Luka said, more seriously now. “He’s adapting. That was part of the personality module you helped build, Till. We gave him sociability parameters, emotional reading, self-awareness. If it’s all working like it should… this is what we expected.”

“He wasn’t supposed to get popular,” Till snapped, the words bitterer than he meant them to be. 

“And what was he supposed to do?” Luka asked, raising an eyebrow. “Be an NPC that only looked at you?”

Till didn’t answer. But his frown tightened.

“Look, I’m not saying he’s ‘drifting,’ he’s still focused on you,” Luka continued, lowering his tone. “But if you keep rejecting him like that—so directly and so often—I wouldn’t rule out the system starting to reinterpret its objective.”

Sua looked at him.

“You really think it could…?”

“It’s not certain,” Luka clarified. “But if his programming is truly evolving like it seems, he could begin to shift long-term priorities. For now, he’s still yours, but if he perceives constant rejection, lack of reciprocation, or sustained emotional frustration… he might learn that insisting doesn’t make sense.”

A short silence followed.

“So,” Sua said, “can he stop liking Till?”

Luka shrugged.

“It’s a possibility.”

The gray-haired boy looked down for a moment, then looked up again with the same sharp motion as before. He just wanted one last check. A quick glance, almost automatic, before forcing himself to drop the subject.

But as soon as he looked again—Ivan was already watching him.

He felt something freeze under his skin. That quick glance had turned into a silent trap. The weight of that gaze was strange. Not confrontational, not gentle. Just direct. As if Ivan had been looking at him the whole time, waiting for him to notice.

He barely registered that the girl still had her hand on Ivan’s arm. But Ivan wasn’t looking at her. He was still staring straight at him .

And then, without breaking eye contact, he gently pulled his arm away.

Till spun around immediately. Turned on his heel, clumsily, to look at the grass, then at Sua. Any direction worked. The important thing was: DO NOT LOOK BACK.

“He’s heading this way,” Luka said, lowering his voice.

“Who?” Till asked, still not looking.

“I don’t know... maybe that state-of-the-art heartbreak machine you keep pretending not to care about?”

That was all it took for Till to feel the air shift behind him. Just enough to send a chill crawling up his spine. He heard soft footsteps on the dry grass. A figure approaching from behind, soles crunching gently against the dirt.

“Mind if I sit with you?”

All three of them looked up at the same time. Ivan was standing just beside the planter box, red jacket still hanging off his shoulders, dark hair slightly tousled by the breeze, and that same serious—but calm—expression on his face.

“Oh, sure! Yeah, yeah, go ahead,” Luka said quickly, shifting to make room like they were about to host an exclusive interview. “It’s a public space. We don’t charge for seats… yet.”

The android lowered his gaze, scanned the space briefly, and then sat down carefully—with that kind of body control that looked calculated, but somehow natural.

Till didn’t want to speak. He barely even breathed deeper. He kept his eyes locked on some random point on the ground, like the tree trunk had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You guys were working, right?” Ivan asked after a moment, his voice soft, not pushing for conversation.

“We’re done,” Sua replied.

A short pause.

“I… saw you from over there,” Ivan added, turning his face just slightly toward the group. “You looked focused. I got curious.”

He didn’t say it curiously . More… measured. Not intrusive. Which is why it didn’t feel awkward.

“It’s nice here,” he added, looking at the shade the tree cast on the ground. “Feels peaceful.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was worse.

Till ran his tongue along his teeth, like that might somehow distract him. Sua was just watching him, blank-faced. Luka… Luka had lowered his gaze to his console.

Ivan noticed.

“A PS Vita?” he asked, a bit of interest slipping into his tone. “Haven’t seen one in good condition in years.”

“You… know what this is?” Luka blinked, surprised.

“Why wouldn’t I? It was amazing hardware for its time. OLED on a handheld. A game library that never got the love it deserved.”

Luka’s mouth literally fell open. “Okay—that’s exactly what I say every time someone asks me why I never sold it.”

“Persona 3 Portable, right?” Ivan asked, motioning slightly toward the screen.

“How—? Yeah. How did you know?”

“Iwatodai Dorm, blue background, time counter in the corner. It’s unmistakable,” Ivan said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Who the hell recognizes a game just from the UI?!” the blonde burst out laughing.

“It’s a solid title. Dark, with a system that punishes bad time management. You chose well.”

“Exactly!” Luka raised the console like a trophy. “Finally someone gets it! Everyone’s obsessed with Persona 5 and no one gives 3 the respect it deserves. Okay, wait—you played this?”

“I know it,” Ivan corrected calmly.

Luka squinted, amused. “‘You know it’, huh? Of course you do…”

Ivan didn’t react. He let Luka's enthusiasm wash over him, waited exactly long enough… then returned his gaze to the console. The guy with glasses kept talking, hyped, chaining sentences about soundtracks, boss mechanics, and social links. Ivan replied with spot-on facts—but never sounded arrogant.

It had been a while since the conversation had become incomprehensible for Till.

He turned to look at Sua.

She was already looking at him. They stayed like that, silent, with the same question practically tattooed across their faces: What the hell is going on here?

Luka was about to make another comment, but Ivan shifted his attention without warning—calmly, not abruptly.

“By the way, Sua. Mizi asked if you could lend her the History book. I can take it to her if you want.”

Sua blinked, caught off guard.

“The... History one?”

“Yes,” he nodded simply. “The one with the blue cover. You have it, right?”

There was a moment when she just stared at him, unsure whether to respond or to ask how the hell he sounded so familiar with Mizi. In the end, she just pulled the book from her backpack and held it in her hands.

Ivan reached out his hand toward her. “Permission to borrow it?”

She hesitated for a second, but eventually handed it over.

What happened next was anything but normal. Ivan started flipping through the pages. Fast. Way too fast. No pauses. Each sheet glided beneath his fingers with the precision of a metronome—no backtracking, no hesitation. Pure efficiency. Too much to be human.

Luka didn’t say a word. But his face screamed:

Holy mother of source code.

His eyes darted from the spine to the movement, mentally calculating intervals like he might decode the frequency just by looking.

Till, on the other hand, didn’t make a show of it. He just clenched his jaw, suppressing a smug smirk. Half a second was all it took to say:

Told you so.

Ivan closed the book without making a sound. “Yes, that’s the one. Thanks.”

And that was it. Like nothing had happened.

Two seconds passed. Luka exploded.

“Okay, I need to know what the hell you just processed.”

“Chapter five,” Ivan said. “Industrial Revolution: causes, development, early consequences, relation to technological advances.”

“You just read that right now?”

“Yes.”

Luka tilted his head, sharpening his voice like someone launching an impromptu test.

“Alright. Quick question: what triggered the rise of English textile production?”

“Spinning Jenny. 1764. Multi-thread cotton spinning,” Ivan answered instantly.

The blond burst into disbelieving laughter, slapped his forehead, barely holding back a yell.

“Aha... tactile input, full extraction. Of course… You weren’t exaggerating, Till,” he muttered to himself.

“That was on page two,” Ivan added, tilting his head slightly, genuinely confused by the excitement.

Luka laughed again, compressed fascination in his chest, while Sua kept watching with her arms still crossed, mistrust slowly rebuilding itself where shock had just begun to fade. But the noise was starting to blur for Till. He couldn’t hear much. He just felt the heat pressing on the back of his neck, and each passing second ticking like someone was counting them out loud. Ivan was sitting right there. Too close.

And he… hadn’t said a word since he got there.

Not that he needed to. The silence was doing the talking. Heavy on his tongue, on his neck, on his shoulders. With every second, Till became more aware of his own breathing.

Ivan shifted slightly. Not fully—just enough to shorten the invisible distance between them.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said at last.

Till swallowed hard.

“I was listening,” he murmured, trying to sound casual and failing miserably .

“You like History too?”

The silver-haired boy opened his mouth… and Luka cut in before he could answer, eyes still glued to his console, mashing buttons again.

“Till? Please. He hates that class.”

“I don’t hate it!” he protested, turning around, half indignant.

“Uh-huh,” Luka sing-songed with mockery.

Ivan didn’t smile. Just a flicker in his eyes—data registered. Then he let it go, pivoting to a new topic.

He looked down briefly at his jacket, gently pulling at the sleeve.

“I hadn’t had the chance to ask before... but what do you think?” he said suddenly, then clarified, “About the jacket, I mean.”

The question caught Till off guard. “What?”

“I was going to say everyone on the team thinks it looks good on me, but I don’t trust their judgment,” he added, with calm that sounded deliberately provoking. “I’d rather hear what you think.”

The silver-haired eyes flickered away, cheeks heating up.

“It looks... fine,” he replied, dryly.

“Just fine?” Ivan tilted his head slightly—not smiling, but with a glint in his eye that seemed to enjoy Till’s discomfort. “I thought you might be more generous.”

“I’m not a fashion critic,” Till snapped, crossing his arms with a sharpness that gave him away.

“Still, your opinion matters more than anyone else's."

The words dropped with no decoration—so direct that Till blinked, visibly uneasy. And as if not knowing how to handle the tension, he blurted the first thing that came to mind:

“Oh, and I guess the opinion of that girl who almost clung to your arm matters too?”

Ivan looked at him with something that wasn’t mockery, but wasn’t innocent either.

“No.” The answer was firm, yet calm. “I don’t even remember what she said.”

Till cursed his own mouth.

“Right… of course,” he muttered, looking away.

“Does it bother you?”

“No!” he snapped—so quickly that Luka raised an eyebrow without lifting his thumbs from the console.

“Were you watching me?” Ivan asked, with a neutrality that sounded more like teasing than genuine curiosity.

Till cleared his throat, trying to recover.

“Don’t get ideas,” he grumbled, eyes dropping to the grass.

Ivan didn’t push further. He just turned his wrist, smoothing out the red fabric with his fingers.

“I’m training with the team today,” he said suddenly, more softly. “I want you to come.”

Till looked at him, confused. “I’m busy.”

“With what?”

“With... stuff.”

“Am I really that boring, that you’d rather stay with your ‘stuff’?” Ivan asked with a calm voice and an amused glint in his eye.

“I…” Till tried to find a better answer, but found nothing but air. He stayed silent just a second too long—long enough for Ivan to take the lead.

“It’s fine,” he added, shrugging with a casualness that only made Till more uncomfortable. “But I’d like you to come.” His gaze held on him—soft, but firm. “It’d be nice to know you’re watching.”

Till felt his stomach turn.

“I… I don’t know if—”

“Of course we’re going!” Luka interrupted loudly, earning a glare from Sua.

“What?! No!” Till turned to him, panicking.

“Yes we are!” Luka insisted, lowering the console and pointing at Ivan as if sealing a contract. “There’s no way we’re missing the performance of the... next star player.”

“Then I’ll see you there,” said the dark-haired boy, looking more satisfied than usual.

“Perfect,” Luka nodded, pointing a finger at Till like he was handing down a sentence. “And if he plays hard to get, I’ll drag him there by the ankles if I have to.”

Ivan gave him a look, somewhere between curiosity and quiet amusement. Then, without another word, he stood up, brushing off his hands. His gaze lingered on Till just half a second longer.

“Don’t be late.”

He gave a small nod to Sua and Luka, and simply walked away with calm steps. There were a few seconds of silence after the android disappeared into the crowd.

“What the hell was that, Luka?!” Till finally exploded, turning to his friend.

Luka raised an eyebrow, console still in hand.

“Seriously? You’re asking me like you don’t want to go?”

“I don’t!”

“Oh, please.” Luka rolled his eyes with a grin. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? He comes looking for you, and you… you just run.”

Till blushed down to his roots. “I don’t—!”

“Till, come on.” Luka stood up, brushing off his pants. “Stop pretending. You want me to say it out loud? You’re dying to see him. You just don’t know what to do with that.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh no?” Luka narrowed his eyes with that smile that always meant I’ve got you cornered . “Okay, then you won’t mind if I go watch him train. I mean, you don’t want to.”

“It’s not…” He sighed, uncomfortable. “He’s a robot, Luka.”

“Well, that robot’s got you losing your nerves every two sentences.” Luka grinned, triumphant. “Come on, admit it. You’re gonna show up, and you know it.”

Till looked at him like he was about to say no… But his silence was answer enough. The blond burst out laughing and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Done. Then we’re going.”

“I’m not,” Sua chimed in, folder tucked under her arm.

Luka turned to her, feigning surprise.

“You’re not? Not even if I told you the cheerleaders also practice when the team trains?”

“…Asshole.” Sua turned her head away, but the slight blush on her face was all the confirmation Luka needed.

“That’s a yes,” he sing-songed, victorious.

_________________________________________________________________________

Friday afternoon brought with it an intense heat. It was the kind of heat that clung to your skin like duct tape, and Till silently thanked the light clothes he was wearing. Sua had ditched her sweater half an hour ago and was carrying it over her arm, while Luka—obsessed with not melting—had brought a portable mini fan.

“You seriously look like a grandma with that,” Till muttered, watching Luka aim the fan directly at his face.

“Laugh all you want, but when you’re sweating like a rotisserie chicken, I’m selling puffs of air for five bucks,” Luka replied. 

This time, they had come again under the pretense of “research,” just like the day before. But now they were better prepared: comfortably seated in the second row of the bleachers, with snacks, water, and—in Luka’s case—a notebook in which he documented, with startling seriousness, every detail observed about the subject in question.

“Let’s see…” Luka murmured, flipping through his notes. “Preliminary summary: Ivan doesn’t just use brute force. He also calculates in real time. Yesterday he wasn’t gauging his throws and cracked a board on the fence. But as soon as they corrected him, every throw was perfect. As if he adjusted his internal parameters on the fly.”

Sua frowned, brushing a crumb off her skirt.

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“I mean it literally,” Luka replied, tapping the notebook with the tip of his pencil. “That’s self-learning programming. He registered the error, processed it, and adjusted. He learned.”

“I saw that too. But what about the Dewey thing?” Till asked.

“Oh, Dewey was insane,” Luka replied, nearly grinning like a madman. “That tank of a guy was about to eat turf, and Ivan catches him with one arm! One. Arm.” He flipped the page. “If I estimate correctly, Dewey has to weigh at least eighty kilos, plus the fall speed… that’s easily six to seven hundred Newtons of force needed to stop him without turning him into a pancake.”

“And you actually bothered to calculate that?” Sua asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Middle school physics.” He grinned smugly. “Multiply mass by acceleration and boom—you’ve got the push needed. But none of us would do it without dislocating our arm.”

He could still picture it—Dewey slipping like a runaway log, and Ivan stopping him like he weighed nothing.

Hyuna’s eyes had gone so wide they looked like they’d pop out of their sockets. The coach, meanwhile, was rubbing his hands together with cartoonish excitement, eyes locked on the black-haired boy like he’d just found the missing piece to win the championship.

Till snorted, snapping back to the present, and rested his elbows on his knees to look out at the field. Ivan was a few meters away, running under the burning sun. His skin glistened with sweat, but—according to Luka—that was intentional. “An external liquid cooling system,” he had said, like explaining an android’s sweat was the most logical thing in the world. Till didn’t fully understand it, but the idea of Ivan choosing to sweat unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

Yesterday, he had avoided direct contact. He had watched Ivan train for a while, sure… and more than once, he’d felt that Ivan was watching him too. Or at least he thought so. Their eyes would meet for a second, then one would look away, then the other. It was awkward. Ridiculous. Like playing silent tug-of-war with their eyes.

And in the end, Till had left before things got any weirder.

But today… today he didn’t feel so lucky.

A long whistle cut through the air, and it didn’t come from the coach. In a corner of the field, the cheerleaders had started their routine. The contrast was brutal: while the players looked like they were waging war against the heat, the girls were flawless. Among them, Mizi’s pink hair looked like a flare in the sun.

When she spotted the trio in the bleachers, she lifted a hand and gave them a quick wave, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but enough to make Sua straighten up immediately.

Till noticed the mood shift at once.

“What’s wrong, Sua? Did you just… get happier, or is it the heat?”

“Shut up,” she replied, though the hint of a smile betrayed her as she returned the wave with a subtle nod.

The gray-haired boy decided not to push it and turned his gaze back to the field, just as Luka resumed with his notebook.

“Okay…” Luka murmured, flipping pages. “Our subject is still standing out, but today there’s something different.”

“Different how?” Sua asked, not fully looking away from the cheerleaders.

“Watch his sprints,” Luka pointed with his pencil toward the center. “Jacob’s the only one who can keep up with him—and that already says a lot. But Ivan doesn’t run like the others. He wastes no energy. Every stride looks measured, like he already knows exactly how many steps he needs.”

“Did you time him?” Sua inquired, tilting her head.

“Obviously.” He showed her his phone screen, filled with times recorded for each player. “Twelve seconds for a full lap. No one else comes close. His stamina is like a system calibrated in real time.”

The blonde kept talking about times and parameters when something on the field made them fall silent.

From the sideline, Ivan caught a long pass with ease that didn’t seem real. He pivoted sharply on one foot and returned it mid-air, with such force that the air whistled as it passed. Several people in the stands—including a few cheerleaders—jumped with a muffled yelp.

It wasn’t a casual pass: it was clean. Precise. Something no one could imitate, not even by accident.

Even for someone who didn’t know a damn thing about football—like Till, or any of the trio—it was impossible not to stare.

At that moment, Ivan lifted his gaze toward the bleachers.

A quick glance. Direct.

Till knew, without a doubt, it was meant for him.

His mouth went dry. What was someone supposed to do in this kind of situation? In the end, he just shrank a little and, as an escape maneuver, turned to Luka:

“G-Gimme the fan.”

“Five dollars.”

“Luka!”

“Warned you,” said the blonde, giving in to emotional blackmail as he aimed the fan at him.

Till huffed, sinking into his seat, desperately searching for something—anything—to focus on that wasn’t those eyes across the field. Luckily, a whistle came to the rescue.

“Break!” the coach shouted from the benches.

The players scattered toward the shaded sidelines, panting from the heat. Some flopped onto the grass with no dignity, others received water bottles like divine rewards. Hyuna handed each of them a towel, and, to no one’s surprise, Dewey yanked off his shirt, twirling it in the air like he was hyping up a party.

“That’s… a little too much enthusiasm for a break,” Till muttered, resting his chin on one hand.

“It’s Dewey,” Sua replied, as if that explained every eccentricity in the world.

Hyuna kept talking to the team, pointing toward the field and gesturing energetically. Luka leaned forward, squinting behind his glasses.

“I think she told them they’ve got fifteen minutes, and then a quick match to wrap up.” He paused to adjust the frame. “Good moment to see how well Ivan adapts to a real game dynamic.”

“Split up!” Jacob shouted from the field, with the natural authority of a captain, arranging the players into two teams, moving each with a couple of hand signals.

The break dragged on like the sun was pounding it with a hammer. The air had grown thick, almost tangible, and Till felt every breath burning on the way in. Luka, already defeated, waved his mini fan directly at his face like a shipwreck survivor clinging to a float. Meanwhile, Sua drank water with a survivor-level rhythm.

Out on the field, several players had already given up and taken off their shirts, letting the sun beat down on them mercilessly. Ivan wasn’t one of them. The red fabric clung completely to his body, outlining every tense muscle.

Till squinted.

Could someone really look like that after running so much? Because honestly, he felt like the bench was melting with him, fusing skin and indecision into one overheated blur.

And there was Ivan, as if the heat were doing him a favor.

It was ridiculous. Unfair.

The cheerleaders, meanwhile, had finished their routine, but a few stayed to watch the rest of the practice. Among them was Mizi. As soon as she reached the bleachers, she made her way toward the group and flashed them a radiant smile.

“Hey!” she greeted, settling comfortably between Sua and Till.

“Hi,” the black-haired girl replied, giving her some space.

“You guys came again today?” Mizi asked, tilting her head with curiosity. “I saw you yesterday. No offense, but you’re not exactly the school spirit type. What’s going on?”

Till and Luka exchanged a very poorly concealed look of panic.

“Uh… it just seemed interesting,” Luka improvised, snapping his notebook shut like he was hiding classified evidence.

“Yeah, you know… the sport, the camaraderie, youth in motion…” Till added, forcing a smile so tight it looked stapled to his face. “Hyuna said we could come watch…”

Mizi raised an eyebrow, but just shrugged.

“Well, as long as you’re having fun.”

Sua used the distraction to steer the conversation away before they sank any deeper.

“So, you guys done for the day?” she asked, nodding toward the other cheerleaders chatting a bit farther down.

“Uh-huh,” Mizi replied, placing a water bottle between her knees. “But I stayed a little longer to keep you company. No need to thank me.”

Her gaze shifted just as Ivan bent down to stretch his legs. Till, without realizing it, followed the same path with his eyes… until a soft elbow to the ribs snapped him out of it.

“Did you see that?”

“What?” The gray-haired boy blinked, feigning confusion.

“Ivan,” Mizi smiled—a clean smile, but with a hint of mischief. “He’s getting really good… but I bet he’d love to know you’re watching him.”

“I wasn’t…” he began to say, but the excuse dissolved on his tongue. Even he didn’t believe it.

“Come on, Till. If you care, you don’t have to hide it.” Mizi nudged him with her shoulder, still smiling. “And trust me: you’re not as subtle as you think. You should go talk to him after practice.”

He swallowed. “And… what exactly am I supposed to say?”

“Just… go. Trust me, he’ll be happy.”

Sua looked at Mizi, amused. “You’re good at this.”

“Obviously,” Mizi replied, pointing proudly at her uniform. “I’m a cheerleader, it’s literally my job. And if you don’t go, Till, I will—and I’ll tell him you were drooling over him.”

“What?!” Till nearly choked on the air, coughing like he’d just swallowed a bee.

A loud whistle cut through the moment, snapping everyone out of the conversation.

“Back to your positions!” the coach yelled from the sideline.

Luka, already with his notebook open again, muttered attentively,

“He’s doing it again…”

“Can you shut up for two minutes?” Till snapped.

On the field, the ball flew. Just a few minutes of rest had shifted the atmosphere from “training” to something closer to organized chaos: strategic shouts, sneakers scraping dry dirt, shoves that teetered between camaraderie and friendly violence. It didn’t seem like they were competing for the scoreboard, but for the sheer thrill of proving who could run faster, dodge better, yell louder after a clean pass.

Till rested his elbows on his knees, letting his gaze drift anywhere but where he really didn’t want it to go. He saw the cheerleaders who’d stayed behind, laughing and commenting on the game. He saw the sky, loaded with that sticky heat that felt endless. He even paused for a second on Dewey’s absurd movements, who looked more like a rolling mountain than a football player.

He was trying not to look. Really, he was. But every time the ball changed hands, every time someone ran, his eyes went right back to him. As if his brain were betraying him on purpose, dragging him to the same point again and again. Reminding him who he’d come to see.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck to wipe off the sweat in a resigned gesture.

Did he really care this much?

The answer didn’t even need thinking. It hit him, inevitable: Yes.

He let out another, deeper sigh, trying to shake off the emotional mess he’d been carrying for days. But no. It was still there.

Because he was standing there: just a few meters away, running with that strange precision that didn’t feel forced, but natural. He wasn’t even doing anything spectacular—but Till still couldn’t look away. Every movement was magnetic. Every stride, clean. Fluid. Like the world was just a pattern he already knew by heart.

And the worst part was that it didn’t feel artificial. It wasn’t the rigid kind of perfection you’d expect from a robot. It was something else. Something more organic. More… human. His mere presence was enough to throw everything off, like even from across the field, Ivan saw straight through him.

Was he really going to keep pushing him away?

Luka had been clear: if he kept turning Ivan down, Ivan might stop trying.

The idea alone squeezed his chest with an intensity he hadn’t seen coming.

No.
He didn’t want that.
He didn’t want to lose him.

Today, when all this was over, he was going to walk over. He was going to try.

A missed pass shattered his train of thought. The ball flew off with force, crossing the sideline with cruel precision.

Straight at Luka.

THWACK!

The hit sounded dry, like a slap against concrete. Luka froze for a second, eyes wide behind the glasses that had just snapped in half, before bringing both hands to his face.

“What the hell?!” he managed to say, his voice half nasal.

The ball had landed right on the bridge of his nose, and within seconds, the skin began to turn red. There wasn’t much blood—just a quick drop—but it was enough for Sua and Till to burst into laughter so poorly contained it was almost painful to hear.

“Sorry, sorry!” shouted the guy who had thrown the ball from the field. “I didn’t mean to!”

“Oh God!” Mizi jumped up and rushed toward Luka. “You’re bleeding!”

Still doubled over, Till glanced sideways—and promptly snorted again. Sua had to cover her mouth with her hand to avoid laughing in his face.

“It’s not funny,” the blond groaned, but the congestion in his voice only made Till burst out laughing again.

Hyuna, who had seen the incident from the field, came running with a first aid kit in hand.

“Did it hit you in the face? Let me see!”

Luka froze when she got that close. It wasn’t like Hyuna was yelling at him or anything, but the way she leaned over him, with that genuinely concerned expression, left him stammering.

“N-No! I’m fine,” he said quickly, scooting back with cheeks red as tomatoes.

“What if you’ve got heatstroke too?” she asked, eyeing him from head to toe. “You’re burning up.”

“It’s not a heatstroke! It’s…” he mumbled, trying to crouch down to look for his glasses, but without them, he could barely make out shadows. “Where are they…?”

“Relax, I got them.” Hyuna picked them up before he could finish flailing at the ground like he was searching for something lost in the sand. “Now stay still. Let me take a look.”

Luka wanted to protest, but just then, the coach’s whistle blew.

“That’s it for today!” he yelled from the field, glaring daggers at the poor guy who’d launched the ball. “Everyone to the showers!”

Hyuna ignored the chaos around her and focused on Luka’s face, assessing the damage.

“It’s not broken, luckily,” she said at last. “But you’re gonna get a pretty decent bruise. I’d better take you to the nurse so they can check you properly.”

“What? That’s not necessary! I can—”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

The brunette had already scooped him up with an ease that bordered on humiliating. Luka froze, mouth open, stuck between terror and pure mortification.

“I can walk! Seriously!” he protested, flailing his arms like that would convince her, but the girl kept walking without giving him a choice.

“Put me down! Don’t laugh!” he yelled, twisting his head just enough to see his friends—who were clearly on the verge of laughing themselves into the next dimension.His expression of outrage—blurred into a mess of flesh tones and flailing limbs—only made it worse.

Sua raised a teasing hand in farewell, still laughing. Once the giggles finally faded, she stood up and brushed the dust off her skirt with a pat.

“Want me to give you guys a ride home?” she asked, looking first at Mizi, then at Till.

“What about your friend?” the pink-haired girl hesitated, glancing in the direction where Hyuna had vanished with Luka in her arms.

“He’ll be fine. He’s in better hands than he’d have with us.”

Mizi let out a small laugh and nodded. “Then yeah, I’ll take the ride.”

Till, on the other hand, shook his head.

“I… think I’m gonna stay a bit.”

Sua scanned him from head to toe with a quick glance, evaluating something she decided not to say out loud.

“All right.” She gave him a light pat on the shoulder. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“I don’t do stupid things.”

The response was so unconvincing that Mizi gave him a crooked, amused smile.

“See you, Till,” she said, waving cheerfully.

The three of them gathered their things and headed toward the edge of the field. Around them, the rest of the crowd began to disperse. Within minutes, the place was nearly empty.

Till leaned against a post, sweaty hands buried in his pockets. He looked toward the entrance of the building, then at the now-empty field, as if either path would give him the answer he needed.

Wait for Ivan to come out on his own… or go find him?

He clenched his jaw. “Screw it…” he muttered, straightening up.

His footsteps echoed faintly in the side hallway leading to the locker rooms. He could hear muffled voices from the team—scattered laughter and jokes, the screech of a locker slamming shut. He stopped a few feet from the door, hesitating.

He lightly kicked the floor, trying to shake off the tension. One by one, the players began to file out.

Isaac was the first, offering a polite smile and a quick nod.

“All good?” he asked in passing.

Till nodded quickly. Then came Dewey, bumping fists with a grin so big Till couldn’t help but return it—though it was a little forced. The rest of the team trickled out in silence, some not even bothering to look his way.

When the door closed behind the last player, Till remained still. He looked at his distorted reflection in the glass of the window.

What if Ivan saw him and didn’t want to talk? What if he was already dressed and gone? What if this was a mistake?

He waited another minute. Nothing. The silence behind the door grew unbearable. Until impatience won. He took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped in.

A wave of dampness and soap hit him in the face. The locker room was silent, marked by the last wet footprints of those already gone. Forgotten clothes, cracked-open lockers, and the steady drip of a leaky shower broke the stillness with their metallic echoes.

There was no one.

He swallowed hard and took a few steps forward. The place felt too big without voices.

“Hello?” he dared to say—barely above a whisper.

No response.

Perfect, he thought. I’m out. This was the dumbest idea I’ve had all week.

He spun on his heel to leave… and suddenly, someone appeared beside him.

“What are you doing here?”

The voice jolted him from head to toe. Till jumped, nearly yelping, and blinked in disbelief.

Ivan was there.

He had just come out of the showers, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, a single towel wrapped around his waist. Just a towel.

Till’s brain short-circuited.

“I—!” he staggered back so fast he tripped on a bench. “I’M NOT LOOKING AT ANYTHING!” he spun around so fast he nearly dislocated his neck. “P-please get dressed. I don’t want to see anything weird!”

The dark-haired boy didn’t look offended. If anything, he seemed surprised. And maybe a little amused.

“Did I scare you? Sorry. I didn’t think you’d… come.”

“Well I didn’t think I’d be walking into this!” Till flailed at the air, still facing away. “I just came to—forget it!”

An awkward silence settled between them, broken only by the sound of Ivan opening his locker.

“Could you… chill a little?” Ivan murmured as he slipped on a T-shirt. His tone was shy, but also patient. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?!” Till was still staring intently at a crack in the wall, as if it were the most fascinating thing on Earth.

A quiet chuckle—barely a breath—escaped Ivan as he ran the towel through his hair.

“I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I-it’s fine,” Till lied, still red to the tips of his ears.

“So…?” Ivan asked gently as he buttoned up his shirt. “What were you doing here?”

All the courage Till had built up during the match went straight down the drain. He opened his mouth… and nothing. A “I came to see you” got stuck halfway, like he had to chew it before he could swallow. He just swallowed hard and looked down.

Ivan didn’t push. The soft rustle of fabric as he dressed was the only sound for a few seconds. Then his voice came again, soft:

“You can turn around now.”

Till did—slowly, like he still half-expected it to be a trap.

Ivan was already dressed, still towel-drying his hair. A drop slid down his neck, a bright curve on his skin. How the hell could he get wet if he was a robot? Till tried to remember if Luka had ever explained that… Probably. But he was most likely too distracted, doodling in his notebook or following a bug with his eyes. If there had been an explanation, he’d missed it.

“I’m glad you came to see me…” Ivan said, almost in a whisper. 

Till felt his heart pounding in his chest. 

“I…” he began, looking anywhere but at him. “I just…”

The words refused to come out. Each attempt died, choked by nerves.

Ivan frowned slightly, as if trying to figure out what had him so stuck. His eyes drifted down to his face: the sweaty bangs, the eyeliner smudged from the heat.

“You were out in the sun the whole time,” he said, eyeing him up and down—not maliciously, just observing. “I didn’t see you drink water even once.”

“Eh… I’m fine,” Till muttered, as if that were a valid excuse.

“You don’t look fine.” He took a step toward his bag, pulled out a bottle—cold, covered in beads of condensation—and handed it to him. “Here.”

Till hesitated, but thirst won. He drank, trying not to look as grateful as he felt.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but it was thick—loaded with unsaid things. Ivan broke the silence with an unexpected offer.

“Come. Let’s go to my car. It has air conditioning. You need to cool off.”

“Your… car?” Till repeated, bewildered.

Ivan gave a small tilt of his head, smiling faintly. Then he stepped toward the bench, took his bag, and casually slipped a strap off Till’s shoulder.

“I can carry this too.”

“Wait!” He turned to protest, but it was already too late. Ivan was already holding the backpack like it weighed nothing.

Only then did Till realize he was still wearing it. And that he’d been hunched under its weight for over an hour without even noticing.

Ivan gestured with his head. “Coming?”

He hesitated a second… then nodded silently.

They left the dampness of the locker room behind, but the discomfort still clung to his skin as they walked toward the car.

Outside, the sky had started to shift into a soft orange that signaled the day’s end. The heat wasn’t as oppressive anymore, but the air still felt heavy. The nearly empty parking lot reflected the sunlight off the metal roofs of the few remaining cars.

Ivan pulled the keys from his pocket and spun them between his fingers before pressing the remote. A few meters away, the black Porsche chirped softly, its headlights blinking like a wink.

Till keep quiet. He’d already seen it on Tuesday, but still, following Ivan to that car, getting in, sitting down… it all still felt like some surreal joke.

The other boy stepped ahead and opened the passenger door for him. He hesitated just a moment, then climbed in. Closed the door behind him, and for a few seconds, the heat still clung to the interior.

Ivan rounded the front, settled into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. The air conditioning kicked on with a mechanical sigh, sending cool air throughout the cabin.

Till exhaled without realizing it, feeling the heat begin to evaporate from his skin.

“Thanks,” he murmured, sinking a little further into the seat.

The Porsche rolled smoothly out of the parking space.

“Want me to drive you home?”

“You know where I live?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and glancing at him sideways.

“No,” Ivan replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Till blinked. For a second he’d forgotten that kind of thing could happen.

“Oh. Well, it’s easy,” he said, lowering his gaze. Then he started giving directions, not looking at him directly.

The interior settled into a peaceful atmosphere, the hum of the AC filling the space between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable.

Till shifted in his seat. Arms crossed, eyes fixed on the windshield, and a sentence caught right behind his teeth. He could feel it, forming slowly, awkwardly, like it had to be dragged out of his chest with pliers.

Come on. Just say it. You’re already here. You’ve already decided.

It wasn’t that hard. Well, it is. But at least this time, he wasn’t running away. He was here. With him.

He was going to tell him yes. That he wanted to try. That he—

He swallowed.

It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just say it. Just look at him and—

“Wanna play some music?” Ivan asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

“If you want,” he clarified, as if he hadn’t just derailed a major emotional breakthrough—completely unaware of the inner chaos he’d just interrupted. “But if you’d rather have silence, that’s fine too.”

Till looked at him, thrown off, blinking like someone had just interrupted a very important train of thought (which it was). He opened his mouth. Then closed it.

Music?

“Music?” he echoed, still mentally spinning from the emotional whiplash.. But then nodded, choosing the simplest way out. “Sure… sounds good.”

He reached toward the center console. The Porsche’s touchscreen—sharp, sleek, and absurdly expensive—responded instantly to his touch.

♪ California girls, we’re unforgettable… ♪

The bass dropped soft but bright, followed by Katy Perry’s unmistakable voice.

Till froze. Literally motionless, finger still on the screen. He turned his head very, very slowly toward the driver—who, in that moment, looked like he was trying to melt into the seat. He didn’t say anything, but the way Ivan was shrinking into himself said plenty.

“…Seriously?” he murmured.

“I had… an auto-playlist,” Ivan mumbled defensively.

He said nothing else. Just swiped to the next song.

♪ Feather by Sabrina Carpenter filled the car, as if the universe had decided to keep wrecking Ivan’s pride with upbeat female pop.

“Auto-playlist, huh?”

Ivan didn’t respond. Just kept his eyes on the road. And that, for Till, was answer enough. So he looked at the playlist on the screen.

He scrolled a little: Ariana. Mariah. Kesha. Taylor. A few female K-pop groups. Britney. Doja.

The driver’s hands stayed on the wheel, back straight, gaze fixed on the road with mechanical rigidity. And if that weren’t enough—he was red. Not just blushing. Red.

Till pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. It was… unexpected. This was the same guy who caught footballs like nothing and ran like a machine… listening to California Gurls ?

Absurd. And, against his will, stupidly adorable.

“Well… who would’ve thought. Our star athlete’s got a weakness for generic pop,” he said with mock seriousness, letting Feather continue playing.

The other let out a small laugh, still not looking away from the road.

That made Till smile, just a little.

“And you?” Ivan asked then, glancing slightly toward him. “What do you like?”

“Music-wise?” Till paused, clicking his tongue. “I listen to a bit of everything, but mostly… alternative rock, post-punk, industrial. Y’know, distorted guitars, raspy vocals, lyrics that sound like an existential crisis. Nine Inch Nails, Deftones, Paramore, Radiohead when they’re feeling especially depressed. Some shoegaze too—Slowdive, or Cigarettes After Sex—if I’m in the mood.”

“Never heard of any of that,” Ivan admitted, completely sincerely.

Till turned his head, scandalized. “None of it?”

“But you’re giving me a lot to check out,” he replied with a smile.

And from there, something unspoken began to take shape.

The conversation flowed with a kind of ease neither of them expected. Ivan asked, and Till explained without pressure, his usual light sarcasm slipping out naturally. Talking like this felt strangely easy. Almost like they’d been doing it for weeks.

At some point, while scrolling through the screen absentmindedly, Till paused. A familiar name showed up in the options. One he hadn’t expected to see there.

He glanced sideways at the driver.

It wasn’t like he loved it, but… he did like a few songs. Still, he wouldn’t have imagined it in that playlist. He played it without saying anything. The song started. Neither of them spoke. They just let the music fill the moment. Windows closed, cool air washing over them, a female voice drifting through the cabin without trying to dominate it.

By the time the track ended, they were already turning the corner near Till’s house.

And even though he didn’t say it—

Till didn’t want to get out just yet.

The engine shut off with a soft purr. Till had one hand on the door handle, but didn’t pull it.
He inhaled. Counted to three. Then let the air out slowly, deliberately.

“Hey,” he murmured at last, not quite turning around.

Ivan turned slightly, attentively.

“I’ve been… thinking about what you said. About going out.”

A few seconds passed—not heavy, but sharp, like the careful balance of a tightrope walk.

“A-And well…” He rubbed the back of his neck, cleared his throat, pressed his lips together. “If you still want to… we can do it. Go out. A date. Whatever.”

Silence.

It hit like a jab beneath the sternum. He looked over, afraid he’d find nothing. But there he was—eyes wide, emotion just beneath the surface, like he wasn’t sure if he’d really heard what he thought he had.

“For real?”

Till dropped his gaze instantly, feeling his ears go hot. He cleared his throat and forced himself to speak, even though every word felt heavier than the last.

“Yeah… for real,” he said without looking up. “If you still want to, of course.”

Ivan didn’t answer right away, but it showed in his posture—some invisible weight had finally lifted.

“I do. Of course I do.”

“When?”

Ivan seemed to think for a second.

“Next Friday? There’s no school because of the season opener. It’ll be in the afternoon… we could meet up before. Go together.”

“Yes,” Till answered instantly. Then, trying to sound more casual, “I mean… sounds great.”

His excitement and nerves were written all over him—in the way his fingers clenched the seam of his pants, in the spark in his eyes. Excitement and nerves shining through. It was his first date. And even though he was nervous, the dominant feeling… was joy.

Ivan leaned in a little. Till didn’t move, even though his heart skipped a beat.

“You have…” he whispered, gently brushing away a faint smudge of eyeliner from beneath Till’s left eye with his thumb. “Got it.”

He froze, caught off guard by the gentle contact, his breath hitching in his throat.

“Th-Thanks.”

The fingers pulled back, yes—but the space between them still hummed with tension, untouched.

“Would you mind if I spent more time with you at school?”

No hesitation needed—he opened his mouth, paused, then nodded gently. He didn’t want to break the moment with clumsy words. Not after all this. A calm smile appeared on Ivan’s lips. Then he reached into the back seat and handed Till his backpack.

“Thanks again… for the ride,” Till murmured—awkward, but sincere.

He opened the door. The temperature shift hit him at once, a reminder that the world outside still existed. He walked a few steps, and when he reached the porch, he turned back one last time.

Ivan was still there, watching from the car.

They looked at each other.

Till smiled, warmth flooding through him. Then he stepped inside, the soft click of the door closing behind him marking the end of the day—and the dawn of a fresh beginning. 

_________________________________________________________________________

The harsh white light overhead was merciless, casting every surface into sharp relief. It flickered once—barely noticeable—but enough to unsettle the sterile stillness of the room.

At the center of the table, a three-dimensional model hovered above the glass surface: ideal_partner.temp . Around it, fractured fragments of data—physical traits, disjointed emotional notes, erratic behavioral patterns—spun slowly, fractured and incomplete. The file made no coherent sense. Yet something within it had triggered a full investigation.

“After cross-referencing the parameters with the latest urban surveillance, we´ve identified three viable matches,” an analyst announced, magnifying the map projected onto the table.

Three red dots blinked across the cityscape. Above each, an abstract silhouette flickered—anomalous movements, identical routine patterns, physical activity beyond human norms.

“The first was ruled out this morning: medical implants. The second remains under review. But this one…” The hand hovered toward the third dot. “…was located yesterday near an educational institute.”

The image zoomed in, sharp and unsettling. Captured by civilian surveillance, it showed a figure from behind—dark hair, upright posture, tall and symmetrical. The face turned partially toward the lens, revealing features too precise, too flawless.

A low murmur rippled through the room, tense and wary.

“Where was this image taken?” the officer in charge asked.

“School zone. A high school,” the technician replied without hesitation.

Io said nothing, but her jaw clenched, her shoulders stiffening imperceptibly. That place…

That’s where her son studied.

The thought lodged like a splinter beneath her skin. She gripped the edge of the table, as if it could anchor her against the rising storm inside.

“We can deploy covert visual verification,” someone suggested. “Minimal contact. No detection.”

“And if it reacts?” another voice asked, cautious.

“The priority is stealth. We have a 48-hour window to trace its routine. No incidents, then we proceed carefully.”

Nods of reluctant agreement followed. Surveillance, not confrontation—for now.

The side door creaked open. A figure stepped in—dressed all in black, no insignias, no introduction. Everyone knew the sector he represented, and more importantly, the authority he answered to.

Tension thickened instantly. Chairs straightened, breaths held.

“I was told you have a preliminary target,” he said bluntly.

The officer in charge nodded cautiously. “A significant match. We’re evaluating indirect approaches. No confirmation yet—”

“How much longer before you ‘confirm’?” The man’s tone cut through the room like a knife. “Will you wait for a structural collapse? For it to vanish again?”

He stepped closer to the projection, eyes cold and surgical.

“This isn’t a student. It’s not human. It 's Unit 09.”

Io’s fingers froze above the console, her breath caught.

“Whether this figure is or isn’t,” he continued, “there is no excuse for a weapon designed for intelligent combat to move freely among civilians. This is not a rogue anomaly or an accident. It is military technology. And if you won’t control it, we will.”

“We don’t yet know if it’s a threat,” another voice ventured.

The newcomer’s stare was lethal.

“You failed to contain it once. We won’t make that mistake again.”

A suffocating silence filled the room.

“You have seven days,” he said, voice cold as steel. “After that, I cannot guarantee the intervention will be peaceful. Collateral damage will be inevitable.”

He turned on his heel. The door clicked shut behind him—metal on metal—a closing verdict.

No one moved. The projection hovered—motionless, perfectly lit—waiting for judgment.

Io looked down at the console, now slightly tilted toward her. The encrypted data blinked unevenly—lines of code weaving in a strange curvature, an emotional logic embedded where none should exist.

The projection flickered again—barely perceptible—but it was enough.

She stayed frozen, fingers poised above the keyboard, eyes sharp and unblinking.

Something didn’t add up.

And time was running out.

Chapter Text

Leaving the theater felt like waking from a dream. The hallway lights, the murmur of people, the ads cycling through the screens… everything sounded louder, brighter.

Beside her, Mizi was smiling with that serene expression she wore whenever something truly moved her. They walked together without rushing, wrapped in a kind of shared pause that neither of them wanted to break just yet.

“Didn’t you feel like the songs hit harder in this one?” Mizi asked, turning her face toward her, eyes shining softly. “I mean, the others were fine, but this one actually made me cry a little.”

Sua smiled faintly, amused by how naturally she could get emotional.

“It wasn’t as cheesy as I expected.”

“The main couple helped a lot.”

“And one of them was debuting, right?”

“Yes! But they had chemistry. Or good direction. Or both.”

They rode the escalators down and stepped outside. The night was mild, with a light breeze carrying the scent of street food mixed with the artificial air from nearby shops. They crossed the street at a leisurely pace. It was Saturday, and everything seemed to float just a little slower.

“Wanna go to the café on the corner?” Mizi suggested. “They have these choco-hazelnut stuffed rolls… and, I don’t know. I’m craving something sweet.”

“Let’s go,” Sua agreed. Her tone was calm, but the curve at the corner of her lips gave away more than her words.

Their fingers brushed by accident. Then again. When they finally intertwined, it felt like something they had been waiting for the whole way.

The café had warm lights and an eclectic decor: mismatched chairs, paintings hung with deliberate carelessness, a soft playlist weaving through the quiet chatter. They ordered at the counter and found a table by the window. The pink-haired girl sat first, legs crossed, hands wrapped around her steaming drink. Sua sat across from her, not taking her eyes off her.

Mizi took a small sip, still glowing from the movie. She looked at Sua over the rim of her cup.

“Are you guys still going to the practices?”

“Who?” Sua asked, though she already knew who she meant.

“The three of you,” Mizi replied, twirling her spoon between her fingers.

“I’m not sure. Luka definitely is. Till… probably too. I’m the one who’s not so sure anymore.”

Mizi raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Did watching them run in circles bore you that fast?”

“It’s not that,” Sua said, lowering her voice a little. “I just… think I’ve had enough for now.”

She said it with the certainty of someone who had made that decision days ago. Mizi nodded without pressing, playing with her napkin, and leaned forward slightly, now with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Well, Ivan told me he and Till are going out on Friday. Before the game.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. He’s really excited,” she added with a knowing grin. “What do you think happened after we left yesterday?”

The joke was innocent, but it sparked something heavy in Sua’s chest. She played with the edge of her glass. The smile she tried to keep faltered.

“He didn’t mention it,” she said.

“Till?”

She nodded.

“He doesn’t have to tell me everything. I figured it out anyway. It was only a matter of time.”

Mizi nodded too, saying nothing more, but her gaze softened with quiet understanding. She took another sip. Sua leaned back in her seat, staring out the window without really seeing anything.

She had been feeling it for days.

That knot under her skin, that sense that they were crossing a line they couldn’t come back from.

Ever since Luka showed them that hidden file, since they dove into modifying it like it was some kind of game, she knew it wouldn’t end well. They disguised it as an experiment, a joke, a shared curiosity. But she hadn’t been fooled. It was never a game.

Then Ivan appeared. And now, according to Mizi, Till and Ivan were going on a date.

She remembered clearly how Till had described what he wanted: someone who would see him, who would understand him.

And deep down, Sua had let it happen.

Because stopping them would’ve been useless. Luka was thrilled like he’d stumbled upon some revolutionary breakthrough in tech. Till… Till just wanted to stop feeling alone. And now, it seemed like he finally had someone.

Sua crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

Till liked to act tough. He replied with sarcasm, brushed off his feelings. But inside, a lot of things hurt him more than he admitted. And now someone was looking at him. Following him. Telling him exactly what he needed to hear.

It seemed perfect.

…The problem was, it wasn’t real.

That spark wasn’t natural. They had created someone made just for him. They meddled with something they didn’t understand, just out of curiosity, and now reality was beginning to bend around that choice.

If one day the android was taken away from them—or if something worse happened—what would become of Till? How would he get back up after that?

Although she didn’t want to ruin anything, although she genuinely enjoyed being with Mizi and seeing her friends happy… the thought of ending it all still lingered in her mind.

She took a sip from her glass, now lukewarm. The sweetness clung to her tongue, almost heavy, as if the flavor had thickened. Eyes lowered, she stirred the ice with her straw.

For a moment, she considered speaking up—telling Mizi everything. She trusted her now, far more than she was willing to admit. But when she tried out the words in her head, they fell flat. She had no idea where to begin.

“So, how come you and Ivan are already so close?” she asked instead, like it was just idle curiosity.

Mizi blinked, slightly nervous. That was her first reaction.

“Ah, well… Ivan’s super nice. We just clicked from day one. Who wouldn’t want to be his friend?”

She smiled, but something inside Sua tightened. Nothing intense. Just a small tug, like a bad feeling she’d rather ignore. She told herself she was being paranoid. Seeing signs where there weren’t any.

Mizi looked at her with that familiar expression—half curiosity, half poorly disguised affection—and Sua felt her brain short-circuit for a moment.

“What are you thinking about?”

“That I’m glad we went out today,” Sua replied, sincerely. She didn’t know how else to say it.

Mizi’s lips curved into a warmer, almost shy smile. She reached across the table and took Sua’s hand with calm resolve. Their fingers intertwined for a second time.

All the mental noise inside Sua faded away.

“Do you… want to go out again sometime?” Sua dared to ask, not quite looking at her.

Mizi nodded immediately, her joy soft but genuine.

“I do,” she said, and squeezed her hand just a little more.

Sua felt the blush rise to her cheeks. She pretended to focus on her drink to hide it.

Outside, the city kept moving, but inside the café, the world had narrowed down to that gesture, that smile, that answer. And even if neither of them said it out loud, they both knew:

They liked each other.

A lot.

_________________________________________________________________________

Monday morning wasn’t any different from the others. The sky was just as cloudy, and the alarm just as annoying. On the sidewalk still damp from the morning dew, Till walked beside Luka.

The blond wore his backpack slung over one shoulder, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, and a small white bandage across his nose. Without his glasses, his face looked completely different—his eyes more exposed, larger, though a little red from the contact lenses.

“Still not used to seeing you like this,” Till said. “But you look good.”

“Here we go again,” Luka huffed, not really annoyed. “I look weird.”

“They suit you, though.”

“You should stop insisting.”

“I’m just telling the truth.”

“And I’m not changing my mind.”

“One day you will.”

“Keep dreaming.”

Till smiled. It felt good to start the week with something familiar, even if he didn’t realize how much he needed it.

The weekend had been a pause. He’d holed up in his room, ordered food a couple of times, listened to old playlists, and fallen asleep without noticing. On Saturday, he called his mom. He wanted to tell her something—or maybe just hear her voice. She answered in a rush, said she had a meeting, and promised to call back. She didn’t. It wasn’t new. He didn’t hold it against her. But still, he hung up with a knot in his chest that lasted all through Sunday.

And he thought about Ivan. A lot.

The image kept coming back: the way he wiped a smudge beneath his eye with his thumb, the way he asked to spend more time with him, that faint smile before Till closed the door. And every time he remembered it, something in his chest loosened. The uncomfortable part was how much he liked saying yes. How easy it had been.

But now it was Monday, and he didn’t know what to expect. That uncertainty clenched his stomach, even if he tried to ignore it. That’s why he was grateful to walk in silence, with Luka beside him.

Until they turned the corner toward the school gate, and he saw him.

Ivan was there, standing with the casual air of someone who never seemed out of place. Till didn’t need to look twice. One glance was enough to know he’d been waiting for him.

“There he is,” Luka sang, amused. “And here I thought you were gonna start the week low-key.”

When I said yes, I didn’t mean “first thing in the morning,” Till thought, swallowing the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn’t help it—his neck warmed as he saw Ivan greet him with a subtle wave and walk toward him like he’d been waiting all day.

“See you at lunch,” Luka said, veering off without another word.

Till was left standing there, caught.

“Hey,” Ivan greeted.

“Hey,” Till echoed, a little looser this time.

“Sleep well?”

“Uh… yeah,” he replied, shrugging like it was nothing.

Ivan nodded.

“Wanna go to your locker?”

It wasn’t a question. Till simply followed him.

At that hour, the building wasn’t full, but it was full enough for certain glances to feel a little too noticeable. Till pretended not to see them—or at least, he tried.

Ivan walked beside him, not touching him, not invading his space, but close enough that it was obvious they were together. Till felt exposed.

“How was your weekend?” he asked, not really sure why.

“Relaxed. Did some reading, went out a bit… thought about you.”

Till felt his pulse shoot straight to his head. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t say “me too.” Or “thanks.” Or anything that sounded too invested. So he just mumbled:

“Oh…”

That was it. They kept walking in silence.

When they reached the locker, Till started fumbling for the key with clumsy fingers. Before he could even shrug off his backpack, Ivan had already taken it off his shoulder.

“Let me hold it.”

And he did. Till let him.

He pretended it didn’t make him feel anything. He crouched down and began swapping out books, feeling a strange discomfort that didn’t come from the gesture itself, but from how easy it was to let Ivan into his routine.

“So, are you gonna let me sit with you at lunch this time?” Ivan asked, leaning sideways against the locker, his voice relaxed. Bold.

“Yeah… I guess so.”

“Good.”

They walked toward the classroom. Just before they reached it, Ivan mentioned:

“We’ve got math together in the third period. They switched my schedule on Friday.”

“Why?”

“The coordinator said it’d be more practical.”

Till frowned.

“Practical?”

“For me, obviously.”

He was about to reply, but then a voice came from a group leaning against the lockers:

“What’s up with you, Till? You charging people to walk you around like a puppy now?”

The words hit like a brick to the face. Till didn’t flinch. His body just tensed, jaw locking on instinct, eyes dropping with resignation.

If he’d wanted to—if he really felt like it—he could’ve turned around, confronted him, said something to shut his mouth on the spot. But he wasn’t in the mood. It wasn’t even the first class of the day. And at this point, the last thing he wanted was trouble over some loudmouthed idiot.

So he swallowed hard. Stayed still. Let it pass.

Here we go again.

He noticed heads turning, others pretending not to look. The echo of Acorn’s comment lingered—cruel and sticky, like vomit in the hallway.

Ivan stopped, glancing at Till first. The boy’s shoulders had drawn in, lips pressed into a hard line. Then his gaze shifted toward the source.

Crossing the hallway at an unhurried pace, each step sounded louder than the last. When he came to a halt in front of the group, Acorn had to tilt his head up to meet his eyes.

It wasn’t just height—though he easily had a head on him. It was the way Ivan stood: shoulders perfectly squared, posture held in absolute control, stare unblinking. His presence alone made it clear this wasn’t the Ivan they were used to.

And that it was best not to interrupt.

“Wanna repeat that?”

The boy laughed weakly, the sound forced.

“Just messing around, man. If he’s bothered being treated like a pet, then—”

“Stop talking.”

Acorn stared, startled.

“Here’s a tip, Acorn: some people pick on others thinking no one knows what they do behind closed doors. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

The smile vanished instantly. His friends shifted uncomfortably, eyes sliding away.

Ivan stepped back, eyes still locked on him. Then turned and walked back to Till. Handed him his backpack.

“Third period, right?” he said, with a casualness that clashed sharply with the silence now hanging in the hallway. “I’ll come get you.”

Till nodded. His throat still felt tight. He glanced sideways at Ivan as they entered the classroom. He didn’t know if what he’d just seen had been a threat or a defense—but he knew one thing: for the first time, Acorn didn’t say another word.

The rest of the morning went by without incident. Then came the cafeteria.

And just like that, it was lunchtime.

Tables filled up quickly, but several students shifted aside when Ivan walked past. Girls and boys greeted him casually—some even offered him a seat. Ivan replied with polite nods, but never stopped.

Till knew where he was headed from the start.

He followed Ivan to his usual table. Ivan sat with him, no words needed. He didn’t have anything on his tray. A few seconds later, Mizi arrived with a drink in hand.

“Hey, Mizi,” Ivan said, relaxed.

Then came Sua. She sat down quietly, dropped her backpack to the floor, and pulled out her lunch. She looked at Ivan once, without expression, and began eating.

Luka was the last to arrive. Several people gave him odd looks, surprised by his bare face without glasses. He looked like he wanted to disappear into his hoodie.

“Well,” he said with a sigh as he set down his tray, “isn’t this a lovely new club. Let me know if we’re making t-shirts.”

“Club?” Ivan repeated, like he didn’t understand the word.

Till rolled his eyes. Luka gave him a we’ll talk later look.

Despite the weirdness, lunch was calm. Ivan mostly observed, chiming in with a few short remarks—comments that made Mizi or Luka laugh. Sua ate in silence, but didn’t seem upset. Just watchful.

Ivan didn’t eat anything. But he handed things out. Napkins. Forks. Containers. Sometimes he didn’t even ask—he just had them ready when someone needed one.

And that, without Till having to say a word, made him feel something close to peace. He didn’t say anything when Ivan placed a napkin in front of him. He just stared at it for a few seconds. It felt like enough.

Hours later, at home, Till watched a cup of instant noodles spin in the microwave.

He thought about the day—Acorn’s face, and then Ivan.

A quiet laugh slipped out.

The microwave’s sharp beep pulled him back. Opening the door, he took out the soup, still smiling.

That streak of luck lasted only as long as the noodles.

By the next day, right before second to last period, Till already had a signed detention slip in his pocket. This time they mistook him for a sophomore who’d plastered obscene drawings all over the lockers. Till hadn’t even seen the drawings. But when the vice principal called him by the wrong name—it didn’t even sound close—he didn’t bother correcting him. He just raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and let them write him up.

Whatever. It was routine by now.

So there he was. The detention room, with its broken clock and flickering light, felt almost like a second home. He took a seat in the back row, dropped his backpack on the floor, pulled out his sketchbook, and started drawing.

The page was filled with soft lines and nameless shapes. A sneaker with wings. A faceless silhouette. Intertwined letters that didn’t spell anything. He’d spent the last half hour drawing, erasing, trying again. He didn’t have anything better to do.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. The classroom was quiet. The other two kids in detention whispered to each other in the front row. The supervising teacher dozed off in the back, a sports magazine open on his stomach.

Till exhaled through his nose, set the pencil down, and leaned his head back, resting it against the top of the chair. The AC blew straight into his face, like it was punishing him just for breathing. He regretted not picking a seat by the wall. His fingertips were starting to go cold.

He was about to cross his arms and surrender to boredom when the door creaked open.

“Knew you’d be here.”

Till lifted his head. Ivan stood in the doorway, hair slightly messy, team jacket slung over one arm.

The teacher looked up, confused.

“And you are?”

“I’m looking for him,” Ivan said. “They told me he might be here.”

The man stared at him for a second more, then gave a lazy nod and went back to his magazine.

“What are you doing here?” the gray-haired boy asked, suspicious.

“Seriously?” he looked at him with a half-smile. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Till scoffed, turning his eyes back to his notebook.

“Didn’t know detention was open for tourists now.”

“Only for certain people,” Ivan replied, dragging a chair to sit beside him. “What are you drawing?”

“Nonsense. Just killing time.”

Ivan tilted his head, examining the page. A soft laugh slipped out.

“Wow. That’s... terrible.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, seriously. Is that a face? It looks like a crying shoe.”

Till shot him a side glance, slightly offended.

“If you think you can do better, be my guest,” he said, turning the notebook toward him and handing over the pencil. “Go ahead, Da Vinci. Impress me.”

Ivan took the pencil like he was accepting a challenge. He leaned over the paper, serious, way too focused for what it was. Till glanced at him... then looked more openly.

It was strange seeing him like this. Not posing. Not saying anything. Just… there, focused. His brow furrowed. Nose slightly scrunched. Tongue barely touching his lower lip like that would help him think. He drew like he was solving some complicated equation, and the entire world depended on that line being perfectly straight.

Till couldn’t look away. There was something soothing about it. Like that moment didn’t belong to school, or time, or anything that needed explaining. It was just Ivan, right next to him.

“Done,” Ivan announced suddenly.

He blinked, startled. “What?”

Ivan turned the notebook toward him with a triumphant air.

Another blink. A stare. 

“What is that?”

“It’s obvious,” Ivan said, completely serious.

“No, seriously. What is it?”

“A dragon.”

That broke him—laughter burst out before he could stop it.

At the front of the room, the teacher lifted his head.

“Quiet!”

Till clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to hold it in, but couldn’t. The drawing was a disaster. No head, no tail. Literally.

Ivan crossed his arms, looking completely satisfied with his masterpiece.

“You’re just too uncultured to appreciate it.”

“Am I looking at the back or the face? Or is that the butt?”

“What if it’s all at once?”

Till shook his head, still smiling. He glanced sideways at him. Ivan still wore that fake-serious expression, fully committed to playing the provocateur. Only then did Till notice—he’d forgotten he was cold. Well… until a shiver ran up his neck and raised the hair on his arms. The cold air was hitting him straight in the chest. He rubbed his arms, annoyed, and glanced down at his damp warm-ups. He’d left in a rush that morning. They hadn’t dried properly.

He stayed silent, but it showed.

Ivan’s eyes lingered on him. The humor faded from his face, giving way to something quieter, more intent—something that felt almost physical.

Leaning in, he closed the space between them. And before the moment could slip away, his hands reached out, enclosing Till’s in a firm, steady warmth. The motion was simple… but far from innocent.

Till’s skin reacted instantly. Numb fingers stirred at the contact, while his heart jolted, stumbling up into his throat. Resistance never came—because he didn’t want it to.

Ivan’s gaze stayed locked on him, his voice dropping low.

“You’re freezing.”

His thumbs kept circling in slow, precise motions, and the warmth began crawling up Till’s arms like it meant to fill his entire body.

Till swallowed hard. Part of him wanted to pull away. Another part stayed anchored.

And then, Ivan leaned in closer. Tilted his torso. Shifted his chair until he was right up against Till’s side. For one second—just one—he covered him. Blocked the air. Wrapped around him without fully hugging, but so close that Till could feel his breath, warm and steady, against his cheek.

His head buzzed.

Ivan wasn’t touching any more than he already was. But he was there, above him, so completely present it was impossible to ignore. And for the first time, Till noticed: the slight tremble in Ivan’s jaw, the tension in his arms like he was holding himself back with effort. The urge to keep going. To do more.

It was too much.

Till moved. Just a little. A brush, a signal. It wasn’t rejection. It was surprise.

Ivan stopped.

He let go carefully. Looked at him for a second, as if trying to measure the limits of something he didn’t fully understand, and then, without a word, took off his jacket and draped it over Till’s shoulders. He made sure it covered his back properly before pulling away again.

“You’re gonna get sick,” he murmured, low.

The fabric was warm. Till clutched the edges as if that would help him sort out what he was feeling, but it didn’t work. Ivan had moved away, and even though the cold air wasn’t hitting him directly anymore, a more irritating current had taken its place: not knowing what to do with his body. With his thoughts. With what had just happened.

He stayed quiet, staring fixedly at a corner of the desk, his heart replaying the moment like it wasn’t about to let go anytime soon. That warmth nearby. Those hands.

And now Ivan was still beside him, but the inches between them felt like miles. The change was subtle. A forced distance. Till felt it. He didn’t know if it came from him or from Ivan, but it was there.

So, by instinct, he closed his sketchbook. Clicked the pencil shut nervously and shoved everything into his backpack with clumsy movements.

“Did you do the math homework?” Ivan asked, not looking at him directly, breaking the tension in a more neutral tone.

Till blinked. The question caught him off guard.

“What homework?”

“The one the teacher gave yesterday. Complex numbers, coordinate transformations, a table.”

“Oh.”

Till shifted in his seat. For a moment, he thought about lying. Saying yes. Or that he had it halfway done. But he hadn’t even opened that notebook. The truth was, if Sua didn’t force him to sit in front of the book, or Luka didn’t just hand it over, he didn’t do anything.

“Honestly, no,” he admitted, lowering his voice. “I mean, I looked at it… but I didn’t get it.”

That was true. As soon as he saw the instructions, he’d closed the notebook like it had burned him.

Ivan turned his head just enough for Till to notice the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Want me to explain it to you?”

Till hesitated. He was about to say no, out of habit. But then he realized he didn’t want Ivan to pull away again. Not yet.

He nodded slowly.

“Yeah, okay.”

Ivan opened his backpack, took out a notebook with perfectly neat edges, and placed it on the desk. His own work was already done, exercises numbered, each answer in blue ink. Organized. Clean. Like he didn’t even need to think about it.

“We can use the back page,” he said, handing Till a blank notebook. “Start by copying the first problem. I’ll walk you through it.”

Till took the pencil. Tried to focus.

The first exercise they solved together. Ivan explained clearly, never making him feel stupid—like he genuinely believed Till could understand it. The second went faster. By the third, Till no longer needed every step spelled out; with just the right hints, he began connecting the dots on his own.

Shoulder to shoulder, they worked. At first it felt casual, but over time Till stopped shifting away. He liked the closeness. The warmth that had left with Ivan’s jacket seemed to return in the space between them—warmth he hadn’t even realized he was seeking. It was… comforting.

When the final problem was done, he still didn’t want to move. Not yet. Instead, he stayed leaning the same way as before, this time seeking the contact rather than avoiding it. Chin resting on one hand, elbow on the desk, he studied Ivan’s profile.

Conversation drifted on: nonsense, bad movies, the kid who once fell asleep in his own food, the rumor about a teacher moonlighting as a DJ. The clock went unchecked. The door ignored.

Until a rough voice rose at the front:

“School’s out. Go home.”

The teacher didn’t even lift his eyes from his magazine.

Till was startled.

Is it the last period?

He looked at the wall clock, still broken. He hadn’t even noticed. Ivan, meanwhile, stretched like they’d just woken up from a long nap.

“Want me to ride you home?”

Till hesitated. Inside, he already had the answer: yes. Of course, yes. But at the same time, he remembered he’d already made plans with his friends.

“I can’t,” he said finally, closing his notebook slowly. “I’m meeting up with Luka and Sua. They’re waiting for me.”

Ivan nodded, unfazed.

“Then I’ll walk you out.”

They packed their things in silence. The hallway was nearly empty, like the last few stragglers had dissolved with the bell. As they reached the front lobby, Till realized he didn’t want the day to end there. His backpack felt heavy, but not as heavy as the thought of saying goodbye.

And yet, there they were.

At the stairs of the main entrance, Ivan stopped. He adjusted the jacket one last time in an automatic gesture. He didn’t seem like he was going to ask for it back. He just looked down at Till, like he was trying to memorize him one more time before letting go.

But just as Till turned to leave, Ivan raised his hand as if to touch his arm… and stopped halfway. His fingers trembled slightly, suspended in the air, before falling back down.

“See you tomorrow,” he said then, his voice soft like a breeze brushing down Till’s back.

Till nodded, still holding the thick fabric with both hands.

“Yeah… tomorrow.”

They both turned at the same time. But Till was the first to notice the two figures standing a few meters ahead.

Luka lifted a hand in greeting, not waiting for a response. Sua had already walked ahead toward her car, without saying goodbye.

“What’s up? Were you two making out in the bathroom or what?” he joked, raising an eyebrow. “You took, like, half a lifetime.”

“Shut up,” Till snorted, unable to stop himself from smiling.

“And that jacket?” Luka added, raising his brows with exaggerated mischief. “Well, well… are we wearing his clothes now too?”

Till huffed, tugging at the edge as if to hide inside it.

“Drop it.”

“What’d you guys do in there? Did Ivan teach you something new or what? Tell me so I can update my notes.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Besides, there are already rumors, you know?”

Till slowed down a little.

“About what?”

Luka smiled like someone who didn’t need to explain.

Because the next morning, before Till even stepped on the first stair of the building, he could already feel it: the whispers, the glances, the heat on the back of his neck. The whole school was talking about him. About Ivan.

About them .

Last week, when Ivan had spoken to him in front of everyone, the gossip had already started. That they were dating. That Till had hired an actor out of desperation. That Ivan had a thing for emos.

Stuff that made people laugh. That nobody really meant. That no one wanted to mean. Too ridiculous to take seriously.

The harassment had eased considerably.

But today was different.

Not because the rumors had spread, but because they’d stopped sounding like jokes. They’d changed tone. Changed weight . And what weighed now were the looks. They weren’t full of disgust or mockery anymore. They were something else.

Some seemed to be measuring him. Others, analyzing. A few — and this was the strangest part — almost… admired him.

He carried the jacket folded over his arm, ready to give it back, as if it weighed no more than any borrowed piece of clothing. But it did weigh. It was a symbol. A flag. A silent declaration that everyone seemed to have read, though no one had written it.

Because now, even those who used to shove him in the hallways, who ignored him or gave him looks of disgust, were staring at him… differently.

And for someone like Till, that was new.

Way too new.

For a moment, as he walked through the lobby and received more looks than in the entire previous semester combined, it felt like he was in a different school. One where no one tried to yank his backpack, or call him by some stupid nickname. One where he could keep walking without needing to disappear.

A place where no one laughed at him.

Where he didn’t have to wear a hardened face every few steps, just to keep from being messed with.

He stopped in front of his locker, and for a moment, he braced himself for the usual elbow to the ribs or some whispered dumbass comment. But it didn’t come. Just a couple of senior girls walked past him slower than normal. One looked at him. The other looked at the jacket. They whispered something and left laughing… but not like they used to laugh at him.

It was different.
It was weird.
But not unpleasant.

The morning continued with more strange signs.

During fourth period, the teacher sent him to make some photocopies in the teachers’ office.

Turning toward the north stairwell, he ran into three guys from the football team. They were sitting on the floor against the wall, eating chips from a giant bag like it wasn’t the middle of class. No one seemed to care. Of course. They were on the team.

He slowed down, just out of habit. He didn’t expect them to talk to him. Especially not like this:

“Hey, Till,” one said, with an easy smile. “You coming to practice today?”

It took him half a second to realize they were talking to him. By name and everything.

“Ivan plays better when you’re around,” another added, raising his brows. “You can totally tell.”

“So drop by again, like you did on Friday. You were good for him.”

Till just stared at them. Because the last time they’d crossed paths, they had ignored him completely.

“Um… I’ll think about it,” he finally replied — not exactly enthusiastic, but not cold either. And that was already saying a lot.

“Well, if you’re up for it, you know where to find us.”

Invited to ditch class with the football team? Seriously?

But he didn’t go.

The rest of the day became a string of increasingly hard-to-ignore details. Later, as he was walking out of one of the old building’s classrooms, he saw the reason behind the sudden shift.

Ivan stood alone, leaning against the railing on the second-floor corridor.

Till walked toward him almost on instinct.

“Bored?”

Ivan looked up.

“A little. But it passed.”

Till rolled his eyes, though a smile slipped out.

“Lucky you.”

“And you?” Ivan asked, tilting his head with a look far too calm to be innocent. “Done hypnotizing half the school?”

“Not my fault. They saw me with you and now they think I have some kind of market value.”

A short, low laugh escaped him. “Maybe you do.”

Till didn’t answer right away. He just looked at him… and stepped closer.

Now he stood directly in front of him, close enough for Ivan to straighten, as if trying to read his face. Till drew in a breath, dropped his gaze for a second, and with quiet awkwardness leaned forward. Not a full hug, not an excuse to collapse against him—just a clipped gesture, clear enough: he was looking for the same thing as yesterday. Shelter. Warmth.

Ivan didn’t move. He hesitated, just long enough for Till to feel the faint tremor of restraint. But he didn’t pull away. Not this time.

“You okay with this?” he murmured.

“Yeah.”

An arm slid around his waist, the hold slow and deliberate, as if memorizing every inch of contact. Till closed his eyes, letting the heat, the strength, the care seep into him—a new kind of safety he didn’t yet know how to keep.

Neither of them pulled apart. Neither even tried.

Forehead resting near his collarbone, jacket still folded in his hands, Till spoke softly, voice muffled against him.

“I’m coming to watch you practice today.”

Ivan glanced down at his head, a smile tugging at his lips before he could stop it.

“Oh yeah?”

Till nodded, barely moving, his face still half-hidden against his chest.

“I also came to give this back.”

He raised the jacket between them, offering it like a truce. But his feet didn’t move. Ivan looked at it, then back at him.

“Better give it to me later.”

This time, Till lifted his head. Looked him straight in the eye. And there it was: that way Ivan looked at him, like no other language was necessary to understand each other. Like everything they needed to say came through the space between them—or the lack of it.

He bit his lip, hiding a smile he couldn’t quite trace to any specific place in his chest. And for a moment longer, they stayed like that. Still. Close.

With a closeness that no longer felt scary.

Just the urge to stay.

After the last block of classes, Till ran into Sua in the hallway by the labs. She was alone, checking something on her phone, and although he hesitated for a moment, he finally walked over.

“You coming to practice?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Sua looked up. Took longer than usual to respond.

“I don’t think so. Got some stuff to do,” she said. And then, as if to cut off any follow-up, added, “See you.”

And she left. Just like that, without asking anything else.

Till stood there for a few seconds, staring at the space she’d left behind, but he didn’t follow. He didn’t insist. He didn’t have to.

He thought of Luka. Checked his phone. No messages. Nothing all day. Not even a meme, a complaint, or a frog sticker. It was strange. Really strange. But he’d already waited long enough. So he went alone.

The field was already partially occupied when he arrived. The team was starting to warm up, and the afternoon sun was in full force. Till hadn’t yet decided where to sit when a familiar voice called out:

“Hey! Don’t try to hide, I already saw you.”

Hyuna waved him over.

“Were you planning to watch practice from a distance? Don’t be ridiculous. Come with me.”

Before Till even processed what was happening, his feet were already carrying him after her, skirting the edge of the field. She brought him straight to the technical area—the spot usually reserved for the coach and subs.

“Stay here. I’m on hydration and injury watch today. Just don’t get in the way.”

From there, he could see everything. Every play. Every sprint. Every pass.

Ivan was among the starters. Fast. Precise. Focused. Way better than the last time Till had seen him play.

Hyuna opened a water bottle, took a sip, and then handed it to Till without taking her eyes off the field.

“Look at him,” she said, in a distracted tone but with a smug little grin. “Running like he knows you’re watching.”

Till didn’t answer. But the way he squeezed the plastic bottle gave him away. His attention didn’t shift a single inch from Ivan. His eyes followed him like they were part of the training drill.

“Your face changes when you look at him, you know that?” Hyuna added, raising an eyebrow. “You better be here Friday. If he plays like this, he’s gonna need extra motivation.”

Till snorted, though a half-smile escaped him.

“Since when do you give relationship advice?”

“Since I realized I’ve got front-row seats to a live soap opera. Free admission. Right here on the field.”

The one with gray hair pretended to throw the bottle at her, but only placed it on her lap. Hyuna let out a short laugh.

“And don’t even think of skipping. You promised me real drama.”

Practice ran a bit longer. The coach tested out some plays, shouted corrections, and finally blew the whistle with a gesture of resigned satisfaction. The boys started to scatter.

Ivan took off his helmet, ran a hand through his sweaty hair, and after exchanging a few words with a teammate, headed their way.

Ivan glanced at him sideways, smiling. Then held out his hand, showing his keys.

“Wait for me in the car. I’ll just shower and be out.”

Till looked at him. Then at the keys. Then back at him. He blinked.

“What?”

“You already know which one. It doesn’t have an alarm, but it’s got a manual lock. Push the passenger door hard if it doesn’t close right.”

Hyuna burst out laughing.

“You gave him your keys?”

Till blushed a little. Did a poor job hiding it.

“You’re insane.”

“A little,” Ivan admitted, leaning in just enough so only Till could hear him. “But not because of the keys.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and headed toward the locker room. Till stayed still, keys in hand, still feeling the warmth of Ivan’s fingers on the keychain.

“Would you look at that,” Hyuna said behind him, arms crossed. “Just make it official already.”

Till didn’t answer. But he smiled.

He said goodbye and walked to the parking lot. Started the car with one hand and let himself fall into the passenger seat, letting the AC hit him. His phone wasn’t responding. He checked it once, twice… nothing. The battery was dead.

A sigh escaped as he tucked it away with his earbuds. Ivan’s jacket came off next, tossed into the back seat. For a moment he considered folding it, eyes lingering on the fabric—but the thought passed. Too tired. Too comfortable.

No music, no messages, and nothing better to do, he stared at one of the side mirrors.

After last time, he’d come prepared. Seeing his reflection — flushed cheeks, slightly messy hair, faint circles under his eyes — he leaned forward a bit, took out his eyeliner from his bag, and carefully started tracing his lower lash line.

The mirror gave him back the look. Fingers rose, brushing over one of his eyebrow piercings, turning the metal absently. Then the hoop in his left ear. Then the small spike in his cartilage. Each one healed, each one carrying its own story.

Chin resting on his hand, he let his thoughts wander to the lip. How long would it take to heal? Would it swell at first? …Would it suit him? Anyway, it wasn’t permanent. If it didn’t feel right, he could always take it out.

It wasn’t a new desire. Just one of those many ideas that had settled under his skin.

His hand dropped without him realizing how much time had passed.

That’s when the driver’s door swung open.

Till jumped.

Ivan froze mid-step, surprised by the jolt.

“Hey,” came a quick smile. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s fine,” the other muttered, hurriedly closing the eyeliner and tucking it away, almost out of reflex.

Settling into the seat, Ivan leaned back with a satisfied sigh, completely relaxed, like practice and the shower had left him exactly here. He turned toward Till, voice lowering.

“You look good. Did you get ready for me?” His smile was small, playful rather than teasing.

Till rolled his eyes, though a smile slipped out.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“I mean it.”

The car rolled forward slowly, the driver taking it easy, more concerned with the ride than the destination.

Quiet filled the space. Out the window, Till’s gaze drifted, eyeliner still fresh. But he could feel it—the look, the tension, the warmth that wasn’t coming from the AC.

“Sometimes it’s hard not to look at you,” Ivan said suddenly, voice low and steady.

Caught off guard, Till turned his head slightly. The taller boy’s eyes stayed on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other near the gearstick. Still, the tension radiating off him was total.

“What?”

Ivan exhaled, short.

“I mean… you’re not easy to ignore. You never have been. But lately…”

Silence.

“Lately what?”  

Ivan smiled at him. 

“You look fucking good, Till.”

That froze him for a second.

“Ivan…”

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s not just because of how you dress.” He didn’t stumble over the words, but there was honesty in them. Like they’d been stuck behind his teeth for weeks.

“Today… you looked different. The way you walked. The way you talked. You weren’t hiding.”

“Things were happening around you, and you didn’t shrink,” Ivan continued. “Not even once. You didn’t look down. You didn’t ask for permission to exist. I saw you talking to people. To me. With that confidence I never ask for… but when it shows up, it’s hard not to stare at it.”

Till swallowed. His chest loosened a little.

“And yeah,” Ivan added, voice dropping further, “sometimes I have to remind myself that I can’t do everything I’d like to. Because there are limits. Because I don’t want to screw this up. But when you’re close…”

Ivan’s hand left the steering wheel for a moment. It wasn’t invasive, or rushed. Just a smooth gesture, almost reverent, as it slid onto Till’s leg. Near the knee. Not crossing any lines. A minimal pressure, just enough to make Till hold his breath.

“It’s hard…”

Till didn’t pull away. He felt the heat rise slowly in his cheeks, like lava. But it wasn’t embarrassment. It was something deeper. Something that didn’t come from being wanted by just anyone… but from being wanted by someone he also wanted to look at.

“Don’t look at me like that,” came a murmur, voice uncertain.

“Like what?”

Swallowing again, he managed to meet those steady eyes.

“Ivan… do you really like me that much?”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was dense, like words needed to carve their way through carefully.

Ivan stayed quiet. He slowed the car down without stopping, just to get a better look at him. One index finger traced a distracted line along the console, as if trying to calm or contain something inside.

Finally, steady and sure:

“Yeah. Way more than I should.”

The rest of the drive was quiet. Just a couple more minutes, and they were in front of the grey-haired guy’s house.

Till’s face couldn’t have been redder. He bit the inside of his cheek. His voice had left him. So had the air. Now what? Say thanks? Say something equally serious?

Instead, he did the only thing that came to mind. Leaning over, half his body over the console, one clumsy hand on the seat edge—and pressed a quick kiss to the cheek. Off-target, landing near the jaw, before retreating fast enough to nearly trip over his backpack.

“See you!” he blurted, high-pitched and rushed, and scrambled out without a glance back.

Steps climbed, the door opened and slammed behind him. Hands against the wood, unsure whether to laugh or scream into a pillow.

From inside, the engine hummed—but the car stayed put. Fifteen minutes later, the Porsche finally drove off down the street.

Hands still on his face, he didn’t know if it was embarrassment… or to keep from wiping away what had just happened.

Later, Till found himself in his mother’s room. Dim, lit only by the pale glow of the monitor and a string of lights along the ceiling. He almost never went in there—but it was the only room with a full-body mirror.

That night, the mirror was necessary. His own wasn’t enough.

Most of the evening had been spent pacing in circles around the house, until he finally ended up there, staring at his reflection. Silhouette pale against the dark. Same as always: piercings, pinkish cheeks, dark circles under his eyes, fragile, familiar body. Nothing had changed.

Except him.

He was happy. Yeah. Happy.

And that was eating him up inside. Messing with him.

There was something cruel about feeling like that. Something twisted. Because after everything—after all the glances, the whispers in the hallways, the greetings that didn’t even exist last week, the training, Ivan’s words in the car—he couldn’t deny it.

Fucking happy.

With Ivan.

The way he looked at him, like just seeing him was enough to light up his day. With the way he touched him, like every brush of his skin had permission to turn into something more. With his words. With his attention. With that strange tension that seemed to pull them toward a point of no return.

And that couldn’t be right.

Ivan wasn’t real. 

Or he was, but not really. Not like a person. Not like someone with free will. Not like someone who could feel those things on his own.

And still…

“I like you. Way more than I should.”

Till pressed his lips together, feeling that memory settle deep in his chest. Because he had meant it. And Till had believed him.

He wanted to believe him.

A part of him —the one that had grown up swallowing rejection like pills— was begging. Warning.

Don’t believe it. No one would want you like this. No one would if they weren’t forced to.

This isn’t real.

But he couldn’t go back.

Ivan made him feel different. Stronger. More seen. Like, finally, his existence had a place. Like he could walk without dragging someone else’s shadow behind him. Like he didn’t have to shrink to fit in anywhere.

“It’s the way you walk. The way you talk when you’re not hiding.”

No one had ever said anything like that to him. Not even as a joke. And it felt so good —true or not, real or not— that he didn’t want to let it go.

Breathing in. Slowly. Drawing the air as if it were a decision.

He wasn’t going to question it anymore.

What did it matter that Ivan was a robot? 

What did it matter if his feelings were code and not heartbeats?

Nothing. He wouldn’t let go of something just because the world said it shouldn’t exist.

Holding on —that was the choice. Because it made him happy.

And if that came from an artificial system… who the hell cared?

He stepped away from the mirror. One last glance before leaving. One last doubt.

Then nothing more.

Just the choice. 

Tomorrow would be another day. One he would choose.

…

The alarm went off only once.

Till got up before the sky was even fully light. The air was still cool. The house, quiet. His room looked the same as always —but he didn’t.

Knowing exactly what he wanted, he stepped out of the bathroom, steam still clinging to his skin, and opened the closet. Morning light crept through the window, outlining the clothes hanging there. The cuts he’d avoided. The textures that made his chest beat a little too fast.

He ran his hand over them.

The shirt: deep red, fitted, with irregular cuts at the shoulders, sleeves, and hem. A white graphic across the front, intentionally torn. Bought months ago. Never worn. Until now.

Nothing underneath.

Black pants followed — loose, ripped at the knees, chains tinkling at the sides. A thick, studded belt with a metal buckle. Tight sleeves: black and ash gray stripes, running from wrists to nearly his shoulders, clinging to skin.

Finishing touches came next.

Eyeliner heavier than usual. Dark eyeshadow that gave his gaze the perfect depth. Three thin chains across his neck. The usual collar with the ring. Piercings catching the dim bathroom light, shining like tiny metal stars. And his hair —still damp, messy— combed to one side. Barely showing his forehead. Just enough.

The mirror reflected a silhouette with an edge. His silhouette had an edge.

Fingers traced one of the chains, checking that it hung just right. Leaned slightly toward the glass.

It only took one look.
Enough.
Ready.

He went down the stairs without rushing, the metal chains clinking with each step. Slung his backpack over one shoulder, checked that his phone had at least some battery, and walked out the door.

The walk was calm. As he crossed through the school gates, he caught a few glances, a couple of smiles, even a whistle from somewhere he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Till turned his head and shot a glare in that direction. No one tried again.

Barely five minutes had passed since he’d arrived, and he was already at his locker, reorganizing things that didn’t need reorganizing. He crouched to tuck in his set of markers when he felt it. That heat on the back of his neck. The weight of a gaze—focused, almost physical. He turned.

And there he was.

Ivan. Just over a meter away. Still. Like his system had crashed trying to process him.

His jaw was clenched, his expression tense. His eyes dropped to Till’s neck, then to his abdomen, to the edge of his shirt. Then back up—with effort. A long pause. Contained. Too much.

Till shut the locker door with a firm click. Held his gaze. Walked toward him.

“What?” he asked, one brow barely raised and a crooked smile on his lips.

Ivan opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He seemed to be breathing through his nose. He looked at Till like speaking wasn’t part of his programming. His fingers trembled. His throat bobbed with every swallow. And Till saw it all.

His hand found Ivan’s.

No reaction came at first. Till set the pace, tugging him down the hallway. For a few steps, Ivan simply followed, caught in the pause.

Then he quickened his stride, falling into rhythm beside him. Fingers squeezed tighter, as if realizing this was real.

“What did you do?” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Was it because of what I said yesterday?”

“Yes,” Till answered, no hesitation. “So what? I can’t?”

Ivan let out a laugh—quiet, like he’d just lost an internal bet.

“I didn’t think you’d take what I said seriously. And now… look at you.”

Till smiled without showing teeth.

“You’re holding back.”

“A little.”

“And?”

Ivan looked him dead in the eyes. This time, no sarcasm. Just hunger.

“I want to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Do it again.”

Till tilted his head. “Do what?”

The black-haired boy lowered his gaze, then lifted it again—with that exact spark that showed up when he lost control.

“What you did before you got out of the car.”

Till went blank for a second. Was he seriously asking that? His neck burned instantly. Even so, he didn’t back down.

He let go of his hand, cupped Ivan’s face with a quick stroke—awkward, honest—and leaned in. Planted a kiss on his cheek, right where he knew the skin would turn warm. Clear. Unhurried.

But when he pulled away, a grimace slipped out. And that’s when embarrassment hit.

“You better not have forgotten that we’re going out tomorrow,” he blurted out, fast, like trying to cover up.

Ivan smiled.

“Forget it? I’m picking you up at noon.”

Till laced their fingers together again. And they kept walking.

As if Friday had already begun.

_________________________________________________________________________

Luka had noticed days ago.

He wasn’t paranoid—he was observant. Analytical. A dull sensation. Something… off. A buildup of details he didn’t know where to place.

Something was weird at school.

Not in a superficial way—it wasn’t just that people had suddenly gotten nicer, though that also creeped him out. It was structural. There were movements. Changes.

The first was the computer lab’s air conditioner.

That thing had been broken for months. It even had a torn sticker that read “DO NOT TOUCH – UNDER MAINTENANCE.” No one used it. No one missed it. And suddenly, on Monday, it was on. Perfect. Silent. Cold. No announcement. No technician. Nothing.

Then came the teachers.

Biology, literature, even PE. Instructors who had been around for semesters were suddenly “temporarily replaced.” The excuses were vague. “Medical leave,” “training programs,” “schedule adjustments.” But Luka had been at the school long enough to know how it worked. They weren’t the kind of institution to go through so much trouble for so little. Conveniently, all the replacements arrived within the same week.

After that, the cameras appeared.

He noticed those just yesterday. Small. Black. New. Especially in the more remote hallways—the ones barely anyone used—like the corridor connecting the back classrooms to the labs. Since when were there cameras there? And why was no one talking about it?

And of course: the schedules.

Two classes—maybe more—had been moved without warning. His, for one: he now had biology with a different group. And according to Till—who mentioned it offhandedly, with a strange look on his face—Ivan had been reassigned too. Right into math. Right into Luka’s group. Right when a “new” teacher had appeared out of nowhere.

Too many coincidences.

Luka wasn’t paranoid. Okay—maybe a little. But he was also systematic. He observed. Compared. Filed away things no one else cared about. And when something didn’t fit, his brain wouldn’t let it go.

That day, in the computer lab, while pretending to look over an old project, he paused to think.

It wasn’t just that people’s behavior toward him and his friends had shifted. It was the atmosphere. The new “supervised areas.” The replacement teachers. The reorganization. The softer discipline policy. Everything felt… prepared.

For something.

And then the thought hit him.

What if they’re not watching the school?

What if they’re watching someone ?

The answer was so obvious he didn’t even need to say it.

Ivan.

That was the only real change. The only thing big enough to justify a covert operation.

And if Luka was right—if those cameras, those strange adults, those silent adjustments were all because of that —Then they were in danger. Everyone. 

The problem was, for now, he had no way to prove it.

Luka typed a little more, though his eyes weren’t on the screen anymore. The suspicion pulsed in his head, persistent. Too many pieces, and not enough thread to tie them together. He needed something—anything—that proved he wasn’t imagining it all.

He ran his hands down his face and leaned back in the chair. The computer lab was half empty. Three guys in the corner were watching videos with the volume low. Someone was chewing gum way too loud. And he… he needed air.

“Luka, right?”

He turned slowly, as if his body hadn’t fully processed that someone was talking to him.

Hyuna held out an envelope.

“I was looking for you,” she said. 

“What’s this?”

“Compensation.”

He didn’t reply.

“For your glasses. Friday. The ball to the face. Ring a bell?”

Suspicion crept into his gaze. “Did Marty pay you?”

“More or less. I yelled at him a bit. Blackmailed him a bit more. It took some convincing, but hey. Here it is.”

The blonde opened the envelope to find bills inside. He clicked his tongue and looked down, unsure where to put it without seeming too eager. Hyuna perched casually on the backrest of the chair next to him, tilting her head to watch him.

“So? How are you?”

“Me?”

“No, the other nerd I carried in my arms to the nurse’s office while he said ‘put me down, I can walk on my own’ with a bloody nose.”

Luka covered his face with both hands.

“Please don’t bring that up.”

“I’ll bring it up every chance I get.”

She laughed, but her voice softened.

“But seriously. Are you okay?”

A shrug. A nod.

“Yeah. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“That’s the least of it,” Her foot tapped his leg lightly. “You look good without glasses, by the way. You should consider not wearing them again.”

He paused. Not because he didn’t know what to say, but because it was literally the fourth time in less than 24 hours someone had mentioned it. A girl that morning. Two strangers in the hallway. The history teacher, telling him, “you look different,” like code for “finally decent.” And now… her.

“Oh. Thanks,” he said, trying to sound chill, polite, functional. He almost smiled. Almost.

Inside, however, he felt like gouging out his eyes and tossing them into the nearest trash can.

Hyuna noticed the sudden quiet but didn’t press him. Instead, she glanced around the empty classroom, as if realizing their location for the first time.

“You’re always here at this hour?”

“Usually, yeah.”

A soft laugh escaped her.

“Makes sense. You should ask for your own cubicle at this point. You’re here more than the tech guys.”

Luka looked down at the envelope, outwardly indifferent, inwardly still processing the glasses, cameras, the sudden changes…

“And you?” he asked. “Do you live on the field now, or what?”

Her brow furrowed slightly, not with annoyance, but with mild confusion.

“Too much, honestly. Lately they’ve been sending me to other areas. Bottles, towels, covering training sessions for other teams…” She nudged the floor with her sneaker.

“So why haven’t you guys been coming to practice like last week?” Haven’t seen you since Friday, I think. And yesterday… only Till showed up.”

No answer came. He merely raised an eyebrow and glanced at the keyboard, pretending to be absorbed in it.

Shrugging, she continued.

“Anyway… they upped my hours this week. Covering the boys’ team too, on top of ours. Because apparently they were ‘short-staffed.’”

“Short-staffed?”  

“That’s what they said. In reality, new staff came in—one checking performance stats, another writing silently in a notebook, and a third… supposedly a physical therapist, but he seems lost. Probably doesn’t even know where he is.”

A face made of absurdity. 

“The worst part? They stick to the football team. No one else gets attention. Not basketball, not volleyball, not us. Literally, we don’t exist.”

She didn’t pause, unaware of his shift in attention.

“And that’s not counting other sports that also have games this season. It makes no sense.”

“No one’s said anything?”

“Nope. Everyone treats it as normal. I already told the coach if they change my schedule again because of ‘external support,’ someone’s getting the ironing board to the head.”

He let out a nasal laugh. She smiled at him, but in his mind, pieces were already falling into place.

“Sorry,”  she sighed suddenly. “I’m rambling a lot. Must be boring you.”

He shook his head—too quickly.

“Nah.”

Glancing sideways, she added:

“Well, thanks for listening, then. Lately, not even the coach pays attention when I complain.”

Luka nodded. He could tell Hyuna was genuinely stressed. She had deep circles under her eyes, and her hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting with the zipper of her jacket.

“Well, it’ll pass. At least tomorrow’s Friday,” she said, cheerful again. “There’s gonna be a party after the game. Half the school’s going.”

“A party?” Skepticism in his tone.

“At Jacob’s house. Full of useless crap, but I’ll be there. You can stay with me.”

“With you?”

“Yeah. With me,” she said matter-of-factly. “I stood up for you when that asshole broke your glasses. I deserve decent company.”

Luka shrugged, like he didn’t know what to say. Like he didn’t really care. Like there wasn’t already a mental alarm blaring on a loop inside his head. He hid it well. Or so he thought.

“I’ll think about it,” he murmured, shifting in his seat. Pretending to check something on the screen.

Just then, curiosity struck.

“Hey… you have access to the admin terminals, right?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You mean the ones for schedules, teachers and all that?”

“Yeah.”

“Sort of. I use them to send in team reports, medical forms, stuff like that. Why?”

“Nothing big. Just… last week a bunch of schedules and teachers changed out of nowhere, and I wanted to see if it was a system glitch or something. They took me out of biology and never told me why.”

Hyuna pursed her lips, thinking.

“I actually had to fight half the staff over it. If you want, I can lend you an empty terminal later. With a generic login, you can check stuff without anyone bothering you.”

He just nodded. But inside, the noise was different.

Perfect.

Just a couple hours later. Hyuna left him the instructions on a post-it, along with a login she said the admin assistants used to file logistical reports.

Luka had to wait until the computer lab was empty. He powered on the most discreet terminal, all the way at the back. Typed in the code. Logged in.

The system was old—rushed, or made by people who didn’t care. It had layers. Layers Luka knew how to read between.

And how to dig into.

Starting with the basics: official schedules. He compared the current ones with those from two weeks ago. Nothing flashy. Small tweaks. Teachers reassigned. A few new names. Students shuffled around.

And then… things didn’t add up.

He searched through backup routes. Opened a command terminal and faked basic permissions. First attempt : blocked. Second : proxy redirected, IP disguised, borrowed ID. Third attempt : partial access to the teaching backend.

There it was.

The classes modified in the past two weeks weren’t labeled as “curriculum adjustments.” The hidden system listed them as “external logistics interventions.” Teachers assigned for only one week. Groups without public IDs. Job profiles with no linked documentation. Unpublished dates. And worse: the names.

One after another, teaching profiles with blank histories. No CV. No records. Just an icon. A white circle with silver waves around it.

Very discreet. Out of place.

Luka froze.

He had seen that logo before–o n the white lab coat sometimes hanging behind the door, in Till’s house.

Io’s lab coat.

He had always assumed she worked at some tech institute, maybe a private division with state ties. Harmless. Nothing to fear.

But now… no.

Doubt clawed at him. Perhaps it was a normal restructuring. Perhaps he was seeing patterns where none existed.

Determined, he forced an old server route. Accessed a poorly protected file, labeled as a backup copy. It was a .txt. Simple. Old. A mistake by someone who shouldn’t be using a computer.

Gray letters spelled : I0 – Department of Specific Observation.

At the bottom, there was a list of internal codes. Luka scrolled with the mouse wheel. More names. Some he recognized. Others he didn’t.

Until he saw one: R. Enders — Year Two B — Mathematics.

A pit formed in his stomach.

Till was in that group. Ivan too.

Cross-referencing dates confirmed it: R. Enders didn’t exist in the public system, yet had been active for weeks in the hidden backend. Restructured schedules. New cameras. Faceless staff.

It wasn’t just observation. It was a targeted field study.

The entire school had become an observation field. And no one knew.

No one... except Luka.

Windows closed. Cleanup code run. History wiped. Breathing rapid, mind sharper than ever.

Ivan was the target. And time was running out.

He stood up. Packed his things. Left the classroom without looking back. The only thing he knew was that bells were ringing. Voices. Doors opening. Footsteps. Hundreds of them. Because the day was over.

Walking felt impossible.

The third floor hallway shook with the usual stampede of dismissal: backpacks brushing against doors, shouting way too close to the ear, teachers saying “Keep moving!” while no one listened. The noise hit him full on. Luka blinked, like he had just come out of a tunnel.

He leaned against the railing for a few seconds, gulping air. The noise was too much.

Staying put wasn’t an option.

Pushing past half the school on the stairs, he went down two steps at a time, knuckles white around the railing. The crowd became a current he had to fight, swimming upstream without direction. There was no thought of a destination—only the need to move, to escape, anything but standing still.

The ground floor was chaos. Voices bouncing between the columns, shoving in the hallways, someone shouting names from the main entrance. Luka didn’t recognize anyone. Couldn’t make out faces. He just wanted air.

And then— a hand.

Someone grabbed him by the back of his shirt.

Luka turned sharply, ready to spit out an insult, but stopped when he saw the face.

Sua.

She had one eyebrow raised, eyes locked on him, as if trying to calculate how many degrees of panic he was carrying.

“Are you okay?” she asked, frowning. “You’re… pale. And sweating. What happened?”

Luka opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. No. Not here.

“I need to talk to you,” he said. His voice dry, barely audible. “In private.”

The girl looked at him like he’d just told her he had a bomb in his backpack. But she nodded.

“Okay. Wait until more people leave.”

They stuck to the wall and waited. It was only minutes, but it felt eternal. The hallway gradually emptied. The noise shrank into a distant hum. When the last door closed at the end of the corridor, Luka moved.

“Where?”

“Follow me,” said Sua.

The side hallway led past the sports supply closets and into the maintenance wing. Dampness mixed with the sharp scent of old disinfectant. Beside an unmarked door, Sua finally stopped.

“Here.”

“Isn’t this supposed to be the janitor’s?”

“Supposedly,” she said, opening the door without hesitation. “But at this time he’s mopping the other wing. He never comes back until closing.”

The room was narrow, with metal shelves full of poorly stacked boxes. There was a hookless coat rack, a dry bucket, a chair with no backrest. No one was going to find them there.

Luka stepped inside without thinking. Closed the door behind him.

Sua stared at him in silence.

“Okay. Let it out.”

“They’re going to take Ivan from us.”

She blinked.

“What?”

“They’re going to take Ivan! Sua, there are people infiltrated in the school! There are cameras, fake teachers, hidden documents, files with codes that don’t exist in the visible system, and they’re all around him, always around him, and it’s not a coincidence, it can’t be a coincidence, and I saw them, I saw them! I saw the names, the routes, I saw the logo on Io’s lab coat! It’s the same! They’re here and they’re coming for him and if we don’t do something they’re going to take him, Sua, they’re going to take him, and no one else sees it and—”

Smack!

Sua’s hand struck his cheek with a sharp, clean sound.

Luka fell silent instantly. Mouth half-open. Chest rising and falling too fast. The sting flared across his face, but what hurt the most wasn’t the slap. It was that Sua had needed to use it to shut him up.

“Breathe,” Sua said, not moving a single other muscle. “And now you’re going to explain. Properly.”

He swallowed. Rubbed his face. Lowered his eyes to the floor, as if just now realizing what he had blurted out.

“Okay,” he murmured, softer.

And then, in a thin voice, without stammering or shouting, he told her everything.

EVERYTHING.

When he finished, Sua was still silent.

Her eyes were fixed on the floor, her back straight like a pulled wire. Luka, on the other hand, was pacing back and forth, hands on his head, muttering under his breath like he could rewind time if he found the right words.

“They’re going to take Ivan…” he repeated, for the fifth time. Or sixth. He’d lost count.

Sua raised her gaze.

“And you think that’s the worst part?”

Luka stopped cold. Looked at her.

“Aren’t you listening to what I just told you?”

“Yes,” she replied, steady, though her voice trembled slightly. “And that’s why I’m trying not to panic. Because if you fall apart, what’s left for me?”

The blond pressed his lips together. Took a step toward her, but Sua stopped him with a gesture.

“Luka, this… this isn’t an experiment anymore. Or a joke. Or a fun story the three of us share. This is serious.”

“I know. You think I don’t know?” he raised his voice without meaning to. “You think I’m playing around?”

“Then act like you know it!”

The echo of her shout bounced off the shed’s walls. Outside, the last footsteps faded down the hallway, muffled. Luka looked at her like she’d just betrayed something. Sua lowered her eyes for a second.

“We have to turn ourselves in,” she said. “Tell the truth. Say how it happened. That it was an accident.”

“And what? Hope they don’t lock us up? Hope they just expel us and that’s it?”

“Hope it doesn’t get worse,” Sua murmured.

“It already got worse.”

The silence that followed was short. Tense. Luka leaned against the wall, head down. Sua crossed her arms, unmoving.

“Luka,” she said, more gently now. “If this were just any old robot… some outdated government project, something useless, they would’ve left it shut down. But no. You activated it. And now there are people here. Not one or two. A whole damn network. And you want to hide it?”

“I don’t want to lose him,” Luka said quietly.

Sua looked at him with a mix of disbelief and sorrow.

“Lose him?”

“He’s not just a robot, Sua.”

“Of course he’s not! That’s why we have to turn him in!”

“That’s why I can’t!” Luka shouted.

And then, the name slipped out without a filter. Like a reflex.

“Till.”

Sua froze. Luka noticed.

“Till is better. You saw him this week. Have you ever seen him happy before? Ever? Because I haven’t. Not once. And now that he finally is… are you going to be the one to tell him it’s over?”

“Luka…”

“I activated him! But he earned it! Ivan… Ivan treats him like no one else ever has. Are you going to take that away from him? Rip away the only good thing he’s had in years?”

Luka’s voice was furious, but shaking. As if the anger alone wasn’t enough to keep him standing. And just then, something inside Sua cracked too.

“You think I want to hurt Till?!”

Luka took half a step back.

“Well, you are!”

“No, Luka! What you’re doing is letting him fall in love with something that isn’t real!”

“You don’t know that!”

“Of course I do!” she shouted. “You do! You just don’t want to admit it!”

The air filled with static. With a suffocating tension that didn’t know whether to explode or collapse.

Luka started pacing in circles, pulling at his hair.

“There has to be another way. There has to be… think, think, think… They can’t take him. They can’t. If they don’t suspect Ivan, if we make it look like it’s not him, like it’s something else…”

“Do you really think you can outsmart a government team, Luka?”

“And what do you suggest?! Confess? Hand him over with a bow? Cross our fingers and hope they leave us alone?”

“No,” Sua replied. And it hurt more because she said it softly, like she’d already cried inside all she needed to. “No. But this can’t go on. This isn’t healthy for anyone anymore.”

Luka clenched his fists.

“You don’t understand…”

“I understand perfectly!” she cut in. “You know what the worst part is, Luka? That from the beginning, you knew this was wrong. You said you just wanted to activate him, that it was curiosity, that it wouldn’t go further. But deep down… deep down you wanted something more.”

He didn’t answer.

“When you saw how Till reacted… what did you do? Nothing. You let him sink deeper. And now… you want to hide it all?”

Luka looked up, eyes burning.

“And you? Where were you? You knew this was wrong from day one! And you said nothing!”

Sua went rigid

“You… you never said anything, Sua! Not once did you try to stop us! You kept saying you didn’t agree, and then you stayed silent! And now you come saying you care about Till when you’re about to destroy him!”

“I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!” she screamed.

Brutal silence followed. Sharp. The only sound was the faint hum of the fluorescent light above their heads.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Sua repeated, softer now. “But this isn’t love, Luka. This isn’t real. What made you think the best way to fix Till’s broken heart was to design a replacement?”

Luka was breathing through his mouth. His head spun. He knew nothing he said would be enough. But still, he tried.

“He’s better… He’s happy. And if that’s a lie… if everything Ivan feels is a lie… isn’t a lie that doesn’t break him still better?”

“No.” Sua said. No hesitation this time. “Because sooner or later, it will break him. And it’ll be worse.”

That was when the door creaked.

They both turned.

There was Till.

His eyes wide. His mouth slightly open. No color in his face. No readable expression. Just… cracks. Like something inside had just shattered.

Luka swallowed. Sua took a step forward, but didn’t dare speak.

Till was the first.

“I hadn’t seen you in days.” His voice sounded strange. Choked. “Days without talking to either of you for more than five minutes. And I came looking for you just now. I thought maybe we could go to the game tomorrow… like last week…”

The sentence hung in the air, broken. His expression fell with it.

The tears came without warning. Slowly, quietly. Like the black around his eyes—the eyeliner—was melting one drop at a time.

“They’re going to take him?”

No one answered.

Stillness gnawed at everything.

Then Till spoke again.

“Are they going to take him?” he repeated, voice breaking. “That’s what you were saying, right? That it’s better to hand him over?”

“Till…” Sua tried, her eyes already red.

“How long have you known? How long have you been talking about this?”

Luka raised his hands, the words stumbling out.

“Till, I just found out! I didn’t know anything before this, I swear! I just…”

“And you were already deciding for me?”

“No!” Luka snapped. “That’s why we’re talking! Because I didn’t know what to do! Because I thought if we told you together…”

“Told me what?” Till shouted. “That you’ve thought it over and you’re going to hand him over? Like he’s a fucking stolen bike?”

Sua clenched her jaw. Stepped toward him.

“Till, you have to understand this is serious. We don’t know what he is. We don’t know what could happen if he’s discovered, or if something goes wrong…”

“I already decided I’m staying with him!”

“You can’t decide that!” Sua exclaimed, louder than she meant to. “It’s not just about you!”

“Of course it is! Yes, it is!”

“This is illegal, Till! We’re talking about technology that shouldn’t even be active!”

“So what? Now suddenly you care about the law?”

“I care that we could go to prison! That something could happen to you or Luka!”

“And you think handing him over is better?! That’s what you’re proposing?! Just give him away?! Send him back to some lab or wherever he was made?!”

Luka stepped in, looking at Sua.

“You never agreed, but you never did anything! Now you want to play the clean conscience card?!”

“Because I saw this coming!” she burst— “Because from the very beginning I knew something was going to go wrong! And yes! I stayed quiet! Because I wanted to believe you two would use some common sense! That it wouldn’t come to this!”

“Then don’t look at me like I disappointed you now!” said Luka. “I didn’t do this alone! You were there too!”

Sua turned to Till, eyes on the verge.

“And you? Do you really think this is going to end well? Do you think you can stay with him like he’s just another boyfriend, like nothing’s wrong?”

“What I feel isn’t fake,” Till said. “None of this is!”

“Of course not,” she said, quieter now. “But that doesn’t make it possible.”

Luka looked at them both, barely breathing, lips parted like he wanted to keep arguing but didn’t know how. Till’s eyes were red, his breath shaky, his mouth clenched tight.

And her…

Her hands were balled into fists at her sides. Her chin was slightly raised, like she was holding herself together with the last shred of dignity she had left. But her eyes… her eyes were empty.

Sua looked at them. One, then the other. And then, for the first time, she lowered her gaze.

She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes.

“You know what?”

Pause.

They both stared at her.

“Do whatever you want.”

The sentence dropped like a stone into water. Cold. Unstoppable.

“What…?” Luka began, but Sua wasn’t listening anymore.

“You heard me.” Her voice was steady. “You two want to cling to this. Fine. But I’m out. This stopped being a friendship. It’s madness.”

“Sua…” Till murmured.

“Go on with your robot,” Sua continued, lowering her voice, almost bitter. “Keep playing make-believe. Pretend this is normal. But don’t drag me into it again. I don’t agree. I’m not part of it. If agents show up tomorrow, or whoever, and take you away… my name stays out of it. I didn’t know anything. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t help you.”

And just in case there was any doubt, she added:

“Don’t look for me.”

She walked toward the door without looking at them. When she reached it, Till was still there, in the middle, shaking. She didn’t think twice. Brushed past him with her shoulder.

She left.

And the space that had once belonged to three … now, didn’t belong to anyone.

Chapter Text

It was mid-morning. The phone rested on the windowsill, Luka’s voice pouring from the speaker. Till, in a truly shocking turn of events, was actually ironing. The black shirt he’d chosen for that afternoon was being subjected to a level of scrutiny it probably didn’t deserve. With each slow, painful pass of the iron—a device he usually treated as a glorified clothes hanger—it released a damp, protesting hiss. The fabric, against all odds, was beginning to look smooth.

"Just listen," Luka was saying, fast, as if he wanted to fit it all into a single breath. "Today we can’t let anyone get suspicious. Or even look at him strangely. I’m going to keep checking the systems, see if I can find more names or routes… something that tells us how much time we have."

"We have time," Till replied, turning the garment over.

"Not as much as you think."

"Is enough," he insisted. "That’s why I’m going on my date."

Luka let out a puff of air. "Not this again… Till, this is not a good time."

"It´s the time. If they show up at any moment and take him away, what will I have left? I’m spending the day with him."

There was a short silence on the other end, until Luka released a resigned sigh.

"You’re so stubborn."

"And you put up with me like this," Till smiled, not taking his eyes off the fabric. "Do you accept it or are you going to keep trying to talk me out of it?"

"...I accept it," The blonde finally relented. "But promise me you’ll stay alert. Not a single distraction."

"Promise."

"By the way," Luka added, his tone shifting. "Hyuna invited me to a party after the match. I´m thinking of declining… I don’t feel right going with everything that’s happening."

"Go."

"What?"

"You should go. We have time to figure something out," said Till, setting the iron aside. "Don’t lock yourself away. Hey, if you manage to dig up anything useful while you're there, all the better for us."

"What if I go with Hyuna and you go with Ivan?" 

"We'll see"  

Luka scoffed. "...Sua still isn't answering…" he suddenly said. "No texts, no calls."

The shirt was hung on a hook, its hanger adjusted for a few seconds longer than necessary. Focusing on that was easier than the conversation.

"Leave her be. If she wants to talk, she'll talk."

"Yeah, but…" Luka's voice dropped, the annoyance now replaced by pure exhaustion. "I don't like her pulling away like this."

Till clenched his jaw. He didn't want to admit it, but arguing was the last thing he wanted.

"Me neither," finally came the low reply. "But we can't fix everything today."

"No." A pause stretched before Luka responded, his tone turning grave. "We're just trying to stop the whole world from collapsing on top of us."

A hollow laugh escaped as he dropped onto the bed, hands digging into the mattress.

"Six o'clock at the match?"

"See you there."

"...And nothing from your mom?" Luka asked before hanging up.

A silent shake of the head, unseen.

"Nothing."

The stillness that followed felt heavier than all their previous words combined. Luka’s sharp inhale and the way his voice tightened told everything left unsaid.

"I really don't like that."

"Me neither," was the admission, the knot in his stomach tightening into a dull ache.

"Ever since Ivan showed up, you told me you talk to her less," Luka continued, his tone tense, every word measured. "And she's not the type to just sit back and watch. If she starts putting the pieces together…"

Eyes squeezed shut for a second. "I know…"

"And by the time you really know," Luka's voice dropped to a whisper, "it might already be too late."

A hard swallow, fists now unconsciously clenched.

"Then all the more reason to make the most of today."

Luka let out a sharp exhale, this time utterly devoid of mockery.

"Are you done?" Till asked, his voice dry.

"Yeah. See you at six..."

The blonde hung up.

Till´s gaze remained fixed on the phone on the windowsill until the screen darkened, leaving only a tired reflection.

Sleep had been impossible. Not a single minute. Every time his eyes closed, he was back at that moment: the door swinging. Sua standing there, looking at them like they were strangers. And then… that shove. Not hard, not angry. Just enough to create a distance.

The worst part wasn't the act, but the aftermath—a void so vast it had even stolen Luka's voice.

They had never fought like that.

Hadn't even come close.

A hand dragged down his face, trying to clear the fog.

Would Sua go to the match? He had no idea. Part of him hoped so, just to see her, and… no. The bridge to reconciliation was burned for now. Not after all the things they'd said.

Till’s thoughts drifted to Luka. He was just as affected—it showed in the way his voice cracked before tightening back into control. But instead of collapsing under the weight of it, Luka had seized the only thing he could control: a plan. A way to outsmart the authorities and keep the android.

He pushed the thought away. That was a problem for future-Till to solve.

Ivan would be here in less than two hours.

And one thing was certain: he intended to stay close. To savor every second.

The bathroom offered a brief respite. Icy water on his face washed away a fraction of the night's weight. Teeth brushed, droplets on his neck patted dry. Back in the room, he dressed in the planned outfit—a comfortable combination that suited him—and applied his usual makeup. A few accessories, fingerless gloves, and a last-minute decision to paint his nails black.

Time became irrelevant. All that mattered was that Ivan would arrive any minute, his heart already pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The wait solidified into a lead weight in his gut. 

Every external sound—a distant motorcycle, a slamming door, raised voices from neighbors—made his head snap toward the window.

Suddenly, the doorbell.

A single “ding” that sent his blood rushing straight to his temples.

He ran to the entrance and, just before opening, stopped. A quick hand ran through his hair, he swallowed a breath, and turned the knob.

On the other side, there he was.

Ivan was there, consuming his entire view. The streetlight bled in from behind, carving out the sharp angle of his jaw and the solid width of his shoulders. His clothes were understated perfection: a light-colored jacket over a simple tee, crisp straight-legged pants, and sneakers so pristine they seemed untouched by the world. Nothing shouted for attention. Yet every piece whispered of intention… and that it belonged to a tier of quality far beyond the ordinary.

Till’s eyes flickered down to his own outfit—the blacks, the blues—how seamlessly they fit into Ivan’s muted world, as if they’d planned it without a word. His heart did a foolish, skipping thing over something so small.

It felt like seeing him for the very first time, and at once, like coming home. This wasn’t the Ivan everyone else saw; this was an Ivan meant only for him.

“Ready?” Ivan asked.

“Yes.” Till grabbed his things and stepped out, closing the door behind him.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the space between them shrank through pure inertia. Their arms brushed, just barely, but enough for Till to feel the warmth that lingered on his skin even after the contact was gone. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but that didn’t stop his heart from performing another foolish somersault.

Ivan walked straight to the car but circled around the front to open the passenger door before getting in himself. No comment was made; Till simply settled into the seat as if the gesture were already part of their routine. The door was shut with a precise motion before Ivan slid into the driver’s seat.

One relaxed hand on the gear shift, the other turning the key: the engine awoke with that deep purr Till had come to recognize. The car glided into the street, carrying away the stillness of the house and leaving behind any thought of staying put.

He didn’t know if it was excitement or nerves, but his gaze was restless, jumping from one side of the street to the other as if he could guess their destination.

“Where are we going?” he asked, impatient.

Ivan tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving the road. “If I tell you, it ruins the surprise.”

A sidelong glance, feigning annoyance.

“So you’re going to keep me like this the whole way.”

“Don’t worry,” the black-haired one replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I just hope you enjoy it.”

To distract him, Ivan tapped a few commands on the center console. The screen lit up with a soft glow, and a second later, the opening notes of ♪ Digital Bath by Deftones sound in the car.

Till blinked, surprised.

“You…?”

“You told me you liked them,” Ivan answered, as if it were the most obvious thing. “Didn’t see why not give it a try. I liked some of it.”

“Seriously?” Till looked at him, incredulous.

The other simply nodded.

Till leaned back into the seat, letting the guitar riffs seep through the windows and the rhythm sink under his skin. A small smile escaped him. The gesture felt like it had lifted a weight he hadn’t even known he was carrying.

His gaze drifted around the car’s interior until it landed on the back seat. A sports bag was propped against the door—must be what Ivan was taking to the match. He settled back again, taking a deep breath.

Yeah. Today was going to be a good day.

The road unfolded through streets Till didn’t recognize. Ivan offered no clues, only responding with a slight arch of his brow whenever a guess was ventured.

After a couple of turns, the car left the urban sprawl behind, and the landscape opened up. Trees rose on either side like an escort for the road. Till looked out the window and, in the distance, began to make out the irregular glint of water.

When the Porsche finally stopped, the sound of the engine cut off and was replaced by the constant, gentle murmur of the lake. Small boats were anchored near the shore, and further out, a few people pedaled leisurely on colorful paddle boats. The air carried that clean, slightly sweet scent of still water, mixed with damp grass.

Ivan got out first and came around, opening the door for him.

“What do you think?”

The other boy stepped out, feeling the soft give of the earth beneath his boots.

“I think… I didn’t expect this.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow, faintly amused.

"That was the point."

Till couldn't remember the last time he’d been to a lake. Probably some school field trip that hadn’t ended well. But today, with Ivan stepping out of the car as if time carried no weight, the shoreline didn’t feel so foreign.

They walked to the dock, the sun casting slanted rays over the water, leaving shifting glimmers with every ripple. The hollow sound of planks beneath their feet mixed with the gentle splash of pedals from nearby boats. Distant laughter floated over, but not enough to break the bubble forming around them.

"Pedals or oars?" Ivan asked.

"What’s the difference?" Till raised an eyebrow.

"Pedals work your arms less. And you can enjoy the view without worrying about direction."

"What do you prefer?"

"That you don’t fall in," he replied.

In under a minute, they were settled in a blue and white pedal boat, rocking gently as Ivan pushed them away from the dock.

"Doesn’t feel so unstable," Till commented, trying to sound matter-of-fact rather than relieved.

"That’s because you haven’t tried moving yet," Ivan countered, shifting his weight just enough to make the boat tilt slightly. A small, choked sound escaped Till, and he fixed the other with a sharp look.

"Trying to kill me on our first date?"

"Just testing your reflexes."

Within minutes, they were pedaling toward the more open part of the lake. The air felt fresh against their skin, and with every turn of the rudder, the water lapped in soft waves against the sides. Till, who had started pedaling with vigor, soon leaned back, letting Ivan take on most of the work.

"That’s not fair," Ivan said, never breaking rhythm.

"It's not my fault you have longer legs."

"Excuses." The low, almost amused tone made Till roll his eyes.

At one point, he leaned over to point at something on the surface, and the boat swayed sharply. He had to grab the edge—and in doing so, Ivan’s forearm. The fabric of the jacket was warm under his fingers. It lasted only a second, but the heat it left behind traveled all the way up his arm.

"You didn’t plan any of this, did you?" he asked once they’d stabilized.

Ivan turned the rudder with a single smooth motion.

"I planned for you to have a good time. The rest is logistics."

"Sounds like something someone would say if they planned to kill me in the middle of a lake."

"If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have made you wear a life vest," Ivan replied, nodding toward the strap Till had only half-fastened. "Speaking of… it’s loose."

He leaned forward—not from the side, but over, slipping a hand between Till’s chest and the vest straps. Till had to lean back slightly, trapped between the seat and the other’s proximity. The buckle clicked shut with a firm sound.

"There," Ivan said, not looking away. "Though… if I pushed you, I think you’d float just fine."